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rip-quizilla · 1 year ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father. The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst.

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him.

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could.

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity.

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now.

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar.

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy.

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain.

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams.

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink.

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him.

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals.

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?”

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.”

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss.

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch.

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit.

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control.

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised.

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

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#what a dingus #good lord #where the hell do we go from here

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wheneverfeasible · 2 months ago

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link to prompt

Jim rubbed at his eyes which were pained in exhaustion, a headache blooming behind them. He released a heavy sigh before dropping his hand to stare at the nervous and embarrassed adventurer before him. He’d been advised against using the disgraced knight for the job, but Jim hadn’t been able to look past the man’s success rate.

Or the fact that he’d been the only volunteer to go up against the infamous demon lord who had been snatching up their virginal young women for whatever nefarious hell he was submitting them to in his lair.

“I sent you to slay the demon, not—”

“I brought Miss Buckley back!” Steve protested, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the most recent victim who looked just as put out as Jim did. Though she snorted when Steve hastily covered the gold on his hand with his other palm, while Jim just let out an aggravated sigh.

“To be fair, dingus, he was getting ready to toss me out anyways,” the young Buckley maiden pointed out. “Apparently he was getting tired of my ‘prattling,’” she scoffed at Jim, lifting her fingers in air quotes.

Steve shot her a dirty look. “Well I did convince him to let Lady Chrissy go, but she didn’t want to leave,” he huffed, as though offended at having his talents besmirched. As though the ring on his finger wasn’t mocking enough.

Jim let out another heavy sigh.

Steve turned back towards the warden of the realm with a small grimace. “Turns out Miss Holloway was taken by someone else too, Eddie said he didn’t tou—”

“Eddie?!”

Steve’s smile turned dopily fond, and Jim’s annoyance turned sharper when he heard three sets of giggles come from behind a nearby grate. He’d had to have another talk with the triplets (they weren’t really triplets, one being biologically his, one being from his wife’s first marriage, and one being adopted, but they certainly acted like it enough times) about eavesdropping on important business matters again.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Steve sighed like the lovesick. “He said he didn’t touch Miss Holloway, but he said he’d find her for you if you call off any more manhunts against him.”

“And I’m supposed to trust the word of a demon?” Jim scoffed.

“Hey! That’s my husband you’re talking about! I mean…oops,” Steve said with another embarrassed little smile.

Right. Jim had too much of a headache to continue these talks. He needed a stiff drink. Hopefully Benny didn’t mind opening the tavern’s bar a little earlier than normal today. He waved a dismissive hand, causing the man before him to grin.

“So I can go back to my honeymoon now?”

Jesus Christ. “Return with Lady Chrissy to collaborate your story, and your whatever has a deal,” Jim grumbled.

“Chrissy isn’t going to be too happy about that,” Robin muttered, but she walked up to Steve and gave him a grin. “Let’s go.”

“Robin, you can’t come with me,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yeah? Well who’s gonna keep Chrissy company while you let that drowned rat of a demon lord ravish your body?”

Steve’s face pinked up as the giggles in the grating turned to full fledged snickers. Yup. Jim was done and needed that drink immediately.

“OUT!” he bellowed, which his somehow successful hired hero and the demon’s latest victim seemed happy to do.

He was going to make Benny make that drink a double.

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#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #jim hopper #eddie munson #steddie au #platonic stobin #demon eddie munson #hero steve harrington #implied buckingham #written from a prompt #plot thots

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plant-pluto · 2 months ago

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You Need Him? I Could Be Him!

Rodrick Heffley x Popular! Reader

I feel like I always write Reader liking Rodrick while he likes Heather, but like what if its the other way round. Aka your stereotypical friends help each other out by getting the other together with their respective love interest but you end up liking each other.

Wordcount: 3,411

Masterlist

tws: underage drinking mentioned

Rodrick’s friendship with you was something uncanny to the residents of Plainview, seemingly blossoming out of nowhere you two appeared as thick as thieves with how you were now seen constantly with the resident “emo”. And it certainly threw Heather for a loop when she managed to spot you two chatting. “ God babes, please don’t tell me you're going out with that loser.” She berated once she found out, and you remember the altercation as clear as day. “ As if! Besides, he’s not terrible, he’s actually kinda nice.” You defended, trying to put in a good word as that’s the reason you started being “friends” in the first place.

This symbiotic relationship all started when you witnessed yet another tragedy of Rodrick “flirting” with Heather (if you could even call it that) the interaction so awkward it felt like someone was ripping you apart with a knife. You felt bad for the guy! Heather having left him in the dust causing you to reach out, especially once you recognized how beneficial this could be. You had a very very secret crush on Chris, Löded Diper’s bassist, and Rodrick was the only other person in the world you revealed that to. The plan was obvious, you helped him out with Heather because as you stated “Lord knows you need it”, and he helps you out with Chris. WIth Rodrick letting you in on their band practices, and you still trying to get Heather to stand being in the same proximity as him, you were around each other constantly. A friendship forming between the local “emo” and “Heather’s hot friend” turned a few heads, especially the heads of your peers.

Honestly, you didn’t even know if the two of you were friends, you grew to like hanging out with him despite it beginning as a “you scratch my back, I scratch yours” kinda deal, and a part of you wondered if he felt the same. “ Rodrick.” You called from your place on the boy’s bed, torso dangling off the side as you looked at him from your upside-down view. He hummed, glancing up from his phone from his place on the floor. “ Do you like me?” You pondered bluntly, the question of his feelings towards you nagging your brain.

This certainly caught his attention, eyes widening as he looked back at you, phone now forgotten as he dropped it to the ground.

“ Pshh what! Why would I-” Rodrick floundered, face red as he began to stutter.

“ As a friend, dingus, relax.” You huffed in amusement, sitting up on his bed, and turning around to face him,” We’re gonna have to work on you getting flustered so easily because, wow!”

“ I knew that!” He defended, posture relaxing as he cleared his throat,” I do…like you.” You deadpanned at his hesitation,” It sounds like someone’s holding you at gunpoint.” He shrugged, and you started to tease,” I get it, I get it, you’ll be done with me once you get with Heather and I’ll be left behind with no credit. I thought we were friends Rodrick, you wound me.” “ We are friends!” He exclaimed quickly, and this caused you to smile. “ Really!? Yayyy!” You exclaimed softly, getting off the bed and flopping down on the floor in front of him. “ I thought that was obvious.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes, and picking his phone back up to check the time. “ Just wanted to make sure.” You grinned, mind at ease now that you got the verbal confirmation. Checking your own phone, you got up,” The guys should be here soon, let's go!” You ushered, dusting yourself off before making your way to Rodrick’s door. “ Just in case you needed confirmation, I like you too Hot Rod.” You grinned, throwing him a smile over your shoulder, swinging his door open, not seeing the way he flushed and frowned. Walking around his house like you belonged there (and to be completely honest, you did) you said your hellos to Susan before entering the garage. Taking your usual seat on the couch, Rodrick followed behind you shortly after, a sort of glum look on his face. “ What’s wrong, you look like you’re thinking.” You asked genuinely, despite your teasing. “ It’s fine, don't worry about it.” You frowned at his answer, but you brightened once you remembered something. “ Okok, but I have some wonderful news for you! Heather’s throwing a party, her parents are out of town and she said I could bring you.” You cheered, faltering when you saw that he didn’t perk up at the mention of her name like he usually does. You went to pry, but the side door swinging open caused you to shut your mouth, in walked Chris and Ben, but more importantly Chris. “ Hey Chris!” You chirped, the blonde making his way over to you at your greeting.

“ ‘Sup.” He stated, taking the guitar case off his shoulder and resting it on the arm of the couch. “ The usual, how was your day?” You asked, not off put by his nonchalant attitude as conversation began to spark. Immersed in the exchange, you failed to notice that everyone else finished setting up, that was until you heard the loud clash coming from Rodrick’s drum set, a slight glare on his face as he looked between the two of you. Both you and Chris exchanged a look with Ben who just shrugged. “ Sorry man.” Chris mumbled, grabbing his bass from the case and going to plug it in. You looked at Rodrick as he talked to Ben, seemingly okay now, causing you to furrow your brows. Practice went as usual, but your ever growing worry caused you to look at Rodrick for its entirety despite how you normally took this time to watch Chris play. You cheered once they finished, gathering your things as you got ready for the usual tradition of visiting the local 7/11 as a wrap up. Heading over to Rodrick, you nudged him slightly, hoping to get some kind of confirmation of his status. You smiled at him, and he gave a half-smile back. “ Ready to go?” You questioned softly, wondering if he could tell just how concerned you were. “ Uh, I actually…can’t go out.” He hesitated, and you felt the urge to pry as you asked why. “ I’ve…I’m not feeling well.” The statement came out as more of a question, and you knew just how to tell when Rodrick was lying.

Chris called your name before you could dwell on it though, casting Rodrick one last look before you walked back over.

“ You comin’ with us?” He asked, already overhearing Rodrick’s lie. “ Nah, I got homework.” The excuse flew from your lips before you could even register it, and that had left you confused. A month ago you would have been overjoyed at the prospect of him asking you to hangout, hell, a few weeks ago you would’ve been ecstatic that you were going to hangout without Rodrick being there. But now, now it just felt off, leaving a pit in your stomach that not even Chris could fill.

“ Alright, see you guys later!” Ben waved, the door slamming against the frame slightly as Chris and Ben made their exit. You twirled around, brows furrowed looking at your friend, questions at the tip of your tongue now that you had the space to ask them. “ What’s wrong?” You got straight to the point, not bothering to tease as you had enough of him brushing you off. “ What do you mean, I’m fine.” Rodrick stressed, and this only caused you to grow irritated. “ Seriously Rodrick, I’m just worried, you didn’t even get excited when I said you could go to Heather’s party.” You combatted, not letting up as you pressed. “ Just tired.” He paused looking around the room, seeming to pick up on the fact that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you.

“ You should help me prep for the party though.” He stated, already going back into the house, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved as you followed behind him. “ What, don’t tell me you’ve never been to one.” You teased, mind clear as you both seemed to slip back into your normal pace. He remained silent, and you smirked, practically running up after him on the stairs as he seemed to try and escape you. “ Rodrick Heffley! Have you seriously never been to a party before?” You exclaimed, slightly shocked at that fact. He turned to face you as he swung open his door, the sheepish shake of his head causing your grin to widen.

“Oh we have a lot of work to do, show me your best dance!” You flopped onto the bed, watching in amusement as he shot you a funny look. “ What!? You have to know how to dance, what if Heather wants to dance?” You urged, but you shot to your feet once you had the realization. “ Oh god what if Heather wants to dance, quick Rodrick gimme your hands!” You rushed, grabbing his hands and placing them on your hips as you turned your back towards him. “What’re you!?” He made a strangled noise, and if you were to turn around, you would’ve seen Rodrick’s face turn the brightest shade it has since this whole ordeal started.

It was moments before the party, and Rodrick couldn’t do anything but stare at his wall, apparently you had pulled a few strings to get Chris an invite, and he hated the feelings that stirred up within him. Rodrick Heffley falling for you was not part of the plan he had in mind, and he knew that wasn’t part of your plan either. He was almost tempted to tell you he couldn’t go, but he didn’t want to make you worry. The chime from his phone alerted him to you being done getting ready, and he got ready to drive on over to your house. Taking one last look in the mirror he frowned slightly at the lack of guyliner, but he remembered how you said Heather didn’t really like stuff like that. Not that it mattered to him now, he knew that you liked it, having said so yourself, but he decided to look the part. The cold was biting as he made his way into his van, unfortunately he had to pick up Chris first before he could see you, and despite the fact he was his friend, he couldn’t help but get irritated with him now-a-days. Peeling out of the driveway, he reluctantly made his way over to Chris’, and once he was collected, he finally made his way over to you.

Parking in your driveway as he usually did, he let you know he was there before exiting. You had all decided to walk over to Heather's since it was just at the end of the block, and your parents would kill all of you if they found out you drove under the influence. “ Hey guys!” You chirped, closing the door behind you as you made your way down the steps. Rodrick took a second to secretly admire, trying not to visibly wither as you made your way over to Chris first. Waiting for you to say hi to him, he smiled and started to walk with you and Chris in tow, he looked up at the stars as he listened to you two conversate, silently brooding as he hoped to get the chance to talk to you before the party. “ Rodrick!” You called, and it was like you had some kind of sixth sense for when he was getting moody, it was something he grew to appreciate. He hummed, beginning to walk backwards as he waited for you to continue. “ I was asking if you were gonna drink tonight.” You tilted your head unintentionally, and it caused Rodrick to bite the inside of his cheek. “ Maybe.” He responded, dragging out the ‘e’ as he genuinely didn’t know, but depending on how the night went, he might wind up having a beer or two.

Finally reaching Heather’s house, you could hear it before you even entered, the blaring music muffled through the walls, and he watched in curiosity as you ushered Chris inside. He stiffened as you turned to him, melting once you nudged him with your shoulder and smiled. “ You ready Rockstar?” Whenever you called him that it really made him feel like he was one, butterflies erupting in stomach akin to cheers from a crowd, and your gaze making him feel like he was in the limelight. “ Ready as I’ll ever be.” He grinned back, flashing his teeth despite the ever growing feeling of worry in his stomach. The music managed to be even louder once you opened the door, the air was thick and humid, the intermingling smell of various substances assaulting his nose. “ Let’s go say hi to Heather!” You had urged, and he found your commitment to the hopeless case of him and Heather endearing. Walking over to the blonde, neither of you missed how she cast Rodrick a small glare,” Hey babes! …Hey Rodrick.” God it was so much easier for him to see how little of a chance he had when he no longer wanted it. Walking away to let you chat with Heather, and ignoring the confused glance you gave him, he made his way over to Chris. Chris was already making eyes at some girl, and this made him scowl. “ Whatcha up to Chris?” He asked, trying to keep it casual, and still trying his best for Chris and you even though he no longer wanted you two to be a thing. “ Nothing honestly, just observing.” He spoke cooly, and Rodrick couldn’t help but roll his eyes, what did you even see in this guy?

His eyes floated over to the girl he was looking at, “ Yeah, looks like you’re observing that chick over there.”

Rodrick couldn’t stop his tone from being a little harsh, and he hoped Chris didn’t notice.

“ Hell yeah, should I go talk to her?” Chris asked, a little too eagerly, might Rodrick add, but he wasn’t one to judge.

“ Nah dude, who I really think you should talk to, is over there.” Rodrick pointed over at you, watching as you happily chattered with Heather of all people.

“ What? Dude that’s literally a death sentence, they’re clearly into you.” Chris nudged Rodrick,” You should go talk to them.” Rodrick bit back a few choice words, Chris didn’t know how good he had it,” No, trust me on this one man, just go talk to them.” “ I’m good off that man, they aren’t my type anyways, too chatty.” Chris remarked, and that was all Rodrick needed. “ Too chatty?” He exclaimed, shoulders bristling as he spoke through grit teeth. “ Dude, they only talk to you so much because they like you.” He couldn’t believe this, Chris was walking away from the literal definition of picture perfect in Rodrick’s eyes, and he almost hated him for it, almost. “ Woah really? Maybe I’ll just try to slide in then.” Chris laughed at his own crude joke, and with you in mind Rodrick decided against punching him in the face. “ You’re the fucking worst.” Rodrick sneered, and Chris put his hands up in mock surrender right before Rodrick walked away. The night had certainly progressed, and Rodrick was definitely drinking tonight, he hadn’t seen you for most of the party, and that fact started to worry him. Walking down the never ending hallways of Heather’s huge home, he managed to stumble upon the plot twist of the century. Behind the door at the end of the hallway was apparently Heather’s room, and what became even more apparent was the figure of Heather Hills on top of Chris. If this were to happen a few months ago, Rodrick would’ve been pissed at the sight, and now, now he was still pissed, but for a much different reason.

The door slammed shut behind him, muffling Heather’s shrill screams in horror at being caught. Rushing down the steps, he continued to squeeze past the sea of bodies as he tried to search for you. And once he did find you, he was dragging you towards the door, you following him willingly causing him to go faster.

“ Rodrick, what’s going on?” You were frantic, and he didn’t answer until he swung open the front door.

The air did little to nothing to cool Rodrick’s heated attitude, and he turned to face you, looking up as you were still at the door, and he was on the sidewalk.

“ Can we ditch? Please.” He asked weakly, not knowing what to say if you asked why.

“ What happened, are you okay? What about Chris?” You asked clearly confused as you walked down to him. As quick as his heart leapt at your concern, it was crushed at the mention of him. “ Who cares about him!” Rodrick snapped, temper catching up to him as a multitude of emotions swirled in his chest.

“ I do!” You defended, but a part of you knew you didn’t mean that as strongly as before. “ Why?!” He challenged, and he really wanted an answer, because whenever he thought about it, it was lost to him.

“ What’s so great about him?” Question after question kept spewing out before he even had the chance to feel bad. “ What about him makes him so much better-” He choked on his words, the gravity of his statement bringing him back to reality as he looked away from you. “ Better?” You questioned softly, not swayed by his attitude, and that was clear when he saw the concern dance in your eyes as he turned back to face you. “ Better than me.” His voice was soft now, barely above a whisper, but you heard him loud and clear. It all made sense now.

Like the last piece of the puzzle slid into place allowing you to see the full picture. Your ever growing concern, that time when you said no to hanging out with Chris, the fact that you hardly even cared about Chris anymore. You were finally able to make sense of it all, and it all boiled down to one now glaringly obvious fact.

You liked Rodrick Heffley, and you were pretty sure he liked you too.

The world felt silent despite the raging party inside, and everything felt so vulnerable, the way Rodrick couldn’t look you in the eye, and the way you saw him now with your feelings apparent. You wondered how long he felt this way, and his behavior at practice a few days ago also made sense. A small huff of air escaped you, and you looked at the boy in front of you with such fondness that it compelled you to reach out.

You cupped his face lightly, and if anyone looked as closely as you did, they would see how his brows were slightly furrowed with anxiety, and how his jaw was clenched. The entirety of your being softened once you felt him relax in your hold, turning his face to meet yours, he looked at you with the adoration you felt for him.

“ Now that you mention it.” You said softly, and Rodrick looked as though he was hanging onto your every word, and that’s because he was. “ No one’s better than you Rodrick.” You could see the immediate relief that overtook him, eyes softening as his hands went to rest on your hips. “ No one?” He mumbled, still in disbelief. You shook your head, a smile gracing your features that almost brought Rodrick to his knees. You brought him in closer, and your lips brushed against each other before they locked. Holding you tighter, he couldn’t help but smile as he kissed you, and this caused you to giggle, kissing for a few beats longer before you broke apart. “ Let’s go back home, Rockstar.” You faced him as you dragged him down the sidewalk, not that you needed to, Rodrick would go anywhere you told him to, and he was sure you would do the same.

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daytaker · 1 year ago

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little-annie · 6 months ago

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Happy Birthday @strangerthingswritersguild ❤️

M (Mentions of sexual activity and Eddie's 🍆) | WC 836 | Stobin & Steddie

It was Steve's 29th birthday and although Eddie had plans -rockstar duties- that didn't stop Robin from swooping in and saving the day.

Work couldn't be escaped, which sure, that was shitty, but Steve owned the place and still had to see through certain duties on a daily basis. Plus it gave him and Robin the opportunity to hash out their plans for the evening. On their way out of the shop they ordered pizza to Steve's apartment and set out to the closest gas station to procure a hoard of candy and a couple bottles of wine.

It was their constant gabbing back and forth that distracted Steve from Eddie's car in the parkade.

Both he and Robin, oblivious to the fact of what was waiting in the apartment for Steve, they carried on.

By the time the elevator reached the 34th floor, a bag of Skittles had been demolished and Steve was laughing so hard he was hiccuping. With tears in his eyes and gasping for breath Steve was bent over wheezing when Robin opened the door to his and Eddie's apartment, leaving him momentarily blind to the sight before him.

But that didn't mean he missed the blood curdling scream released by Robin in the same instant Eddie's voice yelled out a happy, “Surprise!”

Popping upright with the joy that his boyfriend was home for his birthday, Steve was met with a very nude Eddie. There in his porcelain skin and tattooed glory, Eddie was laid out on their black leather couch, surrounded by rose petals, candles and chocolates.

Steve's heart fluttered with excitement.

And Robin's shuddered with horror. “Eddie! What the fuck!? Put your junk away!”

While Eddie calmly cupped himself on the couch not moving another inch from his position, Steve struggled to pull his eyes away as Robin's ire was turned towards him.

“I thought you said he wasn't going to be home, Dingus. How am I ever going get the image of Eddie's saggy nuts -

“-hey my nuts aren't saggy!”

- out of my head. It'll be forever burned into my retinas. I'll have to bleach my eyeballs or carve them out with a fucking spoon.”

Eddie's now grumbling to himself on the couch looking down at his crotch, most likely trying to hype himself up from Robin's early insult. Steve's sure he hears the whispered words of, ‘You're not saggy, you're perfectly normal and I love you.’ And with Eddie Steve can never be sure, but it's not a far off guess.

God how he loves that dork.

Steve can't believe Eddie flew in from his tour for his birthday.

Still shielding himself from Robin's delicate eyes, Eddie catches Steve's lingering stare and puckers his lips into a kiss, blowing it in Steve's direction while he continues to stand in the doorway with Robin.

Eventually he decides to tune back into her rant.

“- penis, Steve. I'm a lesbian, I shouldn't have to see anyone's dick. And we both know I've seen yours enough as is. Lord knows I can't forget last Halloween and the horror that it truly was. But Eddie's?! I didn't need to know it was pierced, let alone tattooed! Sure you probably would have told me eventually, but come on man, I didn't need to see it.”

It's the mention of such a tattoo that has Steve whipping his head back in Eddie's direction.

Eddie didn't have a tattoo there when he left.

Oh.

As Steve catches on and Eddie sends him a wink, mouthing a sly ‘Surprise,’ he has to restrain him from shoving Robin out the door.

“Get out.”

Robin's rambling stops and she looks at Steve deeply offended, “Excuse me.”

He'll make it up to her later, but currently his rockstar boyfriend is laid out naked on their expensive couch with a new tattoo that Steve really feels the deep seeded need to taste, lick from the man's body, or suck from his skin.

Truly any of the above works.

Robin rolls her eyes and groans, “But Steve-uh, the pizza.”

“I'll order a pizza to your damn apartment, Robby. But I swear to god if you don't leave in the next five seconds you're going to see a whole lot more than just a single dick.”

She scrunches her nose in disgust, “Boo you whore.”

“You know it.” Steve states proudly, “Now out, please. I swear once Eddie's gone we can do a pizza and wine night.”

Robin groans once again, but she does eventually leave with a pinch to Steve's ass and a snarky, “Don't get him pregnant!” sent in Eddie's general direction.

With the click of the door behind him, Steve sheds his clothes clumsily and hops from one foot to the other as he steps out of his jeans, then underwear, on his way to the couch.

With little to no grace he falls into Eddie's arms with a giggle, feeling the press of lips to his forehead and the whispered words of, “Happy Birthday, Baby,” to his skin.

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kelthebarb · 2 years ago

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the dark

pairings - carl grimes x fem!reader

genre - fluffy smut, slight angst in the beginning

warnings - p in v penetration, use of pet names ??(baby, mama, love, pretty girl), dirty talk, praise, carl’s a bit ooc, kissing, cussing, CARL & READER ARE 19!! (during the 6 year timeskip, if carl was still alive)

request: anon - ik you haven’t done any fanfics but can you do a carl grimes x reader? smutty ofc 😏😏 but the reader is laying in bed in the dark and carl comes through the window and then they fuck cus yk straight to the point 🤭. but he calls her “mama” bc ahhhh carl saying mama is my new hyperfixation 😁 anyways-

a/n: OOOH LORD, stop it y’all makin me act uppp 😭😭 anyway absolutely, carl calling you mama? BRO.

y/n laid on her bed, only half asleep. she hadn’t been able to completely shut her eyes since the bridge blew up with rick on it. she had stood there, right in front of carl to stop him from running towards it. she felt terrible, she herself was crying. watching carl break down and almost beg her to let him help his dad, to go save him from the flaming pit of walkers. even if it had been a few months, and carl had seemed to get a little better, she still lied awake at night, his face and the way he clung on to her while crying later that evening haunting her.

a few taps on her window were enough to startle her out of her train of thought. she jumped up and turned her head. somewhat hiding in the bushes, she recognized the silhouette of a sheriff’s hat and long hair that fell to the man’s shoulders. she scoffed and walked over to the window, opening it and taking the hat off his head.

“carl, what’re you doing? it’s late as hell,” she asked, crouching to meet his eye.

“couldn’t sleep. can i come in? i don’t wanna look like a creep, staring at a girl through her bedroom window,” carl said.

“isn’t that what you were just doing?”

“not necessarily.”

y/n chuckled and opened her window up as far as it would go, making there enough room for carl to slip through.

“quiet! i live with people! you’re gonna wake them up, dingus!” y/n whisper-shouted at the boy, who had just almost fallen straight to the floor.

“sorry,” carl grimaced. once he was through the window, he took his hat off of y/n’s head and kissed her lips.

“you sure you couldn’t sleep? or did you just wanna see me?” she asked, resting her hands on his midsection.

he pretended to think for a second, “both.”

he leaned down a bit too kiss her again, one hand on her hip and the other cupping her jaw. the kiss became heated, y/n standing on her toes to get closer to carl. the two started stumbling to her bed, almost tripping over themselves as carl laid her down on her back. he continued to kiss her lips, then moving down her jaw to her neck. he littered it with little purple marks - they’d definitely be noticeable in the morning.

she quietly hummed at his actions, entangling her hands in his hair. carl stopped for a second, lifting his head to admire his work. he chuckled, going back up and kissing y/n’s forehead.

“i love you,” he said, resting his head on hers.

“i love you, you little tease,” y/n giggled, smacking his arm playfully.

“is that so?”

“mm-hm,” y/n hummed with a smile on her face.

“well,” carl got close to her ear, “say the word and i’ll stop teasing.”

y/n’s breath hitched. she clenched her thighs together, trying to get any kind of friction. she looked up at carl with big eyes and whispered, “please.”

carl smiled, dipping his head to kiss her again. he undid the buttons on his flannel, tossing it to the floor next to the bed. y/n slipped off her shirt as quickly as she could. carl tugged at the waistband of her sweatpants, sliding them down her legs. he leaned up over her, unbuttoning his pants with his right hand and his left on the pillow right above y/n’s head for support.

his jeans were soon on the floor along with the rest of their clothes. carl could tell that y/n was getting impatient; she was rubbing her thighs together desperately.

“hey, baby, only a little longer,” he said, spreading her legs apart. “just take off your bra for me, yeah?”

y/n nodded, lifting her back a bit to unclasp it. she threw it to an unknown spot, not even caring where it went.

carl chuckled, “eager, aren’t you, mama? you want me inside you? want me to fuck you dumb?”

y/n whined in response, becoming a bit annoyed at carl’s lack of initiative at the moment. carl smirked and tilted his head to press more kisses to her neck. she moaned softly, practically begging him to stop it and just fuck her.

“didn’t you say no more teasing?” y/n asked, pouting. he kissed her lips, biting them a little so she opened her mouth with a gasp. he shoved his tongue over hers, lapping at it with desperation.

he pulled away, breathing heavily. “sorry baby, you just look so cute when you’re needy.”

he pulled down his boxers, letting his cock spring out. y/n had seen it a few times before, but it never failed to surprise her.

“lift your hips for me, love?” carl asked, tapping the side of her hips as she elevated them. “there we go, that’s my girl.”

carl slid himself in, her slick making it easy to do so. he groaned loudly as she clenched around him, hiding his face in the crook of her neck to shut himself up. he panted loudly in her ear, kissing her cheek while waiting for her to adjust.

“you okay, mama? can i move now?” he asked.

“yeah, please,” she breathed. carl started off slow, going deep and drawing long moans from y/n.

“you gotta be quiet baby, we don’t wanna get caught,” carl whispered. he went a little faster, making y/n dig her nails into his back. carl lifted his head to look at her, enjoying the way her face scrunched up with each thrust.

she noticed him looking and immediately turned red, she lifted her hand to cover her face, but carl moved it.

“nuh uh pretty girl, i wanna see you,” he said, connecting his lips with hers again. he shoved his tongue back into her mouth, swallowing her noises. his cock twitched when her hands went up his back to tug on his hair. he reached his hand down and started rubbing her clit.

y/n was close, she could feel it, but carl’s mouth felt too good on hers that she couldn’t form a coherent sentence. she came without warning, surprising carl entirely.

“yeah? only made you cum once and you’re already fucked out, baby,” he said, thrusting harder. he got louder as his climax neared.

“i’m- fuck, i’m gonna cum,” he whimpered with his forehead against hers.

“inside! d-do it inside, please,” y/n gasped as he hit her sweet spot over again. she felt him spill his cum inside of her, groaning as he pulled out.

“c’mon love, let’s go shower.”

#carl grimes #carl grimes smut #the walking dead #twd x reader #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x reader #twd spoilers #smut

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4typercent · 1 year ago

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He's 1/5th done!!! (20%)

Just look at him!

😍

I have a long journey ahead of me.

14 count black Aida

16 colours

One full skein of DMC for scale. He's going to be massive!

Dream Stitch update #9 🧵🪡

He's at 18%, I've been procrastinating on him

He needs to be ironed. 🙈

The line on the right are fine sewing needles holding the two sheets of Aida (14 count) together to make the falling sand easier to stitch. Extra needles and binder clips are your friends!

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #lord morpheus #lord of dreams #shaper of forms #king of dreams #king of nightmares #lord shaper #Dreamy McDreamface #dingus mcdoofus (affectionate)#dream!stitch #shading with dmc #not for sale #not for commission #not for donation #my wip #my cross stitch #my cross stitch wip

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vera-keller · 2 years ago

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back to hbo war content because i managed to make just about enough coins to last the month working 12 hour bar shifts for two days straight back to you in the studio

#lord of the rings the return of the dingus #victoria two electric boogaloo #when they said bar staff do backbreaking work for insanely low rates they weren't fucking kidding #you have to pour a pint of guinness a certain way like i know this as someone who already drinks guinness #but actually getting the muscles of my wrist to perform the exact pouring movement was something else #it's like alchemy or some shit severus snape about to pull up behind me and batista bomb me into the table at any given moment #i think guinness might give you spots

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years ago

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOUR

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.8+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

4:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

BIRDIE created a groupchat.

BIRDIE added DINGUS, NANCE, JOHNNY, & ARGYLE 😎

DINGUS: why the fuck is my name dingus

BIRDIE: so… are we going to talk about how in love they look in that photo?

NANCE: Eddie looks like he’s going to commit a federal crime, Robin.

DINGUS: how do i change my name

ARGYLE 😎: a sign of true love my friends

BIRDIE: @NANCE SEE? he gets it.

JOHNNY: Is this chat really necessary?

DINGUS: guys seriously. how the fuck do i change my name?

—

HOUR FOUR - 7:00 PM

Let the record show that you don’t normally care about Lord of the Rings. You’d seen the movies out of obligation to your friends, nothing more, nothing less. You usually held complete indifference towards the trilogy. As a matter of fact, you’d nearly given Robin an aneurysm the day you’d informed them all you preferred the Hobbit trilogy over the original movies.

Eddie, it seems, holds a similar sentiment to Robin.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he sighs dramatically, sinking into the couch and looking far more comfortable than he had previously. A bottle of cheap beer dangles carelessly in his hand. He’d decided to grab both of you one the moment this argument had begun, “You casually bring up Gandalf, and then you proceed to have the worst opinions on the greatest franchise of all time. A crime against humanity.”

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely through genuine laughter.

You were laughing. You were sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch, in his apartment, laughing with him rather than at him. It was a fluke in the system, a blip in the Universe. You tell yourself it’s just the effects of the beer.

“What’s next? You tell me you prefer Star Wars over Star Trek? Or, let me guess, you’ve never read the books?”

He looks nice like this, at ease. This hour might be setting the track record for the longest the two of you had gone without insulting one another, and you begin to wonder why you’d never been able to hold such a civil conversation with him before tonight. The two of you might not be agreeing or seeing completely eye to eye, but there was enough agreement to keep the entire debate chugging along.

He notices your silence as you take a sip of the beer you’ve nearly polished off, smirking around the rim of it, a bit of beer lingering at the corner of your mouth. “Oh my God. You’ve never read the books.”

“I never said that!”

“You never said you did!”

Your mouth is open, fighting back at the curl of the corners, unable to defend yourself because he was right. “I- Who even reads anymore?”

“Excuse me?” his voice pitches as he sits up straight suddenly, “Oh, no. There’s no way you just said that. There’s no way you don’t read.”

You shrug, and his beer is quickly set to the side.

“C’mon, everyone reads. You’ve got to have a guilty pleasure book.”

“Nope,” you tuck your bottle between your thighs, and catch the way his eyes had followed the bottle before snapping back to yours, “I just prefer the movies, I guess.”

“No one prefers the movies. You’re a goddamn liar,” he shakes his head and some of the frizzy curls fall against his collar bones rather than continuing to tickle his shoulders, “You have to read something. Romance novels, boring essays, the news. Hell, even magazines or that written porn shi-” he cuts off when you smile at the mention of magazines. “Why are you smiling like that? Stop it. It’s creepy. Do you read those porno books?”

“God, no,” you laugh. A lie - you’d certainly read excerpts from Fifty Shades of Grey he was referencing to understand what the hype was to no prevail, “Just ironic you bring up magazines. You probably consider yourself a real connoisseur, don’t you?”

He flushes crimson. His cheeks that had tinged pink from the warmth of the beer are now flaming red. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He clearly did.

“Right,” you drawl, “So which article in that Playboy caught your eye? The one about the psychological deep dive into what makes sex so great, or the interview with that one porn star? No, wait, I got it! It was totally the one that gave fifteen ways to drive a girl crazy-”

“It’s not a fucking Seventeen magazine,” he snaps, but the malice in his voice is dull, “There’s no lists on how to get the girl, it’s a porn ‘zine, Jesus H. Christ.”

“I know that, do you?” you press, reveling in the brush crawling its way down the side of his neck.

He runs a hand over his face, groaning, “I’m not even going to entertain you with an answer. Fuck off.”

“Do you just ignore all the photos of the beautiful women?” you don’t hold back your teasing, subconsciously leaning his way as your voice lilts with sarcasm, “Ignoring all those bushes? Or maybe you just prefer the Brazilian cut?”

“I liked it better when we were talking about your illiteracy,” he deadpans, staring straight ahead at his entertainment center.

“I never said I couldn’t read, just that I choose not to most of the time,” you finally pull back a bit, scared to push it all too far. You pull your legs up beneath you on the couch and move the beer that has gone warm to the table on the opposite end as his, “Sue me for trying to make friendly conversation.”

You await his expected response about how this was not friendly conversation. You start to do mental gymnastics of a way to bring up the specific model he had marked the pages of, of the eerie resemblance she bears to you and a way to push his buttons regarding it. This conversation was following your script, not his.

Or at least, it was.

“Fine. I prefer the bush, I always find the lack of hair kind of weird,” he says, throwing you off your game effectively. He stares at you with now expecting eyes, “What about you?”

You’re grateful you’d stopped nursing the beer, or you surely would have choked, “What?”

“What’s your preference?” he clarifies, not backing down, “On yourself, on partners. Whatever.”

“I- I don’t- I never-” you stumble over your words, at a complete loss for an answer. It only makes him smirk as he’s now the one leaning in closer, close enough to catch the smell of his cologne concentrated on him.

You hadn’t realized you’d adjusted the boyish smell of the apartment until this very moment.

“See? Not so fun when you’re the one getting asked the personal questions.”

He’s right – you shouldn’t dish out what you can’t handle him throwing back into your face.

“Fine,” you mimic him, squaring your shoulders, “Bush.”

“On yourself or others?”

“Myself,” there was no use in being shy now, “But also on, uh, partners. Kind of unfair to expect something from someone I wouldn’t give in return.”

He nods in surprising consideration at the notion. His face twists as if he’s taking words you’d thrown out there so carelessly to heart, as if there’s some hidden message that even you hadn’t realized was laced in the notion. For a moment, you start to believe he’s committing the words to memory before he answers you.

“That’s fair,” is all he says.

A moment of intense thought for that?

“What? That’s all you’ve got to say?” you scoff, and busy yourself with the beer again out of nerves. It’s warm and bitter on your tongue, but it’s better than looking him in the eyes. Warm, honey eyes you’d never really cared to notice before.

“Yeah,” he lifts his shoulders into an offhand shrug, “I mean, what else is there to say? Like you said, you can’t expect something from someone you can’t return.”

Another silence drags out, and this time, it’s stifling. You never thought you’d live to see the day where Eddie being quiet would bother you, but it does. The lack of words in the air is leaving too much room for thought from both of you. It’s giving you too much time to think on those warm, honey eyes and those damn dimples. Trivial things about Eddie that you don’t care to remember past tonight.

“My friend collects vintage Playboys,” you blurt out, internally cursing yourself immediately. What a stupid conversation segway.

Should have teased him about the dog-eared pages, you regretfully think as you dare to look his way.

His face is surprisingly smooth, eyebrows quirking up into the frayed edges of his bangs, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Yeah. Hell of a lot more bushes in the seventies.”

A lot less of that model you like, you silently add, once more not voicing that concern out loud.

The dimples return. Those fucking dimples. “Hm, guess I should check them out, then.”

“She collects them for aesthetic purposes,” you continue to ramble, filling the air, unsure of why you’re even defending yourself. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to dissect the small piece of your life you’ve offered, “It’s… It’s really cool, actually.”

“It sounds cool,” he agrees gently.

The other shoe is left dangling in the air, if it even continues to exist.

You think about his earlier question, of whether you really wanted to keep up a miserable act for the entire twenty four hours. If the last hour hadn’t already solidified your answer, you knew now for a matter of fact that he had a point, even if he did proceed to insult you after the question. You didn’t want to spend this time miserable. The passing of time came easier when it was like this, all rounded-edged banter and friendly words exchanged. When Eddie Munson wasn’t being an asshole and making personal digs at you, he was actually a nice person to have around.

You’d never tell him that, of course.

“It’s why I collect all that,” he motions his hand towards the shelving of figurines and trinkets, “I just think it’s cool, you know? I… Uh, I sort of lied earlier. Most of that shit isn’t that expensive. But it’s not about how much it’s worth money-wise, it’s just worth a lot to… to me.”

A glimpse of crimson, a flash of vulnerability that proves that Eddie has a heart just as you do. It beats erratically, and it can bleed just the same.

“That makes sense,” you offer in response. You may not get it, but you wouldn’t push his buttons on the topic. They may be nothing but clutter from your perspective, but the same could be said about the vintage Playboys your friend collects. The same could be said about plenty of things that are sentimental to you. “Doesn’t it get creepy, though? Like, you bring home a girl-”

“Or a guy,” he interjects, making you smile.

“You bring home a girl, or a guy, and you’ve just got Gandalf staring you down while you make a move. Or… Or, Darth Vader?” you squint to pinpoint another figurine, “Is that Darth Vader? Didn’t you say Star Trek is better than Star Wars?”

“Never said that,” he points at you with a tilt of his head, “I just don’t prefer Star Wars over Star Trek.”

“Have you seen Star Wars? It’s way more entertaining.”

“Have you seen Star Trek?” he counters, but it’s clearly rhetorical as he continues on, “I like both. Having a preference for one doesn’t mean I’m completely against the other. Besides, the light saber effects are fucking incredible.”

“So you prefer the prequels?” you ask eagerly.

“I guess. I mean, the original trilogy is still badass and a classic,” he stands abruptly, and you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, but he just walks over to the Darth Vader figurine to pick it up and bring it back over with him as he flings down onto the couch, now several spaces closer to you rather than opposing ends, “It’s kind of hard to beat the ‘Luke, I am your father’ reveal,” his voice dips down to a deep tone, a fairly spot on impersonation, “But it was also nice seeing his origin story.”

“Plus Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen are gorgeous,” you add, almost daring to lean over and bump shoulders with him. But you don’t. You keep what little space remains between the two of you.

“Of course,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “The eye candy is what gets you.”

“And the cool effects!”

“Right. Next you’re going to say you definitely watched for the plot, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And the plot’s name just happens to be Ewan.”

You bite down the grin that starts to ache your cheeks, because you’re not supposed to smile around Eddie this much. “Now you’re getting it.”

The hand holding the Darth Vader figurine suddenly thrusts out in your direction, and you find yourself jumping a bit. When you don’t take it, he waves it around a bit, raising an eyebrow, “It doesn’t bite, you know.”

“You said to not touch your shit.”

It’s a pathetic lie, you both know it. But he doesn’t know how scared you are to brush fingertips with him, how the way his arm being so close has electricity buzzing from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head. One small shift, one outreached hand, and your skin would brush his.

It would surely be nuclear. An explosion with no survivors, least of all you.

“Oh, c’mon. You’ve disregarded that rule the entire time, why start being a goody two shoes now?” he teases.

Which is fine, except Eddie teases a certain way – with his entire body. His knee knocks into yours, he leans into your space, a boyish grin spreads over his lips. You’ve seen him dance around this kind of lighthearted conversation with everyone else in your friend group except you. It’s uncharted territory, and your heart nearly breaks out of your chest from its rapid racing.

You’re just lucky that there’s two layers of jeans between your knees. The nuclear explosion will have to wait for another day.

Instead of an answer, you reach out and grab the figurine nimbly by the small leg. Your fingertips narrowly evade Eddie’s and you’re eternally grateful and his arm retracts. You poke and prod, gently wiggling the red, flexible stick that serves as his lightsaber and pinch at the edges of his cape.

In your silence, Eddie speaks, “It’s not a crazy collectible or anything, like I said. It probably would have been more valuable to keep it in its packaging, but one time Wheeler brought his little sister over while they were in town, and she wanted to see him out of the box, so I took him out. You know Wheeler, right?”

You shake your head, inspecting the figurine even closer now. It still looks brand new; you’d never be able to tell that a child, presumably, had played with the ‘toy’.

“Oh,” Eddie looks taken back, faltering slightly, “Sorry, I- I just sort of assumed that…. You, uh…. You had met Steve’s children.”

“Oh!” your head shoots up from where your nose had been nearly pressed into the figure, taking in the detailing of the chest piece, “You mean Mike? I’ve heard about him, yeah. Just in passing, though.”

There’s more for Eddie to say, it’s clear in the way his mouth falls open with the corners quirked, but then you’re interrupted by a phone ringing.

Your phone.

Steve’s contact photo occupies the screen for the second time tonight, a ridiculous photo of him scowling at the camera in a yellow jumper while holding a can of pringles in front of him, one of his hands bringing a single chip to his pouting lips.

“Let me answer it,” Eddie insists, holding out his hand as you stare down at the phone, still chiming annoyingly.

“Were they supposed to call this often?” you ask, knowing well enough that Eddie didn’t have the answer.

His hand waves in impatience, and you don’t put up a fight as you let him take the phone and swipe the answering bar, focusing instead on the Darth Vader discarded into your lap as he puts the call on speaker.

“Hello?” Eddie answers in a chirpy tone.

“How many times do we have to te- hold on. Munson?” Steve starts off aggressive, but his tone melts into confusion, “Why the hell are you answering her phone?”

“Because I’ve murdered her,” he flatly replies, but his face doesn’t match his tone at all.

He fucking winks at you. Your grip on Darth Vader tightens until you’re afraid you're about to snap it.

“Not funny.”

“Not a joke.”

“Where is she, Eddie?” Steve sighs like an irritated parent, in no mood for games, “Please tell me you didn’t manage to make her lock herself in a room again.”

“I told you. She’s gone. Sacrificed to the Dark Lord or whatever. Just got to go dump her body in the lake-”

You shouldn’t joke along with him, but you still whisper the correction of, “The canals.”

“Sorry, I mean the canals.”

Another deep sigh. You can picture the way Steve was currently pinching the bridge of his nose at the two of you.

“I heard her, you idiot. Now that we know you’re both clearly alive and well…. Where the hell is our photo proof?”

You both share a look, and you quickly mouth, already?

Eddie shrugs and mouths back, I guess.

“We lost track of time,” you finally say out loud, still locked in eye contact with Eddie. His brown eyes are surprisingly captivating, several autumn shades all woven together. Burnt orange leaves, red apples, brown sweaters. You never thought you’d be able to see a season in someone’s irises, yet here you were, picturing it clear as day. “Let us hang up and we’ll send the photo.”

Steve starts to speak, but Eddie’s thumb is quick to end the call. The moment your lock screen stares back at both of you, you look at the time.

7:41. Shit.

“Oops,” Eddie whispers as he hands the phone back over, “They really gave us quite the grace period that time.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, quickly opening your damn camera app. “So, how do we want to do this one?”

Eddie thinks for a moment before he launches himself back to his side of the couch, and motions for you to toss him your phone.

And once again, you put your faith in him, not even hesitating this time.

It happens naturally; you both mirror each other, drawing up your knees, your sock-clad toes bumping firmly against one another. Your back is supported by the worn arm behind you, similar to how Eddie’s is, as you face him.

He quickly angles the camera towards you, sticking a hand out into the frame while raising his middle finger. You don’t know what to do, so one hand holds up the Darth Vader as the other mimics flipping him off.

A soft click from your phone. The photo’s taken, and you’re not even sure if you were smiling.

“Trade,” he leans forward, one hand holding out your phone, the other reaching out for Darth Vader.

You oblige, and go through the same process for his photo. His white socks contrast your black ones, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards no matter how hard of a line he presses them into. You can’t look at him directly, and settle for watching him through the screen as you hit the small grey button to snap the photo.

Just as quickly as he had shoved away from you, he’s back at your side, watching you send off the photos to the group chat with a thumbs up emoji. You take a deep breath, scanning over the pair of photos until it’s confirmed that they’re delivered, and lock your phone. Your brows are furrowed in your reflection staring back at you through the black screen.

“Do you really want to keep up the miserable act the entire twenty four hours?” Eddie’s voice echoes in your mind.

No, you don’t. No matter how wrong this levity with Eddie feels, no matter how uncomfortable it is each time you remember that he’s meant to be the enemy and not someone to share laughter and smiles with, you don’t want to waste these remaining twenty hours being miserable.

“What’s up?” Eddie’s actual voice echoes in real time as you continue to stare at your reflection.

“Just thinking,” you grunt. The thought of admitting your decision to Eddie is much more intimidating than simply acknowledging it to yourself.

“Dangerous.”

Instead of quipping something rude back, you decide to be vulnerable with Eddie. You decide to crack yourself open just a small bit, just as he had done microscopically when he spoke of his collection of items. It’s a dangerous gamble, and you don’t give yourself the chance to overthink it.

“You were right, earlier,” you force the words out, fighting the way they try to cling onto your tongue and remain safely in your throat.

“About… what?” He looks distrusting, and for good reason. He said plenty of things earlier - you could be preparing to remind him of any number of rude things he’d spewed.

“About keeping up the miserable act,” you explain, turning your head to him and abandoning the phone, “You were right. I don’t want to be miserable this entire time. It… It goes by faster when we’re not about to strangle each other, believe it or not.”

You swear you see his shoulders sag in relief. “Well, yeah, I could have told you that. I did tell you that, actually.”

“Shut up,” you force a scowl, “My point is… I don’t know, maybe, we could try to- try to just- we could be-”

“Civil?” he finishes the sentence you stumble over.

You nod, “Yeah. We could be civil.”

The word feels foreign on your tongue. Civility was not something you’d ever considered with Eddie, but the last hour had proven it to be possible.

“Okay,” he nods along with you. He turns his entire body to face you, knees once again bumping as he sticks out a hand for you to shake, “Deal. We will try to be civil the rest of the time.”

“Civil,” you repeat yourself again, more sure this time, still staring at his offered hand.

An olive branch. The opportunity to work together to survive the next twenty hours. The opportunity for his bare skin against yours.

You think again of nuclear explosions and pulsing electricity, of open chests and matching scarlets, of smashing glasses against walls and ruined parties, of wounds healing over in scar tissues as they glow a gentle pink.

Civil. You wonder if that’s one of the words they’ll include on your gravestone as you reach out your hand and let Eddie’s palm meet yours.

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #let's see if i can get it to post in one try this time

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estrellami-1 · 11 months ago

Text

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63

Robin appears at the top of the stairs and judges them with her eyebrows. “What, exactly, the fuck did you two dingi do now?”

Steve snorts, craning his neck back to look at her upside-down. “Dingi?”

“Yeah. Plural of Dingus. Dingi.”

“Not Dinguses?”

“No, it’s irregular, shut up.”

“I think it should be Dingeese.” Eddie giggles at the twin looks of despair thrown his way.

“Steve,” Robin says carefully, “is it too late for me to break up with him on your behalf?”

Steve laughs and grabs at Eddie. “Yes.” He sits up carefully and turns to face Robin. “We were racing and I fell.”

“Because I was an idiot and tripped you, Steve, don’t make this your fault-”

“But I was the one who raced you in the first place-”

Robin sighs. “Dingi,” she declares again. “Were you actually going to grab pillows and blankets? Or were you going to find a room to make out in?”

Steve and Eddie exchange a glance. “Yes,” they say at the same time, then collapse into giggles.

Robin sighs again. “I’m going to kill Dustin first for suggesting you two meet. Then you two for making me witness this. Then myself for witnessing it.”

“Nah,” Steve says easily, walking up the stairs towards her, Eddie right behind him. “You love me too much. Him, maybe,” he says, pointing behind himself, “but you could never kill me. I wouldn’t let you, you know too much.”

Robin narrows her eyes playfully. “That’s exactly why you have to die, because you know too much.”

“Mutual homicide?” Eddie suggests.

“Yup,” Robin says.

“We’ve talked about it,” Steve adds, ruffling Robin’s hair, then dancing away before she can swat at him.

“I’m gonna do it one day,” she threatens, fixing her hair, throwing a pillow at them. “Go get things. Don’t get distracted.”

“No promises,” Eddie says, and they race down the hallway before Robin can respond.

They split apart to ransack their respective rooms, meeting again at the top of the stairs. “My lord,” Eddie says, bowing low and gesturing towards the stairs.

“Thank you,” Steve says politely, even as he can feel a blush creeping over his face and towards his ears.

They meet everyone downstairs and dump their treasures in the pile already started by the girls. “Alright,” Steve says to Eddie, gesturing to the pile. “Engineer?”

“Okay,” Eddie grins, rubbing his hands together. “First things first, a big blanket on the bottom, then pillows covering it, then another blanket on top, then more pillows on top of that. I’m gonna grab some chairs while you get started, then I’ll be back to help.”

“I’ll help,” Steve says.

“Nope!” Eddie exclaims. “I do not need you to get another injury, Stevie, you’re staying right here.”

Steve rolls his eyes but acquiesces, and soon enough the base is done. “Now the fun part,” Eddie says, setting the chairs up in a semi-circle around the couch. “The roof!”

Everyone works together with Eddie’s direction, and soon enough it’s complete, big enough for all five of them to comfortably fit.

“This is nice,” El says quietly, laying on her back and smiling up at the star-speckled blanket draped above her.

“It is,” Alli agrees, matching her volume. “It’s been a while since I’ve made a blanket fort.”

Steve hums in agreement, listening as everyone whispers to each other. His eyes are sliding shut when Eddie’s hand slides into his, and he looks over briefly to find Eddie smiling at him. “You gonna fall asleep?” Eddie whispers, quieter than everyone else, something meant just for Steve’s ears.

Steve hums again, taps the back of Eddie’s hand with his pointer finger. “Prob’ly.”

Eddie’s eyes crinkle. “‘S a good idea. You should.”

“Don’… tell me what’a do,” Steve murmurs petulantly.

Robin leans over El to grab Steve’s other arm and give his bicep a little squeeze. “You’re getting argumentative, babes,” she tells him. “Go to sleep.”

“You go t’sleep,” he tells her, even as his eyes slide shut.

He can hear her smile. “Goodnight.”

He’s awakened, either far too late or far too early, by Eddie’s thigh on his bladder. He groans softly and extricates himself first from the pile of people, then the fort.

He stands, staring at the fort for a minute, swaying with exhaustion before turning and trudging down the hall.

The light blinds him when he turns it on, and he groans again, resolving to do what he needs to as fast as he possibly can.

Soon enough he’s trudging back to the living room, only to stop when he sees the kitchen light on. He pushes open the door and blinks at the bright light, somehow not as harsh as the one in the bathroom.

He rubs his eye and asks, “Robbie?”

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