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crappymixtape · 1 year ago

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because of you • part two

PART I • PART III • PART VI • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.3k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T W O 🎶 theatre, etta marcus

❝ IS IT EASIER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO START AGAIN? WHEN YOU DON’T WANNA MAKE AMENDS? ❞

‘Stealing a Winnebago’ had been easier than you’d assumed, but the getaway execution went exactly like you thought it would. Absolute disorganized chaos and the way Steve peeled out of the trailer park dumped you into Robin’s lap for the first mile. Made you even more skeptical of whatever half-assed plan these people had frankensteined together and now? You found yourself browsing the clothing section of The War Zone.

What in the hell were they thinking coming here anyway? From Eddie’s retelling of what happened under Lover’s Lake it sounded like not one of them knew anything about hand-to-hand combat, let alone guns. Couldn’t even land a punch, but thought they could handle this? Walls of rifles on display, rounders full of bulletproof gear and cases upon cases of bullets and god, you wanted to leave.

“Hey,” Nancy’s voice pulled your attention away from the tactical vests you were staring at, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked over at you. “If I go over to the counter, you gonna be okay?”

“Oh, totally,” you lied. “Yeah, was gonna go look over here anyway,” and you thumbed over your shoulder at more vests.

“Okay, good.”

She gave you a small Nancy-Wheeler-smile and left you there alone in a sea of camouflage. In the middle of a store you’d never have set foot in before all this and making you second guess yourself. Second guess what was seemingly more and more a stupid decision to go along with all of this and you huffed a sigh in frustration.

“Should’ve stayed in the trailer,” you grumbled under your breath, fighting the urge to just walk out, but apparently you weren’t the only one wandering around all the puke green clothing.

“Huh, didn’t know you had good ideas.”

The sound of Steve’s voice made your hands ball into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms.

“Do you ever have anything nice to say?” you sneered and he had the audacity to be so causal. Didn’t even look up from the tactical vests he was flipping through and tossed one into his cart.

“Not to you I don’t.”

Anger rose in your chest like a pot boiling over, so hot it made your cheeks burn as you glowered over at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” and still he didn’t look at you. Picked a bomber jacket off the rack and piled it on top of his vest and it was the last straw.

Stalking over to his side of the rounder you got right up in his face, dug a finger into his chest and said, “Liar.”

His eyes flickered at your accusation, sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at you and warned, “Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.” And he leaned into your finger. Waited for you to fold. Tsked at your attitude and the sound of it triggered a memory so strong you felt like you’d been sucker punched.

Your second ever interaction with Steve Harrington happened the week before summer break.

You heard it while you were walking back to school from grabbing lunch at the diner. A high, sharp whistle followed by car horn and then—

“Owwww, damn baby!”

And you recognized the voice right away.

Tommy Hagan. Leaning out the passenger window of Steve’s BMW. Wolf-whistling at you and being a dick and you tried to ignore them, but then they were pulling up next to you and slowing way down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy purred at your back, your mouth twisting into a scowl at the sound of Eddie’s nickname on his tongue. “You need a rid–” he started to ask, but his question cut short when you turned around.

Mouth dropped open in shock for a split second as he realized who you were, Tommy quickly recovered and started to laugh. That obnoxious, hyena-like laugh that made you want to punch him and he smiled and whistled again.

“Shit, Stevie! Who knew the freak had an ass on her!”

“You kiss Carol with that mouth, Tommy?” you shot back, Steve stifling a snicker from the driver’s seat.

“Bet you could do for a kiss, baby,” Tommy tsked, pouted his lips at you and grinned, “Always so damn sour.”

“Yeah? Wanna find out why?” you threatened and it made Tommy grin even wider. Shark-like. Predatory.

“Park it, Stevie,” Tommy didn’t bother looking at his friend, eyes locked on you as he opened the passenger door and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. Walked right up and crowded over you, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, “And what if I do?”

Your stomach lurched, heart leaping into your throat as you stood your ground. You didn’t think he’d take the bait, but you also didn’t shy away. God, you wished Eddie was there. Tilting your chin up in defiance you glared him down.

“Tommy, c’mon man. Just leave it,” you heard Steve’s voice from over Tommy’s shoulder, tinged at the edges with desperation as he ran up on the two of you, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about it, toots?” Tommy pushed again, toes of his shoes knocking against yours as he stepped even closer, towering over you and it hit you like a ton of bricks how in over your head you were.

“Tommy, just leave–”

“I didn’t ask you, Harrington!” Tommy snapped and you took the opportunity.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands, you yanked Tommy down into you and drove your knee into his crotch as hard as you could.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he choked out, folded in half and hands covering his junk as he dry heaved and you took a big step back.

“Coward,” you turned and hurled the word at Steve and watched it land heavy as his face shifted. Brows pinching together and mouth dropped open, but nothing came out as he struggled to say those two little words. I’m sorry. To tell you he wasn’t like his friend, but his silence betrayed him.

“You bitch,” Tommy grunted at you as he tried to straighten up, one hand still over his crotch.

“Don’t move! I’ll–I’ll get you expelled!” you threatened and it made him laugh. A mean, mirthless thing.

“No fuckin’ way. My mom’s on the school board, who’s gonna take your side?”

And you looked back at Steve for a split second, silently asking him to step in and do something, but he stood frozen in place. Still unable to go against his ‘best friend’ and what little belief you had left in him was shattered.

You were done with Steve Harrington.

Shaking your head, you fought back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes and ran up the path to the cafeteria doors. Disappeared behind them with a loud, metallic slam! and left Steve alone to drown in the deafening silence.

Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.

It was like no time had passed, like you were still there in that parking lot with Tommy towering over you and tsking at you just like Steve was doing now, but this time you didn't run away.

“Don’t call me that!” you shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

“Don’t call me a liar!”

“All you do is lie, Harrington! Your entire life was built on lies,” you could see his pulse fluttering against his neck. Watched his jaw tick as he clenched down on the words he wanted so badly to throw at you, but you didn’t give him a chance. “Why are you even here? You don’t give a shit about Eddie. You don’t give a shit about anyone, you’re–”

“Enough!” you flinched as his shout drew the attention of a couple older guys looking at the hunting gear. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? Not a god damn thing,” and the second part was quieter, but they way he held your gaze after punctuated it heavy.

He turned away from you, hastily pushing his cart back toward the cashier counter and walked out the double doors, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Hey, I’m not done!” you shouted after him across the parking lot. Sharp and biting and it made him spin back around, arms flung out at his sides in exasperation.

“Oh, yeah? Fine. What else you got?”

“Well, for one, I’m not going to sit here while you lord around like King Steve. This isn’t high school. No one here gives a shit about any of that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at his old nickname. Sucked in a breath and let it out slow to try and steady himself.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? You’ve been a dick to me since I set foot in Max’s trailer! And honestly? I’m not surprised! You think I don’t remember all the shit you put me through, put us through in school?” you shot back and he opened his eyes to glare over at you.

“Like I said, Princess–”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“–you don’t have any idea what this is. What we’re up against. None. You’re in over your head.”

“Okay? And what, I’m supposed to sit here on my hands and say, ‘It’s fine! Steve Harrington and all his little friends will fix this’?? You’re out of your mind!”

“And you think you can?” he shot back and your heart rate thrummed heavy in your ears.

“You know, Eddie says he trusts you now, but hell if I will. No fucking way,” and as you turned and cut past him back to the Winnebago he had to jog to keep up.

“Hey! Eddie almost killed me! With a fucking beer bottle!”

You huffed a laugh and kept walking, shaking your head at the accusation and incredulous at the lengths he was going to prove his point.

“Why should I believe you?” you called over your shoulder, “You’re probably just gunning for a headline: Steve Harrington, Hero of Hawkins!”

“Headline?? I–are you kidding me? You think I’d do all this for a headline??”

And finally you stopped at the bottom step of the Winnebago and Steve seized his chance.

“You really think I’m that superficial?” he shot at your back, but you didn’t turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge him and he spent what little patience he had left. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

But you were already gone. Frozen in place with the world growing dark. Tree line ahead of you blurring. Unfocused and liquid like water and the ground swam under you as a voice echoed in your mind.

I see you.

The sound of Steve still talking behind you turned to fuzz, crackled like radio static and faded away into ear-splitting silence. Deafening and swallowing you whole and then you felt it. The ground falling out from underneath you and you were drowning in the dark and the voice that echoed in your mind pulled you even deeper.

Resisting will only make it worse.

❝ AND I NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR LIARS OR THE UNIQUELY UNINSPIRED ‘CAUSE I DON’T NEED TO BE DESIRED ❞

Steve glared daggers at your back. Anger hot and fuming and fueled by the fact that you had the nerve to ignore him and god, he wanted to prove you wrong.

“Are you trying to piss me off? Cos its work–” but the words died in his throat as he came around to face you. “Oh. Oh, shit,” with a quick glance over your shoulder he saw everyone else finally coming out of the store and he didn’t wait to call for help.

“Munson!! Eddie!” Steve yelled over your shoulder at your best friend before grabbing your shoulders in his hands and squeezed at them. Leaned down to try and meet your unfocused, far away gaze and when none of it worked he felt his chest grow tight.

Not again.

“Hey, hey! Look at me!" panic clawed its way up his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Stay with me! Munson–hurry up!”

Your eyes were glazed over, tears gathering at the corners as your whole body started to tremble. Breathing stuttered and caught in your throat. Lips parted and trying to pull air in, but it wasn’t enough and Steve felt his hand twitch. Wanted to press it to your cheek to try and ground you, reach you and bring you back, but then Eddie was finally at your side and shoving Steve out of the way.

“Sweetheart! Can you hear me? Shit, shit, shit. What happened?? Honey? Look at me!” Eddie cradled your face in his hands. Did what Steve couldn’t. Voice ratcheted up, his usual low timbre a high pitched thing driven by fear and hearing it doused any remaining anger that had settled into Steve’s chest and replaced it with something else.

With helplessness. Regret. Remorse.

With the slow realization that everything he’d just said to you wasn’t worth it. Remembered how Nancy had yelled at him, just like you, outside of the gym. You’re bullshit! And his throat squeezed with guilt for messing it all up again because he was bullshit. He was a liar and you were right. Had he learned nothing?

He looked at you, your face contorted with fear, and he felt something new flicker within him. A feeling blooming at the pit of his stomach. One he was so certain couldn’t possibly exist when it came to you, but as he stood there watching Eddie try to shake you back from the dark he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Steve, help me!” tears cut down Eddie’s cheeks as he called to him and pulled him hurtling back to Earth. Desperate. Pleading. Begging him to do something and it shook Steve back into action.

Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursed through Steve's body and fought off the fear that had threatened to trap him in choke hold.

“Max, gimme your Walkman!” he shouted over your shoulder.

The rest of the group had started running back to the Winnebago as soon as they’d heard yelling and when Steve asked for the cassette player, Max knew time was running out.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath and broke into a sprint, scrambling to untangle the headphones from around her neck as she hurried to get to you. “Here! It’s still Kate Bush, is that–”

“Doesn’t matter–Munson get these on, hurry!” Steve, snatched the Walkman from Max and crammed it into Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Please, please, please,” fell from Eddie’s lips, desperate, praying that this would work as he fitted the headphones on and pressed them against your ears, “Please.”

Blinking heavy, you strained your eyes against the black. Against the suffocating dark you suddenly found yourself in. The stand of vivid, green ash trees lining the parking lot replaced by gnarled branches, dark and leafless. Bright yellow buttercups snuffed out by thick, wet vines that snaked their way across the ground under your feet.

You weren’t in the parking lot of the War Zone anymore, not really, and as you breathed in the sickly, ashen air your heart stopped in your chest.

The Upside Down.

“Eddie? Eddie!” you shouted into the dark, red lightening cracking the sky in two, and when no one answered you knew you were utterly alone.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you thought of Chrissy. Of Fred and Patrick and dread filled your stomach. Utter hopelessness and grief and when you whipped around to run you felt something tangle around your leg. Wrapping up, up, up and pulling you down, down, down.

You braced for it, ready to break your fall with your hands, but you never hit and instead found yourself lifting into the air. Unhinged laughter filling your ears as more vines snaked around your arms and legs and you swore you were going to be sick.

It was

Him.

“Why isn’t it working?? God dammit, work!” Eddie was yelling at the Walkman, his composure unravelling as Chrissy’s last moments flooded his mind. “Is she gonna die? She can’t die!” he pleaded and his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat, “Please don’t let her die!”

“Hey hey, hey! Get a hold of yourself. That’s not gonna happen, okay? It’s gonna work,” Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulders, looked him in the eye and tried to reassure him, but when he glanced over at you he knew he couldn’t make that promise. “Please work,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? You can’t leave. Not yet.

Vecna’s voice was everywhere. Flooding every part of you and you feared you would never feel joy again. Would never escape this. Would be stuck here forever screaming into the void, hanging on Vecna’s every whim.

I would like very much to show you where I’m going. Please, take a seat.

And the vines yanked you down, squeezed tight around your wrists and legs and held you fast against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back.

“Please, let me go!” you pleaded into the dark. “Please, I–” but your mouth went dry as a shadowy figure appeared through the ash. Coming closer and closer in the dark with each heavy step and when it finally stopped, feet at your head, your blood ran cold.

Wet, sinewy skin. Muscles exposed and stretched taut. Eyes that pierced your mind and knew every single one your thoughts. Knew all the dark things spiraling there and made them worse. Clawed at you with spindly, protruding hands and long, dagger-like claws and suffocated you with the smell of something rotten.

Of decay.

Of death.

Reaching a hand down, Vecna held it over your face, inches away from touching you as you struggled against your restraints, but they constricted tighter with your every move.

“Please,” you were crying openly now, tears cutting paths through the ash that had settled on your cheeks, but he ignored you.

I want you to tell your friends, I want you to tell them everything you see. Everything I show you.

“No, please!”

Tell them!

“No, I can’t–”

Tell them everything!

And then your head felt like was being cleaved in two. White hot light fracturing the black sky into thick shards and your screams were the only thing you could hear as Vecna pried open your mind and poured into you his vision for the future...

Hawkins in ruin.

Four gashes in the earth. Cavernous. Hot and angry and full of fire.

Your family. Lying scattered across your lawn. Motionless and still and limbs bent wrong.

Tell them!

Your friends hanging in the air just like Chrissy, Fred, Patrick.

Eyes empty, slack-jawed and lifeless, bones snapped like twigs.

Tell them!

Eddie and Robin and Nancy and Steve and–

“NO!” you screamed, the sound pulled painfully from your lungs as you felt your legs give way and collapsed into yourself.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Steve scrambled to grab hold of your shoulder and barely caught you before your bare knees hit the pavement.

You heard birds chirping. Sunlight filtering through the backs of your eyelids as you kept them squeezed shut, but the air was clean. Smelled fresh and as you slowly opened your eyes you realized you weren’t choking on ash anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve was still holding onto you, your hands pressed into his thighs as you braced yourself, the feeling of nausea overwhelming.

“I saw him,” you whispered, only Steve could hear you and you started to cry.

“Him?” Steve asked unnecessarily, glancing up at Eddie. Hoping, no praying, if he asked maybe you’d give a different answer. One that wouldn’t involve death and the end of the world and everything hinging on this stupid fucking plan, but he knew.

Everyone knew.

Eyes glued on their feet. Arms folded over their chests and uneasy with the weight that had settled over the group.

“Vecna.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months ago

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envious for nothing

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event prompt 'envy'

rated t | 666 words | cw: mention of recreational drug use | tags: season 2 era, eddie has a crush on steve, he doesn't do anything about it in this but it's there, introspective eddie

🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

Eddie is the freak, has always been the freak, will always be the freak. Even when his band makes it big, he'll be marked as the weird one, the devil worshipper, the satanist.

He doesn't mind it most of the time. Sometimes he even embraces it, usually in public, mostly to throw off the bullies. But there's times when he looks at the jocks and the popular kids and he wonders what would happen if he just conformed. His life would be easier right?

Look at Steve Harrington, for example. Rich, popular guy, athletic, charming, good with the ladies. Probably gets a C or better average in classes. He'll probably go to an Ivy League school and work for his dad's company, marry Nancy Wheeler and pop out two kids, live in Hawkins forever, and then retire so he can spend time with his grandchildren. The perfect life.

Eddie wishes that could be enough for him. He wishes he could wake up in the morning and decide that being a good student and wearing nice clothes and shooting balls into laundry baskets was good enough. It would definitely make things easier on him, easier on Wayne.

He can shut off his nonconformist mentality and do what society says is good for him. He knows he can.

But he won't.

Because as much as he sees Steve and his buddies thriving, he also sees them struggling. They sneak out to meet him when their parents are in bed or out of town to buy whatever product will help them numb the feeling of not being good enough while giving the best they can. They drink until they don't remember how they failed that test that was their ticket to a passing grade in science class. They put others down because it's the only way they feel big.

Steve in particular is damn good at hiding how miserable he is to everyone. Everyone except Eddie.

He sees when Steve sits in his car alone after practice, dropping the fake smile and the alluring charm. He sees him wipe his hand over his face, through his hair, biting his lip until it's damn near bleeding.

At the Harington house parties, Steve sneaks off alone for a while, and Eddie's found him alone by the pool, sitting on the floor against his bed, even in the bathtub in a hidden bathroom upstairs.

He used to envy Harrington's house, how spacious it was, how he never had to wonder if the lights would turn on or the stove would work. But when he realized that Harrington was the only one throwing parties because his parents were never home, he saw that the house was depressing, empty, lonely. Steve was basically alone at 17 years old, probably long before that.

Sometimes he still thinks he could talk to Steve one of those times he catches him alone, probably even have a decent conversation. He might be funny, and Eddie's sure he'd fall victim to his charm. He's never been mean to Eddie or his friends directly.

Maybe they could even be friends once the whole high school thing is said and done and they don't have to keep pretending any of this matters.

He looks over at Steve now as he contemplates what a friendship with him might look like.

Maybe they'd smoke together, stare up at the stars and get introspective about their existence. Maybe Steve would convince him to try playing a sport and Eddie would give in because when Steve smiles in a certain way, it makes him lightheaded.

Maybe he doesn't have to be jealous of the life Steve lives if he's a part of it.

Jeff nudges his arm and he focuses back in on the conversation around him.

"You good, man?" He asks.

Eddie nods, looks down at his lunchbox.

"Frankie suggested we add some Maiden to the setlist next week."

"Sure, yeah, sounds good."

Maybe Steve would want to come hear him play next week.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #corroded coffin fest #jeff stranger things

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trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

#honey i’m home #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #stranger things x y/n #eddie x you angst #Eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you fluff

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1americanconservative · 25 days ago

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@Real_RobN

The Drunk Driver Paul Pelosi, the husband of Insider Trading Inc. Nancy Pelosi, has received $1,709,100 of PPP loans from the federal government, which won’t have to be repaid ever.

Net worth:

1987 $165,000

2024 $265 million

In office 34 fucken years.

Speaker’s salary $193,400

A: In July 2021, the Drunk Driver purchased 20,000 shares of Nvidia, a multinational semiconductor company, worth between $1 million and $5 million. This trade came ahead of a vote in the Senate that set aside $52 billion to boost domestic semiconductor manufacturing and give tax credits for production.

B: In May of 2021, the Sleazebag’s husband placed a bet of up to $6 million on Apple, Amazon and Google-parent company Alphabet ahead of a powerful House committee moving forward with bills aimed at reining in the powers of Big Tech.

C: In March 2021, the Drunk Driver purchased $1.95 million worth of Microsoft call options less than two weeks before the tech giant secured a $22 billion contract to supply U.S. Army combat troops with augmented reality headsets.

D: In January 2021, the Drunk Driver purchased up to $1 million of Tesla calls before the Biden Criminal Administration delivered its plans to provide incentives to promote the shift away from fossil fueled automobiles and toward fossil fueled electric vehicles.

E: The Treacherous Witch’s biggest financial gains came from when her Drunk Driver sold 30,000 shares of Google from Dec 20 to Dec 2023 —just before the Department of Justice launched an antitrust probe of the tech giant.

In 2020, Sleazebag Nancy Pelosi and her Drunk Driver Paul Pelosi outperformed the S&P 500 by a whopping 14.3 percent.

Now, why did Martha Stewart go to prison for insider trading and the Treacherous Witch has not?!

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luvrxbunny · 1 year ago

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sundress

Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Prompt: Sundress

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, piv, unprotected sex, some praise (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.9k

A/N: couldn’t figure out how to end this *crying in the distance*

Steve opens the front door with a sigh, his hand running through his hair as he walks in. His day was more stressful than it needed to be. There was an early summer rush and Robin had left him high and dry to hang out with Nancy so he didn’t even have time to find someone to cover her shift. The only thing that got him through the day was the thought that you were at his home.

His parents are away for a month and after one week of you going back and forth between your house and his, he offered you to move in with him. You’ve been with him since, the little light at the end of his tunnel. He likes having you around, having you here when he gets home, it makes him feel like an old-timey married couple. You’re usually working at his desk, in his shirt and sometimes his jacket. Today’s sight is awakening something inside him though.

You’re in a sundress, and an apron, cooking at the stove. He can smell something sweet in the air, like you’ve been baking and humming a song in the kitchen. It’s a scene out of a movie from the '60s; you’re dancing around the kitchen with that pretty, soft smile on your face. You light up when you see him. “Steve!” You put down the bowl you were mixing and wipe your hands on your apron before rushing over to him. “I wanted to have a picnic or something? We can stay inside if you want- I’m not sure what the weather’s like but-”

He wraps his arms around you and drops some of his weight on you, earning a giggle at his name. He stays silent, breathing you in and imagining how peaceful life would be with you. He’d come home to this, almost every day, you in your frilly little apron, baking for him and greeting him with that beaming smile of yours. If he’s lucky you’ll let him get you pregnant, and you’d have a little one on your hip while stirring whatever you’re cooking for dinner. Maybe some he’d come home early to you dusting around the house, sweeping, or mopping. His housewife. Steve wants you to be his housewife. “Steve?”

You question softly, he’s silently inhaling your scent, his hands slowly tightening around you. He groans low against the top of your head and sighs again. “Missed you.” You squeeze him tighter and snuggle your head into his chest. “I missed you too, baby.” You slowly lift your head and he moves his to let you. You stare into his eyes for a bit before leaning up to kiss him, all the tension leaving both of your bodies. He slides his hands to your shoulder and pulls you closer, towering over you as you try and pull away with a giggle.

“My stuff’s gonna burn, Stevie!” You slip out of his arms and head back into the kitchen, muttering about how your muffins are going to be crunchier than you wanted. He feels like he’s in a dream as he watches you turn off the oven, inspecting your muffins before pulling them out. He takes his shoes off as you finally finish your meals and desserts. You’re setting everything up on a blanket you put down in the middle of his living room. He’s moving sluggishly as he takes off his vest.

You notice his heaviness, how down he seems and it wipes the smile off your face. “Do you want to? We don’t have to- I know you’re probably- you might be tired. We can-” He smiles to himself at your rambling before walking over to you and placing a grounding kiss on your forehead. He shakes his head and puts on a smile for you. “I’m alright, baby.”

He’s silent for most of the night, listening to the drama of your life and your new obsessions, he’s attentive while listening but doesn’t speak up often. You’re now washing the dishes as he packs up the rest of the picnic. He’s bringing you abandoned dishware, dropping the occasional spoon or cup into the sink with an apologetic face you meet with a smile. You’re almost finished when you hear his footsteps come up behind you, you’re waiting for him to put another dish in the sink but instead, he just stops behind you. You feel like you can see the broad shadow he’s casting over the sink area as he stands. You try to stay calm, ignoring the way you buzz under his gaze until you finish the dishes.

You take your gloves off and turn to him with a smile. He already has a desperate look in his eye, one you had expected to see when he walked in earlier, it was the whole reason you whipped out your apron. You’d seen the way he’s been looking at you since you’ve been living with him so you wanted to test something out. But poor Steve came home too tired to give you any reaction. Now that he’s fed and energized though, the sundress that’s been hiding beneath your apron looks really good. He’s staring right down your cleavage, not even trying to hide his gaze and you don’t hide the obvious step forward you take to press his bulge against your lower stomach. His eyes flutter shut and he gives you a shaky exhale, his cool breath fanning over your face.

“But my muffins…” You trail off, a soft pout resting on your face. He chuckles at you, a smile splitting his soft lips as he brings his hands to your cheeks and leans down. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He kisses you with everything he has and his hands immediately leave your face to reach your thighs, tapping them twice for you to jump. He lifts you, holding you with your legs wrapped around his waist tightly. He walks over to the island in his kitchen and sits you there with a groan as you bite into his lip softly. “I need you.”

He says it differently than he normally does, less frantic and urgent, more pleading, more needy. You caress his face gently and your heart warms at the way his eyes flutter shut. “I know, Stevie.” He whimpers and leans into you, pressing you against the cold granite of the counter and draping you in his warmth. His hand is bunching in your dress, pulling them up to your hips, and moans, happily surprised to find you wearing nothing underneath. His eyes shoot open and lock with yours, painfully aroused by the shy smirk on your face.

You giggle at him and push your hips up, prompting him to keep moving, he shakes his head at you, feigning disappointment as he turns his attention back to your leaking pussy. His rough jean material digs into your sensitive thighs and lips as he presses himself against you. Your hands fly to his belt desperately, pulling at any leather you can get your hands on and hoping you pull the right thing at some point. Steve lets you struggle, he watches your hands fumble on his belt, frantic for his cock. He tries not to let his smirk get on his face but your frustrated whine at his uncooperative belt forces the smile onto his face. He brings his hands down to gently pull yours away from his belt.

You pout below him, upset that his belt wasn't working with you. He takes it off himself and wiggles his jeans down with his briefs, leaving just enough room for his cock and throbbing balls. He wraps his hand around his cock with a sigh, bringing your attention away from your little tantrum and back to him. He watches you look him over and your gaze locks on his red, throbbing cock. He waits for you to look back up at him but you don’t your eyes stay on his dick as he slowly pumps it. He’s trying to stay calm but your gaze is turning him on so much he’s started to leak onto you, a small string of precum dripping down from his tip and rolling down your mound, getting lost between your lips.

You shiver and finally look up at him with begging eyes. He holds your contact, bringing one hand up to your face to keep it turned toward him as his other hand guides his dick into you. His breathing stutters at your overwhelming warmth, at the way he’s instantly coated in your slick. He takes a deep breath and leans down to you, pressing his chest against yours before pushing the rest of his cock into you. You scream out his name and your hands bury in his hair, his favorite feeling. “Just like that, Stevie. Right there, my love.”

His eyes roll back at your praise and his hands come to your hips, pulling you onto him while he thrusts into you with all the energy he has left. His head is resting on your chest, his ear on your heart, and listening to the way it’s pounding. His eyes are clenched shut, trying to focus on your pleasure instead of the way you’re sucking him in. He’s already pulsing inside you and you’re fluttering around him. Your hips keep twitching in his grip, trying to fuck yourself on his dick faster than he wanted to fuck you. Even though his hands are stopping your hips from moving, your pussy still chokes him every time you try, uncontrollably tightening on him and forcing groan after groan from his lips.

He grinds his hips into you slowly, nudging his tip into your cervix and his patch of curls into your clit; the perfect combination, Steve knows it too. He already has a smirk on his face when your moans kick up, pitching into something ethereal. His hips snap into you more desperately as he feels his balls tense. He lifts his head off of your chest and your hands are pulling his face to yours instantly. You moan into his lips, your lips wet and bitten against his, he can’t help the whines that fall into you. His hands leave your hips to hold your face to his as his hips take on a mind of their own, fucking into you with a pace that’ll have both of you exploding in a matter of minutes.

Your face is stuck in a shocked, silent moan as you stare at him, little whimpers resembling his name are the only noises he’s able to get out of you until your eyes roll back and you go limp against him. Ragged moans shoot out of you as you suffocate him, your hands almost ripping his hair from his head as he thrusts into you, chasing his orgasm as he watches your eyes cross. His cock throbs again, a warning before it explodes inside you.

You can feel his warmth burst and spread throughout you and he grunts your name against your lips. His eyes shut tight, every muscle pulled tense as he shakes against you. The only sounds coming from him are gruff curses and your name. His hands are shaking as he cradles your face, keeping it close to his as his hips jerk into you, thrusting with the aftershocks of his orgasm before collapsing against you. You stroke his hair with a soft sigh as you try to even your breathing. He’s just resting against you, so loose you feel like he could slide onto the floor.

All the stress from his day is gone. He thinks he could do this, deal with the stress of his job, whatever stress his outside life throws at him. He'll be okay as long as he's coming home to you.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things smut #kinktober #luvrxkinktober #kinktober smut

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secretsleuthexchange · 3 months ago

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Secret Sleuth 2024: Sign up now! 🕵️‍♀️❄️

The Secret Sleuth Gift Exchange is an online, fanworks-only Secret Santa-style event for the CW Nancy Drew fandom!

What type of gifts can I make?

You will only need to make one gift, which should be a type of fanwork. Whatever type of gift you end up creating, please ensure it meets these parameters:

Fanfiction: 1500 word minimum, 10,000 words maximum. Completed works only.

Graphics/gifsets: 2 image minimum

Fanart: 1 panel minimum

Playlist: 15 song minimum, 1 cover image, and a link to the playlist on Spotify or Apple Music

Fanvids/edits: A minimum of at least 1m30s of video content, across either 1 or 2 videos

What happens if I sign up?

To sign up, you will need to fill out this form confirming a) what gift types you can create, b) what gift types you would like to receive, and c) basic information about yourself, such as your social media handles and your likes/dislikes.

After sign-ups close, our mod team will create a match and send you all relevant information to help you create your gift. And don't worry: the mod team will only ever match you with someone who wants a gift type that you are capable of creating, so you don't need to worry about making something outside of your comfort zone.

You will then have ~7 weeks to create your gift, which should be posted on an assigned day over 1st-12th January 2025. If your giftee is on tumblr, we encourage you to send them anonymous messages to build excitement and ask them questions to help inspire you!

**Important: Please don't reveal who you are to your giftee until after your gift has been posted. It's called SECRET Sleuth for a reason!**

What's the timeline?

Sign-ups open: October 21st

Sign-ups close: November 4th

You'll receive your match by: November 11th

Check-in #1: December 2nd

Check-in #2: December 16th (for scheduling your posting slot!)

Gifts should be ready by: December 31st

Gifts will be posted over: January 1st-12th 2025

What's different from last year?

This year, we're extending the gift creation window and gifts will be posted later. Instead of posting over the holidays, gifts will be posted starting in January. We hope this will take the pressure off those people who have finals for school, who have to work over the holidays, or who are busy with travel and seeing family, etc. We've also tightened up the gift requirements to ensure everyone gets a gift of similar quality.

How do I sign up?

It's easy! Fill out the sign-up form here. The deadline to sign up is Monday November 4th 2024.

-- The Secret Sleuth Mods xoxo

Join the 'have a nace day' Discord server here / Follow us on Twitter/X here

#secretsleuthgiftexchange #nancy drew cw #nancy drew #nace #secret sleuth #secret santa #fanworks gift exchange #nancydrewedit #nancydrewcentral #mod post

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cranberrymoons · 1 year ago

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i can take you higher

prompt: charm ✨ (@steddiemicrofic) word count: 548 rating: t tags: smoking, post S2, mild h/c, touch-starved steve title from seminal steve harrington identification song: "i'm on fire" by bruce springsteen

Behind Steve’s house is the woods, and behind that is a river, and on the other side of that there’s a quarry.

When he was sixteen years old, they pulled a body out of the lake that sits at the bottom of it. It’s not really a lake, and the body wasn’t really a body after all, but he thinks sometimes that everything in his life hinged on that moment. A boy he didn’t know, and a body that wasn’t a body, and the river behind his house emptying into a lake that wasn’t a lake.

“I just wish there was a way to go back to before,” he’s saying, laying on the shore of the lake that isn’t a lake, passing a joint back and forth with the town drug dealer because– why not. “Like some sort of spell, or– or charm that could zap me back to when everything was normal.”

Eddie Munson. What Eddie Munson says, squinting at him through the dark as he exhales a hazy cloud of smoke, is:

“You’re a weird dude, Harrington. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Steve sighs, sitting up on his elbows to accept the joint. “Yeah. A few times.”

“And you’re high as hell right now, and you’re not making any sense.”

Again, “Yeah.” He inhales, holds it in for a beat, blows smoke up toward the stars. “Sorry.”

He wonders if he’ll ever stop apologizing, and then he wonders why he seems to do it so often. To Nancy, to Dustin, to Jonathan, and now, of all people, to–

Eddie snorts. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m the one who got you high, remember?”

Steve feels something run through him, but his brain is too foggy to figure it out. He drops back to lay down again, and when he does, his head lands on Eddie’s stomach. Eddie makes a quiet sound, breath sucking in sharp, but then his hand settles on Steve’s head, threading through his hair, and it’s been… days? weeks? since anyone has touched him without their hand curled into a fist.

The air is cool, and Eddie’s hands are warm, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut; if he were less high than he is, he’d probably be embarrassed by the fact that his throat goes a little tight.

“Anyway, I don’t think you need some sort of magic time travel spell,” Eddie says after a long moment, quiet voice cresting through the buzz in Steve’s brain. “Or– if you do, then so do I. But life doesn’t really work that way.”

Steve turns his head to stare up at him, and Eddie’s hand shifts with him, moving around to cradle the back of his skull. He smells good, too, like laundry and cigarettes and an underlying third thing that starts up an itch in the back of Steve’s skull and makes him want to reach out and taste, to see if his tongue can follow it over his skin and into his mouth.

“What do I need, then?” he asks, because the only other thing in his brain is hands and fingers and the warmth of another person’s body under his cheek.

Eddie blinks at him, frowning slightly. “Time?” he suggests. “Maybe you just need time, and someone who will get you high.”

[also on ao3]

#farah i consulted your map to make sure the quarry placement made sense; love u #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicroficseptember #my fic #steddie fic #steddiemicrofic

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graysonnightwing · 1 year ago

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Please be honest in all of your answers.

1. Will you ever be free from your guilt? Circle your answer. a) Yes b) No c) I have traveled to other dimensions trying to rid myself of this weight upon my chest. Nothing has ever worked.

2. How else could this have ended? a) I only wanted to spend a night with a boy. b) I never expected to be left behind. c) No one does.

3. Barbara is 15 years, 10 months, and 4 days old. You are 15 years, 7 months, and 3 days old. If she dies on a Tuesday, and you stop looking for her on a Saturday, how old will you be when you let her go? Please answer clearly, in full sentences.

(Not a correct answer: There will never come a time when I don't pick up the phone hoping to hear her voice on the other end.)

4. Define two (2): BFFs | The feeling of a revolver heavy in your hand and the ringing in your ears from firing it | Demogorgon | The way the world collapsed when Hopper and Joyce did not bring her back

5. True or False: i. You heard something that night. ___ ii. The monster's claws and teeth were the last thing she ever felt, while you were upstairs being held with gentle hands. ___ iii. You wish it had been you. ___ iv. You lie to her grieving parents every week. ___ v. They believe you. ___ i. You hunt the one that killed her, but you'll never bring her back from the dead. ___ vii. You told her to go home. ___

-nancy this isn't you (format inspired by x)

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #stranger things fanfiction #< sort of #stranger things poetry #< cant imagine thats a tag anyone uses but whatever #is this poetry format still cool or was that just in 2013?#my writing

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stevesbipanic · 2 years ago

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Steve had been telling people that it was okay his whole life.

When he fell off his bike the first time after his training wheels came off he looked up at Tommy with a toothy grin and told him it's okay and got right back on the bike.

When a young curly haired boy fell off the monkey bars at school and scrapped his knee, Steve gave him a comforting smile, bandaging him while softly reassuring that it's okay.

When his parents left him alone the first time, promising they'd be back in a week he told his mother it's okay and that he'd keep the place tidy.

When they came back a month later and said sorry it took so long, he said it's ok even if he had to skip meals when he ran low on food.

When he came to school with a bruise, he'd gotten a C on his English essay, he brushed off his teachers concerns with a half baked excuse, a smile and an it's okay.

When he came home, battered and bruised from monsters he now knew existed, he repeated to himself it's okay until exhaustion sent him to sleep.

When Nancy looked at him with those sad eyes, closer to Jonathon's side than his, he put his heart aside and told her it's okay, she deserved to be happy.

When he could barely see through his busted eyes, tied to a girl he wished wasn't there he kept repeating to her it's okay, he promised himself he'd get her out.

When his kid sobbed in his arms over a boy that should've been here too all he could say it's okay because he hoped it would be.

When his vision started to blur and an undead beauty held the knife in his chest with a look of agony on his face, Steve made sure his last words meant something.

"It's okay."

#this one was rough #sorry babes #steddie #but more steve #steve harrington #character analysis #angst #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #stranger things season 4 #ficlet

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ataliagold · 7 months ago

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Keep Me Afloat

For @astrangersummer week 8 prompt 'ocean waves.' Title from Passenger by Noah Kahan.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: G

W/C: 1723

Tags: post-Vecna, established Steddie, Steve is self-conscious about his scars, Eddie loves every part of him, minor angst, emotional hurt/comfort.

Summary: Standing in ankle-deep water watching his friends enjoy a summer beach day, Steve looks down at himself and hates what he sees.

___

“You ok?” Robin murmured to him, hand on the small of Steve’s back, on the one small spot of skin unmarred by the now mostly-healed grazes on his back.

“Mmm hmm,” Steve said through tight lips, arms curled over his stomach.

Robin looked at him, eyes falling to where his hands were folded against his sides, against the extensive scarring there. “The kids don’t care, you know,” she said quietly.

Steve scoffed, something bitter and sad. “Yeah. I do, though.”

Ahead of them, the kids were shrieking in chest-deep water, Mike yelling as Lucas dunked him under a wave, Dustin pointing and laughing until he received the same treatment, resurfacing with an angry splutter and splashing water at Lucas.

Max and El were on the shore, Max’s chair parked up on a flat bit of sand, El content to sit beside her and watch their friends’ antics.

Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle were wandering to the other end of the beach, scouting out the possibility of an ice-cream stand down there.

None of them were even looking at Steve, at the state of the ugly scars across his skin, but it didn’t matter.

Steve was aware enough of them for everyone.

Robin dragged her foot through ankle-deep water. “It’s warm,” she commented, tone light. “Do you want to go in?”

He did.

He’d love to swim out past the kids, let his feet lift off the sand, allow the water to carry him out deep until he could just float under the warm sun and not think about anything for a while.

But he didn’t think he could.

Even now, with the water gently pulling at his toes, sucking at the sand below his feet, his heart rate was picking up.

Try as he might, he couldn’t help but think back to Lover’s Lake, to freezing water rushing into his lungs, to the slimy grip on his ankle that had pulled him down to hell.

Swallowing thickly, he shook his head.

Robin nodded, small and sad. “Eddie’ll be here soon,” she said, trying to cheer him up.

Steve managed a small smile at that. Of course Eddie had overslept for their beach day, leading to a rehash of their plans when Dustin had rung Steve complaining that Eddie hadn’t picked him up as planned.

He was arriving now, though – Steve heard the whine of his van coming to a slammed halt in the parking lot even from where he was standing in the shallows.

Eddie tumbled out, towel in hand, and grinned when he caught sight of Steve, raising his hand in greeting.

Steve smiled softly, a wave of fondness rushing over him.

Robin shook her head, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling too. “Here’s your knight in shining armour.”

Eddie tore his shirt off on his way to the water, balling it up and tossing it at Max who responded by grabbing the towel in her lap and snapping it against his ass. Shrieking, Eddie swore, clutching his butt with one hand as he ran the rest of the way over the hot sand.

Eddie wore his scars unashamedly.

They were in full view for everyone to see – the skin on his sides and torso left puckered and twisted, tattoos warped and some unrecognizable where flesh had been stripped. They were worse than Steve’s – the bats had bitten deeper, had had far longer to chow down on him than they had Steve.

But Eddie bared himself easily, confidently, and Steve burned with jealousy.

He’d asked Eddie, once, on a particular night curled up together on the couch when Steve had been feeling small. How he did it, how he didn’t care if people stared, how he wasn’t so…self-conscious.

Eddie had looked down at him through heavy lashes, had brushed his fingertips over Steve’s t shirt above the scarring on his back. “People have always stared at me, Stevie,” he murmured eventually. “Because of my clothes, my hair, because I play D&D, because I’m too loud or too…weird, or because I’m the Devil, I’m a murderer, whatever it is people think…I’ve been stared at and looked down on my whole life, I learnt to stop giving a shit what other people thought a long time ago.”

Steve had tried, he really had. Tried to be more like Eddie, tried to not worry about what other people thought of his appearance. But truthfully…his appearance had always been important to him. He was supposed to be strong, fit, athletic…the King of Hawkins High, once.

Not this pale, gaunt, chewed up and spat-out version of himself.

Eddie reached him with a loud splash, showering cool droplets across Steve’s thighs and stomach. He shivered lightly.

“Sorry,” Eddie panted, “got here as quick as I could. That little shrimp complain much?” he gestured ahead to Dustin.

“Only the whole way here,” Robin replied. “You’re lucky Nance had room in her car for him too.”

Eddie turned his gaze to Steve, smile quickly fading, replaced by a frown. “Stevie, you ok?” he asked gently, squeezing his upper arm.

“I’m gonna go check on the girls,” Robin said, making a strategic exit back towards Max and El, leaving Eddie and Steve alone in the water lapping at their feet.

“Hey, what is it?” Eddie breathed, stepping closer, trying to catch Steve’s eye.

But Steve kept his gaze fixed on the tiny waves, watching them break and recede again. “I’m fine. Just…you know.” He gestured down at himself, then quickly folded his arms back across his stomach.

“Stevie…” Eddie murmured, hands coming to rest on Steve’s arms, not pulling them away but just holding. “You’re with friends here, ok? No one minds, no one’s looking. Well, except me, because you’re my boyfriend and you’re hot as hell and I never want to not be looking at you, but…”

One side of Steve’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Here.” Eddie coaxed one of Steve’s hands into his own, tugged him gently towards deeper water. “Come with me, sweetheart.”

Steve followed him, because he’d follow Eddie anywhere.

He sucked in a breath as the water climbed higher, over the top of his waistband, up to his chest.

“Eds,” he said eventually, breath coming faster as the water approached his shoulders. “S’deep enough.”

Eddie stopped, turning to face him, hair falling wetly around his neck. Despite Steve’s half-hearted protest because what if someone saw, Eddie pulled Steve to him, hands resting under the water on his hips, cold thumbs rubbing circles across the scars there. Although he was nervous at being in the deeper water, Steve was a little relieved to be out here, where the water covered his scars completely.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie whispered to him.

“Eds…” Steve started, looking away.

“No.” Eddie brought one hand to his chin, keeping Steve’s gaze on him. “You are. I know you don’t like your scars, shit, I don’t like my own either. But they’re a part of us now, ok? And you know what?”

Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, but Eddie waited, eyes wide and earnest until Steve muttered,

“What?”

“They mean we survived. We took everything that fucking place could throw at us, and we made it out, and those kids -” Eddie pointed across the water to the boys playing in the waves. “ – they’re alive because of you.”

“And you,” Steve murmured.

“Sure. And me. And I know it’s gonna take some time, Stevie, but please don’t think you need to hide around us. Your scars are part of you, and everyone here loves you.”

Steve took a shaky breath, hand grasping for Eddie’s under the water, holding it tight. “They’re so…they’re so ugly, Eds,” he whispered, looking down at himself.

“Steve,” Eddie said, with a ghost of a smile, “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Scars and all, sweetheart, so please don’t say that.”

Steve floundered a little for something to say, feeling vulnerable under Eddie’s steady gaze.

“Do you think my scars are ugly?” Eddie tried.

Steve shook his head quickly. “No.” Because they weren’t, not to Steve. Eddie was badass, he’d gone through hell and been on death’s door for way too long and gone through a grueling recovery and Steve had kissed every one of his scars, he’d never dream of calling them ugly. They were Eddie.

“What do you see when you look at me?”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

Eddie leaned in closer, forehead almost brushing against Steve’s. “When you see my scars, what do you think?”

“I think…I think they’re just…part of you, I love you, they don’t…they don’t matter to me,” Steve stammered, a wave of emotion rising up in his throat because he knew what Eddie was doing. “I don’t care how they look, and I love that you can be so confident about them, but I…I can’t do that. With my own. Not yet, anyway.”

Eddie’s brows knitted together. “Try, for me? Just for today. Try and see yourself how you see me.”

Steve nodded slowly. “I…I’ll try.”

Eddie’s smile was reward enough.

Later, Steve lay on the beach bracketed by Eddie and Robin, stretched out under the sun while the kids exhausted themselves in the waves. He’d still tense up whenever someone else walked past him on the sand, still automatically go to throw an arm across his stomach, but that was ok. It was a start, and just the fact that he was lying there with his shirt still off was progress.

Eddie squeezed his hand whenever he could, fed him with small smiles and soft glances, while Robin kept up a steady stream of chatter that helped distract him.

By the time an ice cream run had been completed, by the time Lucas had talked some other beach-goers into borrowing their volleyball net, Steve was feeling…ok. Not his old self, not by a long shot, but it was getting gradually easier to forget about his scars for a short time and just enjoy himself.

And when he leapt into the air to slap the ball back over the net to Lucas, when he turned to see Eddie’s hot and heavy gaze locked on him, Steve even managed a small smirk in his direction.

He’d get there, he thought. Day by day. And Eddie would be there with him every step of the way.

___

#a stranger summer #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

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nathanielzalexandria · 2 years ago

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Fannon Steve Harrington is such a "you never asked so I never explicitly said (because I thought it was a known fact/obvious and I wasn't hiding it and I did mention it)" girlie and I appreciate it...

So here's some rambly angst.

The fall of 1984 was an absolute fucking nightmare for Steve. He had no friends, no girlfriend and no parents and the upside-down returned. To be fair, by simply choosing to be and stay with Nancy after last year was the main reason why most of his friendships by virtue of Steve pulling away. Nancy cheating on him and then leaving him for Byers crushed his soul and self-esteem but he should have seen it coming when he returned to school after missing a week to attend his parents funeral and she didn't acknowledge any of that, only focusing on the guilt eating at her from hiding Barbs death from her parents. It had crossed his mind to bring it up to Nancy what was going on in his life but... when they died in that accident it was all over the news and he had told her he was going to Italy to bury his parents.

His father Aidan Harrington, an Irish Hawkins born, was a famous international operatic tenor. It was during the production of La Traviata that his father met his mother Emilia and their romance and careers grew from there. They eventually got married and had their baby Stefano Harrington. So for the first few years of life he travelled with them to different productions until they eventually settled down into semi retirement until he turned 14.

It was Steve that pushed his parents to get back into opera once he entered high school. He was old enough to take care of himself and he had a phone so he could call every night. So when they died in a car accident on their way from the Opera house in Italy, Steve in that moment couldn't help but blame himself for their death. The crash was plastered over screens and the papers as the music community mourned heir loss and the funeral in Italy doubly so -now with his face attached. And for that week, he didn't cry

He had expected when he returned some acknowledgement of the event but, other than one band geek with the curly hair, that did not happen. So he did what he did best, ignore it and go to a party with Nancy on Halloween. Then everything with the upside down unfolded and there was no time.

By the time he returned from the hospital to his empty home, he broke down. He was now completely alone with no support system. Its probably why he reached out to Owens for a therapist. If it wasn't for Dr Kelly... Steve wasn't sure if he might have stayed around long enough to meet Robin and he certainly would not be around to save Eddie...

Which is how he ended up here.

In the hospital.

In a hospital bed and the rest of the party stuffed into the room.

El and her group had arrived at the hospital half an hour before and were exchanging stories from the past few days. Apparently, El was kidnapped, had regained her powers and was able to stop Vecna with the help of the guy with the amazing silky hair. Steve just watched them from the bed, trying not to move too much

"Xiomaro Argyle. But I prefer Argyle, dude" the man with the long silky hair introduced himself to Steve. somewhere in the background, Steve hears someone say, "his name is Xiomaro?"

"Stefano Harrington, but everyone calls me Steve," he replied. One of the kids echoed Stefano.

He hadn't expected Argyle's response. "Wait -like that opera couple my yaya always listens too? What were they called?"He paused as he racked his brain before snapping. "Adrian and Emilia, right? My grandma was crushed when they died in that car crash. She light's a candle for them every Dios de los Muertos. Sorry about that bro."

And at that, Steve's world froze, because this was the first person other than his parents to say those words to him. He quickly wiped the tear from his eye before the other's could see. He hadn't realised that the room had quieted.

"YOU'RE PARENTS ARE DEAD?" Dustin yelled.

Steve barely had the chance to speak when Nancy cut in, angry, for some reason.

"When did this happen and why didn't you say anything? Jesus H Christ, you're always hiding from your feelings like some macho idiot and you neve confront anything!"

Nancy had continued to berate him but Steve zoned out. Chest feeling tight with the boiling anger growing behind his sternum.

"I. did." He interrupted simply.

"No you didn't."

"I did because

You were still my fucking girlfriend at that time and it would be shitty of me not to tell you

I had to go to Italy to bury them at my mother's family cemetery according to their will. It would be wrong if I didn't tell my girlfriend I was going to be missing a week of school and why. Which I did the night I learnt about their death and I came by your house."

Nancy faltered a bit at that, losing some of her righteous fury, but she pressed on. "I would remember something like that, Steven"

"No you wouldn't. The same way you can't seem to remember that my name is Stephano and not Steven even though I told you that and it was all over my stuff home."

Her mouth clicked shut at that and an embarrassed blush covered her face. On a normal day, he would have stopped there and maybe vent to his therapist but he was still raw from the past few days and Nancy toying with his emotions only to forget about him once Johnathan came back.

"Okay, let's say I didn't tell you. My parents' death was everywhere including their funeral and you didn't see it although you always read the papers. I was not in the country for a week, which meant I was not at home for a week, and thus not in school for a week and you didn't notice that I your then-boyfriend just disappeared? You didn't think to question where I was, if you did notice, when I got back?"

There was no answer. He couldn't stop the bitter laugh from bubbling up

"Fuck. You really weren't paying attention to me? I just thought you were feeling guilty about barb and trying to fix things for her parents which is why you didn't say anything. Not just that I registered so low on your list of importance that my words just flowed into one ear and out the other."

He was getting worked up and his therapist would be disappointed that he didn't stop there. "And what about the rest of you? You saw my parents and just what? Assumed they abandoned me or something?"

The silence was now suffocating, and Steve could not stand their ashamed looks at each other.

"And none of you asked me any questions about it?

"You know what? Fuck you, Nancy! You're standing there on your pedestal, calling me a "macho idiot" that I'm hiding from my feelings as if I would have had anyone to talk to seeing that you and Johnathan avoided me once you started dating. Newsflash! That's why I have a fucking government therapist I see every Wednesday since 84!"

He let the last statement hang heavy in the air like the sword of Damocles over the group before deflating and flopping back In his hospital bed, emotionally spent. Eyes glued to the ceiling.

"Everyone, just... just leave."

He waited until he thought he heard everyone leave and looked back down, startled when he saw that Eddie was still in the room.

"Don't be too hard on the shitheads for too long. For all their collective intelligence they are still a pack of idiots too sure of themselves to not consider that surface-level Steve is all that exist."

Steve said nothing to that, already feeling shitty for blowing up on the kids, and a little less shitty about blowing up on Nancy.

"Anyway, you also seem to forget that I wished you condolences that week so maybe yoy should not be too hard on them."

At that, Steve focused on Eddie, wracking his brain and being confused with its results.

"You were a band kid?" Steve asked incredulously

Eddie lazily shrugged, "It was a phase. Now, seeing that it seems that you have it on your chest heavy enough that just hearing their names almost made you cry; tell me about your parents, Stevie."

In Steve's chest, he felt something... Flutter.

--------------------------------------------------

This one got away from me, but this is all I have. This is slightly inspired by a post I saw from piratefishmama about Steve having good parents and everyone just assumed they were bad people even though they never asked him any questions (it's deleted; don't look for it). And don't ask me why they are opera singers my brain just latched onto that being their profession and why their death was everywhere.

#this is the moment Steve falls in love with Eddie #outside the room Johnathan is trying to get back into argyle's good graces because argyly isn't happy Johnathan was such a bad friend #Nancy is reassessing her relationship with Steve and is catatonic #Robin and the party are trying to figure out what to do to make it up to steve #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #just thoughts

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keikakudom · 4 months ago

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I converted one of my old OCs into a FOP/fairy godparent OC for fun. heh heh heh

some basic info under the cut:

Easton(blue godparent) has been in retirement for awhile, but eventually returns to being a godparent after "the fairy godparent shortage" in the original series. He's sort of a specialist, as in he usually gets assigned to miserable but deeply religious/indoctrinated children. His original profile is here, but generally his impression is pretty gloomy and wistful, but he's very thoughtful and enjoys the small, happy feats in life. Most importantly, he doesn't shy away from the sadness in the world either.

As for his godkid, Viola lives on the outskirts of Dimmadelphia in a religious congregation(read: cult) that encourages a very strong image of toxic positivity. She's also one of those choir-pageant church "angel"-like girls and helps a lot with designing costumes and sets for church plays. She has a dream of becoming a fashion designer. Unfortunately, the cult is super strict and conformist and tries to stifle her individuality, which is the source of most of her misery. Think of her personality as Fancy Nancy-meets-Moral Orel(definitely not as dark as the latter, but damn what a combination).

I imagine most of her wishes would be silly and chaotic, since they always try to embrace her creativity/artistic side. I think she'd wish stuff like making the next sermon is a pop concert, or for everyone to dress more lively = the entire denomination becomes paris fashion week, etc. General harmless shenanigans for the church :"D And yes, they most definitely hold mini-fashion shows all the time c:

Also a lil about Easton's anti-fairy, "Westoff"/Notsae, bc he's drawn here anyway: he's kinda like door-to-door mormon/jehovah's witness on eternal vacation. He's all about sunshine, rainbows, and staying with the status quo, and yes his "wand" is one of those tanning mirrors that'd double as a religious brochure, LOL. If Easton is all about having a quiet presence, this guy is yapper(as if being a jehovah's witness stand-in didnt already imply that). His interactions with Viola would mostly be convincing her that she should play at their own game and trick/manipulate others into following what she wants/likes, regardless of opinion and taste. "As long as you get what you want", the ends justify the means, sort of thing. He probably nicknames Easton "Eeyore".

#fairly oddparents #fop oc #oc #my art #oh god what else do i tag this as #fopanw #fop #original character #ough yap

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trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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[vol i] [vol ii] [vol iii]

Eddie x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie is slowly becoming easier to live with you’re not sure if you’re just used to his disgusting behavior or if he’s truly trying to change. You make a schedule for chores and when/who/what time showers will be taken, chaos ensues on both Eddie and you. Eddie reveals a side of him that reader hasn’t seen/ noticed before.

W/C: 6.4k

A/N: if you were looking for some disgusting! Eddie smut this is the chapter for you babe.

Warnings: NO MINORS! Smut, blow jobs, rough sexual acts, degrading, daddy!kink, vomit, crude language (as if any of my fics don’t have this)

S/O: @agentmarvel @sweetsweetjellybean @boomhauer @mopeymopeymouse @chestylarouxx @banished-big-ope-vibes @carolmunson @newlips for helping me beta read, come up with dialogue, pacing, letting me insert them throughout the fic, helping me breakdown how this disgusting little mf would act in certain situations + everything in between! You guys are the best! If you aren’t already— follow them.

You couldn’t deny that things had gotten better with having Eddie as a roommate (not that you would ever express that to him) but living with the overgrown child was slightly very slightly, like a teeny tiny bit, better than it was before.

After living in his disgusting cluster fuck of a room for a week, Eddie finally sat down amongst his heap of mixed dirty and clean clothes and organized it. The disaster made your eye twitch every time you walked past his room in the morning and got a whiff of his stench, reeking of weed and Doritos, you finally convinced him to get it done, and in typical Eddie fashion— it came with a price.

After bargaining for days and nearly pulling your hair out because all he wanted was a single pair of your panties—

“Why? So you can hold them up like that dork in Sixteen Candles to show all your nerd friends?”

“Babe, the ladies I fuck don’t wear panties.”

He finally settled on a six pack of Busch Light, and for you to do his laundry for a week.

“Remember to separate my delicates, sweetheart.”

Fucking pig.

The only thing delicate about Eddie was his ego when you told him his hair was thinning out on top, (it definitely wasn’t, he had more hair than cousin It) but you needed the upper hand, and criticizing his hair was the way to do just that.

His bed frame and the oak dressers he had ordered, finally arrived. Allowing him to put away his never ending collection of band tee’s and holy jeans. Clearing a path for his floor.

“Holy shit, is that the carpet?” You ask, standing in the door frame before your shift at the salon, toothbrush in your hand, minty dollop of toothpaste atop it.

He’s elbow deep in the dresser, foregoing folding anything but instead shoving the clothes haphazardly into the shallow drawers and slamming them shut with his legs, or his hip.

“Wow, Tooty, you’re hilarious,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, “but since you asked, yes, it does, match the drapes.”

A smile spreads across his lips. Another normal conversation turning into a sexual innuendo. He couldn’t be prouder of the way you walked right into that. Since you told him what happened to Eyeball he really has been holding back his usual gross behavior, but sometimes it was just a slip of the tongue for him. Involuntary action.

You turn to leave but he stops you, crossing the room at record speed and placing a ringed hand on your wrist, the surprising warmth from his hand burning your skin.

“Hey, uh, can I get your opinion quick?”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think the groupies give a shit what color boxers you wear.”

“Wow, okay— that’s the wrong answer! But I’m talking about this.”

He points to the shelf crammed full of his odd knick knacks. It originally belonged to Nancy, but she had left it behind. Inside of it were a hoard of books. Lord of the Rings, something that looked like manuals for Dungeons & Dragons—of course he’s still playing that— a plethora of Stephen King books, and a full— more than likely sticky— stack of playboys. Go figure.

“What about it?”

“Do you think it looks good here or should I move it under the window?” Eddie asks, hands out wide measuring and comparing in arms length the distance under the window and the width of the book shelf.

You take a step into his room, every square inch of wall was covered in posters, your former bed sheets graffitied with his band, hung on one wall, the opposite held a kitchen knife stabbed through the drywall.

“What are you trying to do, feng shui?”

“Bless you.”

“What?”

He shrugs, “You sneezed, and me, being the pinnacle Christian son that I am, I blessed you, now should I keep this here?”

It took you a minute to comprehend what the hell just happened and why.

“Blessed by Eddie Munson— that’s the biggest oxymoron I’ve ever heard,” you snort, a smile twisted on your lips as you look at the overgrown man child huff about where to put his shelf, shoving your toothbrush into your mouth, “looks fine there.”

He did start cleaning up after himself, even offering to vacuum the living room in exchange for you making supper most nights. Begging you to make the lasagna again after he ate almost the entire pan the last time. He even decided to get take out on his one night a week to cook. Thank God because you couldn’t handle one more night of burnt, made-in-the-toaster, grilled cheese or using orange juice as a replacement when the milk was gone for cereal.

You learned the hard way that you needed to buy two separate gallons of milk, after watching Eddie drink straight from the jug, a dripping white mustache formed on his upper lip as he licked it suggestively, “Got milk?” He’d ask before roaring with laughter.

The next few weeks with Eddie as your roommate went rather smoothly. With you working at the salon and him working long hours at Boom’s Auto shop, you two came home at almost the same time every night. He would show up covered in grease and reeking of motor oil. His work coveralls, branding a white and red labeled patch with his name on them, had the sleeves cut off, showcasing his muscled arms and the wide array of tattoos prickling up and down them, shoulder to wrist. He wore a sweaty bandana wrapped around his head, rotating between a black or a red one, depending on the day.

You didn’t mind doing his laundry since his pockets were always full of either loose bills or the occasional joint, which you would keep, and smoke later with Robin and Steve, giggling watching the stars as you laid out on blankets in the backyard.

On Saturday nights, he usually played with the band, scoring a gig at the Hideout or working at the bar til closing time, helping Tom bartend a little until Walt got back from vacation. He stumbled in at night knocking over a lamp and almost falling backwards down the basement steps. He’d pass out for a greater half of the next day, waking in the afternoon with a raspy voice and smelling like cheap cologne.

One particular Sunday morning, he stumbled out of his room, wearing black boxer briefs, and a sleepy grin, rubbing his eyes like a little kid.

“Mornin’” he grumbled opening the fridge and diving in for his notorious pickles, tilting it to his lips and drinking straight from the jar.

You shake your head, sitting at the table and sorting through the mail. Your hair in a clip and wearing an oversized crew neck sweater, your mauve fingernails flicking through the envelope flaps, jotting down what’s due and when. “It’s 1 in the afternoon, Eddie.”

He smacks his lips loudly and faces you, fishing a pickle from the jar with his bare hands, “metal has no time limits, Tooty, we play until the bar shuts down.” He makes his way towards you, wearing one sock and chomping on his pickle.

You notice something on his stomach, a new tattoo? Maybe? Riding low on his waist and almost dipping below his underwear. The closer he gets you can make out the writing, a permanent marker phone number from a groupie written on his lower abs.

You point your pen towards his stomach, “gonna get that thing tattooed on, make it official, that Eddie the freak Munson has at least one adoring fan?”

He looks down, a smile pressing on his lips, “aww no need to be sad sweetheart,” he says lowering himself into a chair beside you, “there’s plenty of me to go around, and besides, I thought good little nuns couldn’t fuck, saving themselves for God.. or are you one of the dirty ones, showing your tits for cash so you can gamble?” He winks and laughs as you shove his shoulder trying to throw him out of the chair.

“You’re so gross!”

“And yet, I’m still here.” the Cheshire Cat smile planted on his lips.

Still. You had to admit, no matter how nasty his jokes were or how annoying he could be— having Eddie around wasn’t that bad.

“Tooty!” Eddie yells through the bathroom door bouncing from one foot to another, banging on the door with an open palm, “I’m going to piss my pants if you don’t hurry up!”

You had only been in the shower for ten minutes. When you walked past his room this morning with sleepy eyes and a deep yawn, metal music blared from his bedroom along with the annoying beep of his alarm clock, but the prince of filth was fast asleep.

“The schedule that you made says I get the bathroom first on Fridays, which is today!”

The schedule you had designed for Eddie and yourself consisted of 7 vertical columns one for each day of the week, and 5 horizontal columns: showering, laundry day, dishes, cooking, garbage. You had more days in the cooking column than Eddie, just like he had more days in the garbage column than you did. It evened out.

“Wrong— you were supposed to get the bathroom at 7, it’s now past 7:30 so it’s my turn,” you correct, putting a generous amount of body wash on your loofah and foaming it up, white suds cleansing your skin, “not my fault you can’t wake up to your alarm.”

“Christ, seriously just open the door! I’m fuckin’ dancing around out here like a little kid!”

“Can’t hear you,” you sing out to him, laughing silently beneath the spray of water.

You hear the feverish jiggle of the brass handle on the door and heavy footsteps as he stomps away. Oh the joys of victory. You bask in the delight of getting a one up on Eddie. Something that rarely happened in the few weeks he has been living with you. Slathering conditioner in your hair and rinsing, you exit the shower, feeling refreshed and ready to start the day.

Opening the bathroom door you expected Eddie to barrel through you to get to the bathroom, you’re taken aback when you hear faint yelling coming from outside.

“… piss in the front yard of my own house— I will! Go back to trimming your hedges with your toddler sized shorts and mind your own goddamn—,”

“Eddie!”

He’s standing barefoot in the middle of the lawn, his navy boxer briefs the only clothing he has on. Double middle fingers raised in the early morning sky aimed towards your neighbor across the street, Mr. Derry, the neighborhood watch dog. He was an older man, no kids, no wife. Retired. And a grade A pain in the ass.

Eddie turns and looks to you, pink blush creeping over his cheeks, “…business.” Eyes wide in innocence as if he hasn’t done anything wrong.

You’re still in your towel, hair soaking wet down your back, watching as this crazed lunatic you have as a roommate terrorizes the neighborhood, one flash of his dick at a time.

“What the hell are you doing?!” You ask, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the front door.

“Gracing the common folk of Cherry Lane with my morning wood, yeah take a picture and frame it you fuckin’ perv!”

Yanking harder you get him inside and slam the door. Your cheeks are flushed with embarrassment.

You open your mouth to speak but Eddie has already started explaining.

“Listen, I had to piss bad, like really bad. You could have just unlocked the door but no, Ms. Uptight-independent Tooty with your rules and schedules—” he stops and takes a breath. After your conversation a few weeks ago about the downfall of Eyeball and your own family abandoning you, Eddie had been trying to be more reasonable about things, more cautious about the way he worded things. Not trying to twist the knife lodged into your chest that had been driven there years ago.

“So I made up my own rule! If you’re gonna take forever shaving your legs or…other things…” his eyes cast down your body. The white towel snug against your form, you clutch it tighter around you as his eyes stare through the towel, begging to catch a glimpse of your wet, smooth skin. Water droplets taunting him as they fall down the slick of your hair. He shakes his head to clear his gutter mind. “I’m going to take matters into my own hands, and believe me princess, it was a handful.”

That’s about as dialed back as Eddie could be.

“You can’t just piss in the front yard! This neighborhood is not like the trailer park, that asshole you called a perv—“

“He was! He was looking right at my dick!”

“— once called the cops on Nancy because she parked by his curb when we were having her bridal shower.”

“Wa-wait, Nancy fucking Wheeler got the cops called on her?”

“Yeah, Hop wasn’t too happy to find out what it was for, calling Derry a waste of space.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh I’m not surprised— him and I go way back, remember?”

Of course you did, he busted Eddie too many times driving higher than the Empire State Building while bringing you, Dustin, Will and Mike back to the Wheeler’s. It was almost a running joke between him and Hopper. Eddie would slip him a joint while in the back of his patrol vehicle and away he went, no ticket, no charge, nothing.

“Anyway,” you jeer, pointing a finger into his bare chest, the tip of your nail making a half moon indent into the head of the bloody demon inked on his left pec, “he’s a fucking asshole so don’t piss him off, he’ll make our lives hell.”

“Fine,” Eddie groans, running his hands down his face “but he was gawking!”

You roll your eyes and grab your hair dryer from your room. An adjustment you’ve had to do since Eddie moved in, getting ready partly in your room and in the bathroom. After your hair is dried and styled, you opt for a pair of light wash overall shorts, and a thick strapped, high neck tank top underneath. You finish your makeup by applying a coat of Revlon’s Toast of New York on your lips. Sliding on your knock off Doc Marten sandals, you grab your purse and head for the door.

Eddie’s sitting at the kitchen table, chair pulled out as he laces up his black work boots, body bent over his knee as he jerks his hand side to side, lazily working the laces through the hook eyelets.

“Still getting groceries tomorrow?” He asks, shoving his white cotton covered foot into his other boot, repeating the process. “I added some essentials to the grocery list.” He gestures to the pad and paper with a tilt of his chin.

Scanning the list you laugh, “Dunkaroos are not essential.”

“Don’t you dare cross them off!” Eddie fake shouts, a grin stretching across his lips, showing off his straight teeth.

“I’m off tomorrow and don’t have many clients today— I know it’s your night to cook, but I was thinking of making tater tot casserole for supper, I’ll just have to stop and get some ground beef from Bradley’s before I come home.”

“Oh shit,” Eddie lamented, “I have a gig tonight instead of tomorrow at the Hideout,” he says standing, running his hands down his legs to shake down his coveralls. “It’s probably going to be late, so don’t worry about making anything.”

Ripping the grocery list from the pad and stuffing it into your purse, you think back to how long it has been since you’d seen them play. You went along to support Chrissy and since Eddie was Kev’s longtime best friend and basically your chauffeur, you at least owed it to him to go with. A memory of you head banging and holding Chrissy’s hand tight as you both screamed for Corroded Coffin clouded your mind.

Threading your purse straps through your fingers and casting your eyes downward you have to know, “… you guys still play Lady Evil?”

Eddie grins again, “wouldn’t be a Corroded Coffin gig if we didn’t play some Sabbath, Jeff would probably throw a hissy fit.”

Friday evenings were usually busy in the shop. Boom ran a tight ship and paid better than any auto shop in a thirty mile radius. Eddie was lucky to get hired on using his street smarts and the fact that he was the unpaid mechanic of the trailer park for every banged up old sedan that his neighbors had since he was sixteen.

The old radio crackled and fussed as Hank Williams Jr sang about the survival rate of country boys. Boom whistled along with the tune. Running his tanned fingers through his blonde hair, a Mr. Pibb and a ham sandwich in front of him.

“So Eddie,” he says leaning back in his plastic chair, “I heard from the boys that you moved into a house on Cherry Lane. Damn boy, I thought that trailer park ran deep in your blood.”

Eddie throws his empty Mt. Dew can into the trash, missing by a mile. “Ahh Boom, you know I’m the prince of the park. Just stretching my city legs, helping out a friend.”

“Didn’t know you and Eyeball’s sister were close.” Aaron sneered, lighting up a cigarette with a strike of a match against his boot.

Eddie’s light hearted demeanor immediately changed, smile fading and eyebrows pulling together, “what the hell does that mean?”

“Helping out a friend?” Sean spat, his wiry mustache shriveled into a snarl, “what are you Mother Teresa? The only help that bitch needs is a fucking lobotomy.”

“Hey,” Eddie interjects, pointing a greased finger into Sean’s face, “don’t fucking talk about her like that, man.”

Aaron talks around his cigarette, blowing smoke across the table, “It’s true, she’s smokin’ fuckin’ hot but crazier than a shit house rat.”

The pair laugh, choking on smoke and bits of crusty bread.

“Remember what Chad said about her?” Aaron laughed..

“Fuck yeah how did he put that? Don’t marry the girls with the daddy issues, even if they let you put it in their a—”

Eddie slams his fists into Sean’s shirt, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him against the wall, “another word, about her— and I’ll break your fuckin’ nose.”

“You threatenin’ me Munson?” Sean chokes out.

Eddies eyes are crazed as he glares in Sean’s, “never a threat, pencil dick, it’s a promise.”

“Fellas,” Boom hollers, shoving his chair back with an eerie scratch, metal legs scraping on broken tile, “I’ll send ya both home for the day with no pay if y’all don’t knock it the fuck off.”

Eddie shoves Sean into the wall hard once more, releasing his grip on his shirt and adjusting his rings. He cracks his knuckles as he stomps back through the bay doors and out to the Buick he had been working on.

Ducking under the hood his breathing is erratic and his fists are shaking.

He never asked what happened with you and Chad but by the sounds of it, it sure as hell didn’t end on good terms.

It was fine if he teased you, but hearing it from anyone else wasn’t gonna fly with him. Not today, not ever. But something about the way you opened up to him, showed him your vulnerable side, it made him almost protective of you, like he needed to shield you from the ugliest parts of the world.

He never would have thought that Eyeball’s little sister, tough little Tooty, the same girl who punched Billy Hargrove in the face after pinching her ass one night, would make him care so much.

“Told ya he’s cool,” Steve slurs over his Bloody Mary, clinking the ice in the glass as he tips it back into his mouth, “he’s like a wild animal, but once you get to know him— he’s just a tattooed teddy bear.”

You, Robin and Steve were out for dinner and drinks at Louie’s, the newer sports bar in Hawkins, sitting under an emerald and white striped umbrella in the hot humid summer air. A monthly ritual you started ages ago when you all worked at Family Video. Only back then you went to Benny’s to get burgers and concrete thick milkshakes, racing to see who could finish first which ultimately ended in Robin getting a stomach ache, every time.

“I could have killed him the first few days,” you say, sipping your Malibu and Diet Coke through two neon straws, “honestly, still debating it.”

Robin steals the pickle spear and celery stick from Steve’s drink, munching away and talking with a mouthful, Steve simply rolls his eyes and reaches for another mozzarella stick, “wait, I thought you guys were getting along better now.”

“They are!” Steve interjects, pointing the mozzarella stick around like he was directing an orchestra, “I asked him myself when I brought my car to Boom’s yesterday for an oil change.”

The thought of your friends asking your roommate, who just so happens to also be their friend, how things were going between you both, made your stomach lurch.

“Well,” Robin began, twirling her pina colada and biting into the yellow flesh of the pineapple , “I’m just glad you aren’t by yourself anymore. It freaked me out knowing you were there alone.”

She wasn’t the only one.

Before Eddie had moved in, Steve gave you his prized nail bat to keep by your bed. So far you haven’t had to use it. And with Eddie in the house, it was stored in your closet.

“Alright, I’ll admit,” you say, taking a long drink, feeling the warmth of the coconut flavored alcohol mix with the Diet Coke bubbles, a frenzy on your tongue, “he’s come a long way,” you admit, dunking a fry into the mayo ketchup concoction, “finally house broke.”

It was the truth, you really didn’t mind him being around.

“Shh, gotta be quiet girls, daddy’s gonna take real good care of you, but seriously, you need to shut up.”

The girls laugh, drunk off bottom shelf liquor and Jell-O shots from the Hideout. Three pairs of tangled legs stumble through the front door as Eddie hurriedly works his keys into the lock.

The two of them giggle and hush one another, planting kisses on either side of his neck and stepping out of their shoes. His leather jacket hits the floor, the shirt he was wearing was ripped to shreds from the collar down. Carol’s fingers feverishly tore at his clothing before the three of them even made it to the van.

Foregoing the zipper on the tight leather mini dress she’s wearing, Eddie shoves it down her hips, giving her ass a firm squeeze, toying with the fishnet tights, “these stay on,” he demands, slapping her ass and unzipping his jeans, a parade of cheap lingerie, and leather studded clothing start from the front door and end in Eddie’s bedroom.

Your car wasn’t home which was odd but maybe it was parked in the garage. He wasn't sure where you were but if you were sleeping he didn’t want to wake you up. You had never discussed any boundaries about him bringing someone home, but what kind of rockstar would he be if he turned down hot twins?

They had approached him after the show, twisting their evil tongues into his mouth and groping him as soon as he got backstage.

Jeff was in the back room with his long time girlfriend Ash, they were holding each other tight as he kissed her neck and she squealed into his ear.

The girl who showed up to every gig, Marissa, wearing her signature “here for the drummer” shirt, was currently bent over the bathroom sink, Gareth buried deep inside her.

Even Big D was getting some action, the waitress from Benny’s, Emily, was currently bobbing along on his dick.

All of them were getting lucky, a win for Corroded Coffin. The girls were screaming for them, bras and panties tossed on stage, Gareth sporting multiple pairs around his neck. The old bar flies drunk off beer on tap were singing along to the requested songs.

Cece’s pink floral dress is brought over her head as Eddie sucks her nipple into his mouth, teasing and biting as Carol kneels at his feet and works her palm into his boxers, gasping at the hardened length in her grip.

A monster lies beneath the cotton. Almost as thick as her forearm, her dainty fingers unable to reach fully around his girth. She pumps him slow, releasing his throbbing cock.

His fingers twist into their hair as he shoves Cece down to her knees, joining Carol in the worship of Eddie Munson’s dick. Their greedy mouths take him in, one popping his balls into her mouth the other choking on his fat cock.

Eddie wasn’t gentle when he fucked groupies. He took what he wanted and didn’t leave any room for complaints or questions. Shut off from the gentle loving side sex can bring and only seeing red, it was like he was a mad man. A different person entirely. Truly the horns of satan poked through his forehead and his eyes clouded over revealing a black veil of sin.

Demon eyed.

He was pissed from what happened earlier at work. Fucking insane with rage at Sean and Aaron talking shit about you.

Not you, not Tooty.

His frustration builds as the sound of lungs gasping for air fills his ears.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, “Jesus Christ— don’t you wanna be good for daddy? Open that fuckin’ throat up and take what I give to you.”

He grabs Cece’s hair and thrusts himself in her mouth, ignoring her tears as she gags and swallows him whole. “Are you crying? Poor fucking baby, what a shame, on the bed now.” He grabs her up by the throat and tosses her onto the bed.

He’d kill Chad if he ever saw him again. Still had no idea what he did or why you two broke up but hearing his mantra spill from those asshat’s mouths today was enough to make his skin crawl.

The vulgar shit they were saying. The way they non chalantly said it like they were reciting their McDonald’s order. Fuck that bothered him.

Cock swinging, Eddie pinches Carol’s nipples until she’s standing, he flips her upside down, fucking into her open mouth as he bites her fishnet tights open and spits on her pussy. Tossing her on the bed like discarded trash he slaps both of their asses.

He tries to blur you away from his mind, separate you from his brain for a while to release this pent up anger. But all he can see are the small tears falling from your eyes when you tell him the truth about your family.

The Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.

Shaking his head he bounds to his bed, trying like hell to focus on his task at hand.

“Are my little whores ready? Think you can handle this without tearing up?”

When Steve drops you off you’ve already puked in his car, twice. When he announced that drinks were on him tonight, you may have been double fisting Jack and Cokes with Robin, and taking vodka shots, racing to see who could finish first.

Robin passed out in the back of his car, snuggled up with the cold leather on her cheek.

“Steeb, I’m fine, seriously! Look how good I’m walking.”

“That’s because I’m carrying you.” Steve huffs as he opens the front door.

You’re slurring your words and talking in a volume that could raise the dead, “You’re such a good friend Stephen, why? Why why why are you single?” You hiccup, the remnants of your vomit lingering on your breath, “You need a wife!”

“Tooty, we can talk about my failed love life another day,” Steve grunts, carrying you into the house, stepping over boots and skimpy clothing, “for now let’s get you to the bathroom so you can get cleaned up and maybe puke in the toilet this time!”

“I just wanna go to bed. I’m tired,” you whine, “Stoven bring me to my room, let me go to sleep!”

Ignoring you, Steve brings you to the bathroom and plops you down on the floor, opening the toilet lids just in time for you to blow chunks all over.

“Ooh that one looks like a mozzarella stick.”

“Jesus, I’m never letting you two idiots drink again! I’m always your goddamn babysitter, it’s so annoying.” Steve laughs, riddling your hair. Ever since you stepped foot into Family Video at fifteen, looking for a job, the three of you were inseparable. “You think you’re gonna be okay? I gotta get that other shit head home before she pukes in the backseat, I already have to clean the front.”

“Oh no! I didn’t know you threw up!”

Steve rolls his eyes, dragging his hands down his face.

“See you tomorrow, I’ll call you okay?” His face is pulled into concern, eyebrows raised and pinched together

You salute him and wave, laughing at his mop of hair flopping around as he turns to leave. Struggling for at least ten minutes to get your denim overall shorts unbuckled, cursing and giggling at your own drunken stupor. You finally manage to get them un done shucking them off your legs, leaving your upper body covered by your tank top, the black panties you were wearing still on. Sliding your arms around your back you manage to unhook your bra and thread it through your shirt, tossing it into the shower beside you. Exhausted, you rest your head on the toilet bowl— falling into a dizzy sleep.

“Cece, come here!” Carol whispers loudly. She’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom, mouth agape at the sight of the slumped over figure hugging the toilet bowl.

“Holy shit!” She says, emerging from Eddie’s bedroom. “Is that? No fucking way.”

“I didn’t know he was screwing her too!” Carol breathes jealousy spewing from her lips.

“You really think he’d want to fuck that? Look at her! She’s a walking basket case. I heard that her family moved away because she wigged out and tried to kill her own mom.”

“Actually, the rumor is that I killed them all,” you add, raising your sleepy drunk face from the toilet, seeing double and trying not to puke on the spot, you try to stand, using the toilet to support your weight as you push off from it, wobbling horrifically.

“Get the fuck out,” you say, vision dancing as you try to point to the front door, holding onto the sink to stabilize yourself wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, “now.”

“Yeah?” Cece spits, folding her arms across her chest, “you gonna make us? Last I checked we were guests—“

“Not anymore,” Eddie hissed, adjusting the waist of his sweatpants as he looks into the bathroom at your disheveled appearance. Your makeup is smeared from throwing up, you’re half naked and barefoot, clutching onto the sink. Your overalls are covered in puke, and in a heap of vomit on the floor, a purple bra hangs over the edge of the tub. He wedges himself into the bathroom between you and the two girls, covering you with his tall frame from their view. His nostrils are flared and his chest is puffed out, “you heard her, get the fuck out.”

“What the fuck Eddie?!” Carol gripes, looking into his mad eyes.

He glares back, bored with her, “Did you really think you were gonna stay the night?” He prods, “Please, you can’t be that fucking stupid. Get your shit and go.”

“We live across town!” Cece squeaks, face pulled into shock and humiliation.

“Don’t care.”

Carol crosses her arms and glares into his eyes, “It’s late!”

“And?” He asks glaring back, and pushing through them, “Here let me help.”

Eddie takes their purses and shoes, tossing them out the front door into the yard. Pointing to the open door and fuming, he spits, “Out.”

The girls leave screeching ‘fuck you’s’ as they walk down the sidewalk, disappearing into the night.

He turns back to the bathroom, hearing you vomit again, one small glance and he can tell you hit the sink at least, puke splattering all over— the same reaction if you held a spoon under running water.

He turns around and comes back with the cleaner and a roll of paper towels, gagging with each wipe of the sink as he cleans it up.

Your crumbled body is slumped over the toilet again.

“Gonna live? Or should I call the coroner.” He says leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a look of worry on his face.

“ ‘s Robin’s fault,” you mumble, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, “woulda been fine if it wasn’t for the sh—,” you gag thinking of the vodka, “—shots, I’m usually not like this.”

Eddie sits on the side of the tub. You’re wasted and half dressed. He was a lot of things but taking advantage of a drunk girl wasn’t him. He finds your robe hanging in its designated spot, and drapes it across your bare shoulders.

“Sit up a bit,” he instructs. With great effort you sit up, almost falling backwards but Eddie catches you, careful of his hand placements not wanting to graze you in your inebriated state. He helps you sit and you put your arms through the holes of the robe. He reaches gently around your middle to tie it. Putting delicate pressure on your back as he leans you forward towards the toilet. You hum with satisfaction as your face feels the cool plastic of the toilet seat. Fighting the urge to rub your back.

“I’m dying, you can have the house when I’m gone, scatter my ashes in the rose bushes out back.” You say with a whine. Groaning as your stomach churns again, puking up more and more of the mixed alcohol you drank earlier in the night.

“Need some water?” Eddie guesses.

You nod your head, feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds you set it back down.

He leaves and comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water, swirly straw included. Tapping your shoulder he hands you the Disney cup, taking a long pull from the straw, you set the cup down on the linoleum floor.

“Thanks.”

“Agh, you’ll be alright. The porcelain Gods and I are great friends— well we used to be back in high school. I haven’t prayed to them in a while,” he says with a chuckle. Sliding down against the wall behind you, sitting on the cold floor.

“Don’t forget the time you and Kev ate those shrooms and puked all night in the basement of our house.” You mutter, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and flushing the toilet.

That was a night Eddie would never forget, he was only sixteen, and he somehow scored some homemade brownies and shrooms from one of the seniors. Being young and dumb, him and Eyeball each ate three brownies and an entire bag of shrooms. The high was insane, but the aftermath was death. He hasn’t touched shrooms since.

“Shit,” Eddie exclaims, “how old were you? Ten?”

“ ‘leven,” you say, holding your elbows on the toilet seat and your head in your palms, “old enough to know you and Kev didn’t magically get the flu at the same time.”

“Man we were dumb,” he says with a laugh, rubbing his chin with his hand.

“Were?” you say slyly.

“Easy, I’m not the one who can’t hold their liquor, Princess.”

“Oh Jesus please no more mention of it or I will barf—again.”

He stands to leave, laughing and stretching his arms out over his head as a small yawn escapes him. Exhausted from the day's events: work, concert, threesome— ain’t no way he’d be up before noon tomorrow— you either.

“Think I’m gonna go to bed, you going to be okay?”

Sitting up and looking at Eddie for the first time tonight, you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re drunk, but it’s almost as if it’s the very first time you’ve seen him. His amber colored eyes are surrounded by a forest of black eyelashes, his mop of curly hair hanging in them slightly, smooth pink lips, surprisingly full, a sharp jaw with a days worth of stubble, his veiny neck dances as he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His shoulders are thick snaking down to muscled forearms, veins protruding from them, his hands are easily double the size of yours, thick fingers adorned with the same chunky stupid rings he’s worn forever. His broad chest stretches across his ribs, nipples pierced since the 80’s. He stands with confidence. His slender waist with the tiniest patch of hair ducking into the gray waistband of his hanes boxer briefs. And the prettiest alabaster skin peeking out from his collection of black tattoos.

Mouth suddenly dry, you stutter, “I—I’m done throwing up, gonna go to my bed.”

You stand on Bambi’s legs, hitting the wall hard with your shoulder. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie laughs and scoops you up making sure he’s holding under your bent knees and around your upper arms. He carries you to your bed, his skin burning hot against your cheek. He lays you down, throwing the blankets over your head for good measure, trying like hell to ignore the flutter in his stomach as you huff and pout pulling your eyebrows inward and frowning as you place your blankets to your liking.

“Get some sleep Tooty.” Eddie says all too softly. Pushing your cute sleepy face from his mind, rocking back on his heels as he starts to leave your room.

“Eddie?” You call after him, your small voice ripping through him like a knife. “Thank you, seriously. For everything.”

Shaking his head back and forth, his wild hair flows like a curtain around him in the dark as he leaves your room, “you owe me,” he says with a small grin, shutting the door behind him.

////

SEE YOU IN VOLUME: V

[volume: 5]

putting random symbols in hopes that read more will eat this instead of the last paragraph 😩

#eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #roommate!eddie #roommate!eddie munson

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gerrystamour · 2 years ago

Text

here i have found some peace of mind [chapter three]

Rated E | Steddie

[ FIRST ] [ PREVIOUS ]

Steve, meet Chrissy. Eddie, meet Consequences. RUH-ROH RAGGY 😬 The one photo of Eddie is absolutely referencing THIS IMAGE (kinda nsft, so be aware of that), you're welcome. NOW WITH ART commissioned by @dance-on-the-bones !!

[ READ ON AO3 ]

dreaming of the forest, the whispering pines

As the beginning of June rolled around, Steve excitedly noted it was time to reach back out to Chris from his end. Leading up to this point, it had been Chris calling him the whole time. In fact, Chris insisted on being the one to call him on account of their busy tour schedule.

Now that the cut-off was approaching, Steve needed to sit down with Chris and finalize all the details they had been discussing over the past two months as well as work out how things were going to work with the film crew. It was the one thing that Chris had been cagey about on the phone.

So, with only a moment’s hesitation, Steve sent Chris an email offering three different times over the next week to choose from for a meeting over Zoom, not really expecting a reply very quickly. Or more, he was expecting Chris to call him and choose one.

Steve’s computer pinged a minute later with a new email notification from Chris. When he looked, he choked when he realized it was a Teams meeting request for the same day, in an hour and a half.

Hi Steve, Great to hear from you. I’m excited to work with you as well! Do you actually have time to have the meeting today? We’re really busy this week with filming so I won’t be able to commit to any of those other times. Hope this is okay! -C. Cunningham

Faced with meeting the man of his dreams on such short notice, Steve accepted the meeting request and literally fled his cubicle to find Robin.

Except he couldn’t find her anywhere, and she wasn’t answering her texts. He was getting frantic as the time for his meeting with Chris was rapidly approaching. Finally, he found Dustin and snagged him by his shoulder.

“Hey, do you know where Robin is?” he asked, and for a moment Dustin looked… maybe conflicted? It was a weird expression, but then his normal smug smile split his face.

“She’s doing inventory in the beer cooler,” Dustin said and very deliberately winked at Steve as if it was some inside-joke. It was probably a banquets thing.

“Thanks, Henderson!” Steve said, deciding to ignore Dustin being weird and hurrying down the hall to the banquets storage area.

Steve was actually grateful they’d be having this conversation in a windowless cooler behind the ballroom. Not only would it help him cool down a bit, he could also yell a bit about his woes without worrying about being heard by passers-by.

“Robs, I’m going to die,” Steve all but wailed as he stormed into the cooler, but the rest of his statement was frozen on his lips as he registered what he was walking in on.

Robin was half-leaning, half-sitting on stacked boxes of beer, pinned in place by Nancy while they made out. Robin’s hands were fisted in Nancy’s skirt while the other woman buried her hands in Robin’s hair.

At least, that was what Steve saw when he first arrived, but when he blinked Nancy was standing clear across the cooler and almost looking for all the world like she hadn’t been shoving her tongue down his best friend’s throat. Steve would have almost believed it if Robin hadn’t still been standing there dazed, hands grasping at empty air where they’d previously been holding Nancy’s clothes, her hair a wild mess.

“Steve!” Nancy cried, relieved and that seemed to snap Robin out of her daze, because now she was looking at Steve with wild, scared eyes. “It’s just you, I thought—”

“Steve, I can explain,” Robin said quickly, her face turning so red so quickly Steve was worried she might pop blood vessels. She was also tearing up, which Steve distantly registered as wrong, but he was struggling to find the words to comfort her.

Nancy sucked in a breath. “You haven’t told him? You said you were going to tell him!” she hissed, crossing her arms.

“Tell me what?” Steve asked dumbly, looking between them.

“Robin and I have been seeing each other, kind of,” Nancy said in a rush, frowning at Robin with some concern. “We didn’t want to make it official until we talked to you. I wanted to do it together, but Robin insisted it was better if she did it alone.”

“Wha—Wait, what?” Steve shook himself and pushed his glasses up onto his head to scrub his face. “Start over. Why are you both being weird about this? Why are you acting like you both need my permission to be dating?”

“We don’t need your permission, Steve. I want to be with Robin whether or not you were okay with it, but Robin wanted your blessing before we made it public,” Nancy said firmly, crossing her arms.

“Why would—Robs, c’mon, this isn’t high school,” Steve said in a rush, looking at Robin where she was sitting, and to his horror she was actually crying. Stepping forward, he pulled her into a tight hug. “Robs, you can date whoever you want, you don’t need my blessing.”

“It’s just she’s your ex, and I know the way you talked about your relationship—I was worried it would hurt you,” Robin admitted as she hugged him back.

“Robs, again, we’re adults, and Nancy and I haven’t dated in years. I haven’t been into Nancy in years. Why would I care?” he asked, pulling back to smooth down Robin’s hair.

“So, this is okay?” Robin asked nervously and Steve laughed, nodding quickly. Then Robin made a face and asked, “can you pretend to be a little bit pissed because Wheeler has the smuggest, stupidest, hottest look on her face right now.”

Steve laughed and looked over his shoulder. “You figured I’d be okay with it?” he asked, and Nancy crossed her arms and nodded quickly. “I thought you were still seeing Jonathan, though.”

“I mean, I am,” Nancy said, and when Steve’s expression turned murderous, she quickly added, “I’m not cheating, Steve! We’re non-monogamous. Polyamorous. In an open relationship. Whatever.”

Nancy shuffled her feet uncomfortably as she began to shiver. She was just wearing a blouse and skirt, and now that she was no longer cuddled up to the human furnace that was Robin Buckley, she was obviously getting cold.

Steve turned to Robin with a frown. “You’re okay with that?” he asked, and Robin nodded quickly. There was zero hesitation or doubt in her expression.

“As long as I’m not expected to fool around with the boys, I’m definitely okay with it!” she reassured him. “The only thing I wasn’t sure about was how you’d feel, Dingus. Everything else? I’m totally on board with it.”

“Good. Then, Robin Buckley, I hereby give you full permission to date my ex-girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler,” Steve said dramatically, tapping her shoulders as if he was knighting her.

Robin giggled and pulled Steve into a tight hug, squeezing him hard enough that his back popped. When she leaned back, she was frowning again. “What were you yelling about when you came in?”

Steve blinked down at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“When you came in, you were yelling about dying,” Nancy supplied, and Steve gasped. Checking his watch, he realized he had to hurry back to his desk.

“I have a Teams meeting with Chris, I was coming here to freak out,” he confessed and then started to back out. “I have to go, Robs, please, resume your activities, I’ll talk to you at home.”

With that, Steve practically ran back to his desk to log back on.

Steve barely got his earbuds plugged in when Chris started to call him, and he fumbled a bit as he answered with his camera.

“Hi Chris,” Steve greeted with a wave as Chris’ camera took a few seconds to load. When it finally did, Steve’s smile faltered with confusion.

See, Steve didn’t put that much thought into what Chris looked like, and obviously the bubbly blond person grinning and waving at him could actually be Chris. But then the wording of Chris’ email came back to him.

“I’m excited to work with you as well!”

At the time, he had overlooked it because he was so panicked that he’d be seeing Chris so soon. With a sinking feeling, Steve began to consider the possibility that he hadn’t spoken a single word to someone named Chris for two months.

“Hi Steve, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet with you! I’m Chrissy by the way!” she said, and yep, her voice was completely different than the person he had been talking to on the phone.

Steve tried to settle his emotions, his panic as he realized he’d been discussing sensitive details with someone who wasn’t his client warring with his hurt as it dawned on him that “Chris” had been lying the whole time. Taking a deep breath, Steve managed to let out a small laugh.

“I am so sorry, Chrissy. I have been receiving phone calls from your phone number by a gentleman for weeks and talking about your block,” Steve confessed in a rush, and Chrissy’s face went through a comical number of emotions in the span of three seconds.

“Oh God, Steve, I should be the one who’s sorry. That was—that was Eddie, the frontman of our band. He does stuff like this all the time,” she groaned, covering her face, for which Steve was grateful.

That meant she didn’t see the exact moment his heart actually broke. So, Eddie regularly messed with the hapless, idiot event managers and group housing coordinators stupid enough to fall for his act? It was all a ploy for some rockstar to get into his pants? Hurt and rage simmered under Steve’s skin, and he managed to school his expression into something less pathetic by the time Chrissy looked back at her screen.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Chrissy. How about I go over everything Eddie discussed with me, and you can let me know if it’s all correct?” Steve offered, and Chrissy nodded.

“Of course, I mean it’s probably all fine. Eddie came up with most of the riders himself, I just organized them into a coherent list,” she said with a giggle, and Steve’s chest ached.

They talked for about half an hour, going over every point Steve had written down and by the end of it, Steve had almost forgotten about the heartbreak.

“Steve, before we hang up, I do want to formally apologize. Even if nothing happened, it was absolutely unprofessional of him to be reaching out to you,” Chrissy said in a rush, and Steve barely refrained from grimacing. “I didn’t know, but I also allowed him unrestricted access to my work phone. I hope he didn’t do anything inappropriate.”

Steve considered telling her that Eddie had been flirting with him, chatting him up, and had asked him out. Had the stories Eddie told been his own, or were they actually Chrissy’s? Did Steve fall for Eddie, or did he fall for Eddie-Pretending-To-Be-Chrissy?

But to tell her any of that would be admitting to his own lack of professionalism, which could actually get him fired.

“No, Chrissy, he didn’t do anything inappropriate,” Steve said brightly. “Aside from identity theft, he was perfectly polite and professional.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” Chrissy teased, rolling her eyes before something seemed to click for her. “Steve. You’re Steve.”

Steve blinked at her, his brow furrowed. The way she said it was as if she meant it to be in her head. “Yes, I’m Steve,” he confirmed a bit cheekily, and Chrissy giggled. In the background, Steve could hear what sounded like a door slamming open. Chrissy barely reacted to it other than holding her hand up to whoever entered the bus.

“Yes, yes you are. Okay, I gotta go Steve,” she said, and at that she looked pointedly at whoever was standing there. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you. I look forward to seeing you in July.”

Steve knew by the murderous glint in her eyes that it was Eddie that had entered the bus, and he felt sick to his stomach. He took some comfort in how angry Chrissy looked, even if it terrified him a little bit too.

“Of course, see you then,” Steve agreed, and as he went to hang up, he saw Chrissy remove her earbuds and stand up.

“Edward Munson, you ass—”

“Chris, I can explain—”

Steve flinched at hearing Eddie’s voice and finished hanging up. He didn’t want to hear Eddie’s explanation, didn’t want to hear him confirm that it was all just a big joke to him, or an elaborate scheme to fuck Steve. The anger came back in full swing, this time paired with embarrassment that made for a nauseating mixture in his gut.

If Eddie was smart, Steve thought angrily, he wouldn’t reach back out.

❖

Eddie Munson was known for a lot of things: his skill on the guitar, his wicked smile, his vocal ability, his lyricism, his fun demeanour.

Thinking ahead? Considering the long-term ramifications of spending two whole months flirting and falling in love with a man under false pretenses? Being fucking smart?

No, absolutely not.

See, he had planned to come clean to Steve. He wanted to come clean because he wanted Steve to call him by his actual name. Every time he got close to telling him, though, Eddie would clam up. They were both already in too deep for Eddie to do it gently, to do it without hurting Steve at least a little bit.

Asking Steve out was a mistake, he knew it the second he hung up and he didn’t have time to call him back and confess his dishonesty.

There wasn’t even a good reason for continuing the charade so long other than selfish fear. Eddie liked Steve, liked talking to him, and he was afraid if Steve knew who he actually was, he would end it all without giving him a chance. When he found out that Steve didn’t even know which band he was arranging the stay of and didn’t care to find out, it had been so gratifying, and Eddie almost told him right there.

Ultimately, Eddie Munson was a selfish coward, and he stalled. He stalled for so long, in fact, that he missed that it was June, and that Steve would be reaching out to Chris for the first time in months. Chris, who was actually Chrissy. Now that Eddie had his own phone again, he couldn’t justify holding onto Chrissy’s phone as often. He had to actually steal it just to call Steve.

So that meant he didn’t know that Steve had emailed Chrissy, or that they arranged a video meeting.

“Where’s Chrissy?” Eddie had asked, looking around at his bandmates sitting on the curb outside of the bus as he came back from his run to a 7-11 down the road. He leaned heavily on his cane as he ripped at the plastic wrap around his new pack of cigarettes.

“She’s doing a video call with someone from one of the hotels we’re staying at next month,” Gareth replied, taking a long drag from his own cigarette.

Eddie stopped trying to get into his smokes as his veins filled with ice.

“Which hotel?” Eddie asked, trying to keep his voice even but his panic bled through, shoving the pack into his pocket and adjusting his footing.

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant all looked up at him with the same frown.

“Eddie, what did you do?” Grant asked mildly and Eddie wanted to scream.

“Which hotel? Do you know which hotel?” Eddie asked, letting the frantic edge creep into his voice.

“I don’t know, man, it was either the hotel in Chicago or Indianapolis, I think she had a couple calls,” Grant replied, and Eddie felt the hope surge through him.

He entered the bus with zero grace, the door slamming open and then shut behind him as he clambered up the stairs and nearly tripping over his cane. In his haste, he felt something pull in the knotted scar tissue over his thigh and hip, but he pushed through until he was standing and facing the table.

Chrissy’s stare and raised hand to stop him killed any hope he had.

“Okay, I gotta go Steve,” Chrissy said with one of her colder smiles, the one she got when she was really seething under the surface.

Eddie felt his throat go tight and his eyes stung. It was all fucked up. He fucked up because he was too scared to do the right thing, and now he was going to lose Steve before he even got him.

“It was a pleasure to finally meet you,” Chrissy said, finally looking back at the laptop, her smile warming considerably. “I look forward to seeing you in July.”

Chrissy nodded as Steve said something, presumably goodbye, and then Chrissy took her earbuds out. “Edward Munson, you asshole!” she shouted, standing up to lean over her laptop.

“Chris, I can explain!” Eddie said desperately, and annoyingly a tear streaked down his cheek. Quickly wiping it away he took a deep breath and blinked rapidly at the ceiling. “Shit, hold on, give me a second.”

The sight of his tears seemed to take the wind out of Chrissy’s sails, and she heaved a gusty sigh. “You have one minute to convince me you’re just an idiot and not an asshole.”

“You know me, Chris,” Eddie insisted, and Chrissy laughed a bit.

“Yeah, Eddie, I thought I did. The Eddie I know wouldn’t’ve impersonated me for two months on the phone with some poor hotel employee,” she said firmly, but her voice was gentle. “So, convince me it wasn’t some mean prank. Now.”

“It was an accident! I was using your phone when he called the first time. He called me Chris and I decided to play along, we chatted a bit and he seemed to like it when I flirted with him,” Eddie said in a rush, still trying not to actually cry. “I wasn’t going to call him again, but I just… really liked talking to him.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him the truth?” Chrissy asked and Eddie laughed, but it sounded a lot more like a sob.

“Chris, c’mon, I’m—people don’t talk to me when they know who I am. But when he thought I was Chris, he talked to me like I was fucking normal, like I wasn’t fucking famous,” Eddie replied with a weak shrug, finally looking at Chrissy. She was doing her best to stay angry, but she was never very good at ignoring Eddie’s tears. “It was really nice how he would tell me stuff about himself.”

Generally, the only people who would talk about themselves to Eddie would be other celebrities, and it was usually just them bragging. Steve talked to Eddie like they were both on the same level, like they were peers.

“He doesn’t even know the band’s name, apparently, so I was actually able to talk about myself and shit and he didn’t have my stupid Wikipedia page memorized,” Eddie added with a sigh. “It was just fucking nice, and I really fucking like him, and I just—I meant to tell him, I wanted to tell him the truth, I swear Chrissy.”

Chrissy sighed and tilted her head. “Why didn’t you?” she asked again, and Eddie let out a frustrated sigh.

��I was fucking scared that I would tell him, and he would immediately stop answering my calls. That after everything, even if I convinced him that the only thing I fucking lied about was my name, he would put a stop to it,” Eddie said, crossing his over his chest defensively.

“It would’ve been his right,” Chrissy said bluntly. “It wasn’t fair that you didn’t even give him that choice.”

“I know,” Eddie said weakly, hanging his head and lifting one hand to wipe his eyes. “I fucking know, and I can’t stand myself for letting it get so far—”

“What does that mean, Eddie?” Chrissy asked fretfully, but the look on her face said she had an idea what he meant.

She had heard the guys teasing him about a ‘Steve’, had seen the last two tour diaries that now had a whole Steeeeve montage in the middle of the Cringefail Eddie section. Chrissy wasn’t dumb, she could easily put two and two together.

“Eddie, I want to hear in your words what that means,” Chrissy pushed, and Eddie collapsed against the counter of the kitchenette, taking some of the weight off his leg as he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“I asked him out to dinner, and he said yes,” Eddie muttered weakly, bracing himself for Chrissy to yell again. He was so caught up in his misery, he didn’t even hear her move, so he jumped when she wrapped her arms around him.

“You’re an idiot, but… you’re not a mean idiot. What you did was wrong, and you owe him the biggest apology possible, and you need to be honest with him,” Chrissy said, her voice muffled against his chest.

“I know, I’m gonna do that,” he said, even if that thought was terrifying.

“I hope it works out for you, though,” Chrissy said gently, tilting her head back to look up at him. “He seemed really sweet, and you deserve something sweet.”

“I don’t, but thank you,” Eddie said shakily, and Chrissy glared.

“Stop that, even idiots deserve nice things. Don’t argue with me,” she said. “Now, take out your phone and call Steve.”

“Right now?” Eddie asked, chewing his bottom lip. “Shouldn’t I let things cool down?”

“Haven’t you stalled enough?” Chrissy countered and Eddie held his hand out for Chrissy’s phone. She scoffed. “Nuh-uh, you use your phone, Eddie. You have lost all privileges to mine, even if you lose or wreck yours.”

Eddie cringed, slipping his hand out of the wrist strap for his cane and shuffling over to sit down at the table. Laying his cane down across his lap, Eddie fished out his phone and started dialing Steve’s number. He didn’t even have to ask Chrissy for it. Eddie had it fully memorized.

It rang twice.

“This is the Chicago In-Terminal Hotel, Events department, Steve speaking?” His voice was pleasant but cold, like the first time they talked on the phone.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie said with a sniffle, and he was fully prepared for Steve to hang up on him.

“Mr. Munson,” Steve said coolly, and Eddie felt his heart crack. Cold professionalism. “So, you do have your own phone.”

Eddie tried to laugh a bit. “I had this phone for a couple weeks. I lost—”

“What do you want, Mr. Munson?” Steve interrupted, and Eddie sunk in his seat.

Eddie wanted to turn back time and be honest during the first phone call. He wanted to go back to the second phone call, really any call before this one and come clean. He wanted to apologize to Steve, to tell him he was so far gone for him, to beg him to go to dinner with him. He wanted Steve to give him a chance.

“I wanted to explain myself and apologize,” Eddie said earnestly, wiping tears from his lashes.

“No need. I get it.” Steve’s voice was too cold to get it. Or maybe he did get why Eddie did it, but just didn’t care.

“Steve, please,” Eddie pushed, and Steve scoffed. “I just—Let me explain—”

“No. You don’t have to. I actually get it, you don’t have to explain the grand scheme of your stupid game—”

“What? What game?” Eddie floundered, trying to catch up to what Steve was accusing him of. Even Chrissy’s expression was concerned as she sat across from him.

“Don’t give me that. Chrissy said you do this all the time. Just… forget my number and leave me alone,” Steve snapped, and Eddie felt his heart squeeze painfully, his stomach dropping. “I’m on the clock and you’re not actually technically my client.”

Eddie took a shaky breath and tried one last time. “Please, Steve, I really want to see you—”

“It’s not worth my fucking job to open my legs for you like one of your groupies, Munson,” Steve snarled and the meanness in his voice stunned Eddie into silence, his heart shattering.

There was a moment where Eddie tried to say something, anything, but all he managed was a quiet whimper that he hoped the phone didn’t pick up. It took Eddie a moment to realize that the call had actually ended.

Steve had hung up on him.

It would’ve been easy to turn it around on Chrissy or even Steve to soothe his own wounds—she said Eddie did this all the time, and what? Steve gleaned that he fucked his way through every hotel employee that handled their team? As if Eddie had the time to be chatting up that many people?

But no, this was on him. It didn’t matter what Chrissy had said or what Steve decided that meant. This was Eddie’s fault, completely and utterly, and being hurt by what Steve said was the height of selfishness.

“Eddie?” Chrissy prompted softly, and Eddie glanced at her. She looked apologetic, as if she was about to actually say sorry to him. Eddie couldn’t take that if she did.

Carefully putting his phone down on the table, Eddie got up and went to the back of the bus to crawl into his bunk, facing the wall. Sniffling a bit, Eddie wiped the tears off his face and took a deep breath. Behind him, he felt Chrissy press close and wrap an arm around his waist. Eddie couldn’t help the quiet sob he let out and Chrissy began rubbing his chest soothingly.

“I really fucking like him, Chris,” Eddie said through another sob.

Chrissy let out a wet laugh. “I know, Eddie. I know,” she said gently.

“I’ve never felt this way about someone,” he confessed, and that felt like glass in his throat. Thankfully, Chrissy didn’t say anything to that, just squeezed Eddie tighter and held him while he worked to regain his composure.

He had a show to do in a few hours, and a hard week of filming after that. Eddie didn’t have time to wallow.

❖

“It’s not worth my fucking job to open my legs for you like one of your groupies, Munson.”

Steve replayed the conversation in his mind and grimaced when he remembered how he ended it.

Once again, he was hurt and so he lashed out, he wanted Eddie to hurt like he was hurting. Never mind that Eddie sounded like he was already upset, maybe even already crying, that maybe he misinterpreted something along the way. Steve had immediately felt like shit for saying what he did, knew it was mean especially if there was an explanation for what Eddie did.

He was able to tamp down on his guilt for the rest of the day when he remembered what Chrissy said—“He does stuff like this all the time”—and his anger was renewed.

Steve held onto that all the way home. Robin got home a little bit later with Nancy in tow, and Steve unloaded on both of them.

To his dismay, neither of them seemed convinced of his stance.

“So, the tour manager asked you if he did anything inappropriate?” Nancy asked, and Steve frowned.

“Yeah, so?” he asked, and Robin made a face.

“If he was a serial seducer of horny hotel employees, I’m not sure she would ask if he did anything inappropriate,” Robin said in support of Nancy’s line of questions. “And she said he did that all the time when? Before or after she asked that?”

“Before,” Steve said, and he felt his certainty waning. Taking a deep breath, Steve doubled-down on his anger. “I know what I heard.”

“Steve—” Nancy started, but Robin held up her hand and Nancy closed her mouth with a heavy sigh.

“Okay, I know what you heard, Steve, but you’re also doing that thing where you insert a lot of stuff that wasn’t actually said, yeah?” Robin suggested gently, and Steve looked away. “Listen, I’m not going to argue about what happened in either conversation, okay? And you know I’m in your corner on this because screw that guy for lying.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming,” Steve muttered darkly, and Robin smiled brightly.

“However,” she said instead.

“Oh, same difference—”

“I would like to ask you to consider replaying both conversations and only considering the words that were actually said,” Robin finished, shrugging when Steve glowered at her.

“Kinda rich for you to be telling me not to overthink what people say,” Steve grumbled.

“See, that just means I’m an expert when it comes to coping mechanisms. Just think about the actual words,” Robin pressed, and Steve huffed in frustration.

“He lied to me,” Steve bit out, and Robin nodded.

“I know, and it was messed up and you have every right to be mad at him, you don’t even have to forgive him,” Robin agreed readily, then she shrugged. “I just don’t see a guy as busy as him spending two months actually like, wooing you for a hook-up.”

Steve clenched his jaw, frowning as he looked away. Even if what Robin was saying made sense, Steve still couldn’t get past the lying. Every time he started to consider her point of view, he would remember the lie and his hurt feelings would sting all over again and the anger would return in full force.

“Okay, let’s just— forget I said anything. Fuck that guy, he doesn’t deserve you anyway,” Robin said, clapping her hands as she stood up and startling Nancy and Steve. “We’re going to have ice cream, and pizza, and watch whatever shitty movie you like right now.”

“Robin—” Nancy started, confusion all over her face.

“Nance, either you’re in for Fuck That Guy Pizza and Ice Cream or not,” Steve said with a chuckle, relieved that they were dropping it for the evening.

She actually seemed to consider her position on the matter for a bit before she shrugged and said, “Okay, fine, I’m in.”

“Excellent!” Robin said brightly as she jumped up to get their evening set up.

❖

A few hours later, Steve sighed as he left the bathroom after brushing his teeth. Heading to his room, he paused when he heard Robin say his name inside her room.

“It’s up to Steve how he wants to feel about it, Nance.”

“But you know he’s overreacting, too—”

“I wouldn’t call it overreacting. He’s reacting appropriately to the facts he thinks he was given.”

“Okay, you know he’s wrong, then.”

“Nancy, I really like you, I like your tenacity and your sense of integrity and all that, but you gotta learn when to ease up. Steve has to figure some stuff out on his own, especially if it involves his hurt feelings.”

Steve continued to his bedroom and shut the door, happy that Robin was standing by him but annoyed that she didn’t disagree with Nancy completely.

With a heavy sigh, Steve flopped back onto his bed and glared up at the ceiling. He should just go to bed and try to sleep, but his swirling thoughts about Chris—no, Eddie, wouldn’t leave him alone.

Sighing again, Steve unlocked his phone and opened the browser, typing in “Eddie Munson” in the search bar. One of the suggestions was “Eddie Munson Corroded Coffin” and Steve raised an eyebrow. He vaguely recognized that name, pretty sure some of the kids he worked with at the hotel liked a band named that, and then looked up concerts happening in Chicago in July. Sure enough, there was a band called Corroded Coffin performing the same night Eddie’s band was.

It was safe to assume they were one and the same.

So, Steve typed in “Eddie Munson Corroded Coffin” and waited for the search to load. As soon as the first images popped up, Steve knew he had made a huge mistake googling him.

Eddie Munson had to be one of the most attractive men Steve had ever seen. Granted, the first images were from a few very suggestive photoshoots he’d done at some point, but there was only so much that could be credited to make-up and editing.

Eddie had long, curly brown hair and a soft face, his eyes big and brown and wholly captivating. Steve was struck by how… sweet Eddie probably would look if he wasn’t smirking to show off a pair of fangs under a heavy-lidded stare. Even his curly hair was messy in a way that oozed sensuality.

He was still only wearing a pair of leather pants while Eddie was sitting on an elaborate altar with his legs spread wide to accommodate a man—a priest kneeling between them. One of Eddie’s hands was holding the top of the priest’s head while the other was holding a rotting apple up. There was a snake wrapped around his bare shoulders and traveling down the arm holding the priest. Eddie’s head was tilted back, a maniacal, toothy grin on his face and dark eyes staring down the camera. The horns coming out of his forehead were big, elaborate things and his shadow against the back wall had massive, bat-like wings.

Steve stared at the column of Eddie’s throat and only snapped out of his stupor when he choked on his own spit.

Looking at the rest of Eddie again, Steve’s eyes traced what looked like scars, maybe from a bad burn that crawled up from Eddie’s hip over half of his chest and a bit onto his tattooed arm. There was even a bit of scarring on Eddie’s jaw, but Steve wasn’t sure how much of that was just make-up for the shoot. A demon with burn scars seemed to track, right?

With a groan Steve tossed his phone away from himself and covered his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Of course he’s fucking gorgeous, it was just Steve’s luck. If Steve had known before he told Eddie to fuck off, he might not have been so quick to decide sleeping with him wasn’t worth the risking his job.

Even as he thought that, he knew it wasn’t true, but he was hurt and Eddie was hot. Blasphemous, and hot. Honestly, the blasphemy made him even more attractive.

Picking his phone back up, Steve went back to looking up the band, and looked at the next most popular image.

He immediately regretted his decision as the black and white image of Eddie completely nude maximized on his phone.

The man was lounging back on a chair in front of a vanity, his chest arched up as he loosely held a cane across his torso. Eddie’s head was tipped back so that his eyes met the viewer’s in the mirror on the vanity, his expression sultry, but also a challenge. Through clever camera angles, and the placement of Eddie’s leg closest to the camera, his modesty was preserved. The last little detail Steve noticed was the necklace Eddie wore, with a single guitar pick and dogtags.

Steve remembered Eddie telling him about his Uncle Wayne, who did a couple tours in a war he didn’t believe in, who taught him to love music and play guitar.

It was captivating to look at.

Looking again at the photo, Steve noticed that the scars were there, if not bigger in this photo than the previous. It was almost as if in the other picture, the scars had been made to look less severe, smaller even. In the picture Steve was looking at now, the burn scar ran from mid-thigh, up his hip, over half of his chest, a bit onto his arm and that patch on his jaw. All of these scars were surrounded by tattoos in ways that deliberately highlighted them, drew the eye to them even, especially in a black and white picture.

The image itself was attached to an article that was done as a profile piece on Eddie specifically as a disabled artist. That was when all the stories Eddie told about the frontman and his cane came back to Steve and he felt stupid for thinking the scars were just make-up in the first picture.

The article had several images of Eddie in various states of dress, some with him wearing enough clothing to cover every inch of skin below his nose and hiding every scar, while others had him in clothes that allowed peeks of his scars. And then there was the nude image that Steve saved to his phone and resolutely did not think too much about.

Part of him felt guilty at first until he read the article, which was about how Eddie lived his life as a gay, disabled, rockstar. This nudity, the pose with his scars on display and his cane cradled in his hands, was all a deliberate choice and Steve was more than happy to consume art the way it was intended.

Moving on from the article, Steve learned that Eddie has never disclosed how he got injured to the press and usually made up a new tale every time an interviewer would ask. He also discovered that the image of Eddie with the priest on the altar was a still from one of their music videos. A few more shots from the video included the other band members, and Steve was a bit overwhelmed at how attractive all of them were.

It was when he clicked through to the music video that Steve remembered Eddie talking about their YouTube channel.

The music video itself started with heavy guitars and Eddie crawling out of a hole that looked like a red, gaping wound on the ground, wearing nothing but the mud and viscera that clung to him. Steve knew for his sanity that he couldn’t actually watch it, so he clicked through to the channel instead.

Out of curiosity, Steve started watching the oldest videos first, which were grainy and clearly of the band when they were teenagers. They were adorable, jamming out and goofing off. Eddie was charismatic even back then, with his big brown eyes and dimpled smile.

There was a brief interruption to their band content when Eddie ended up in the hospital after an incident that was only described as an accident. Eddie was almost unrecognizable laying in a hospital bed, his long hair buzzed short and awful burns all over. It was briefly mentioned that he had been caught on fire somehow, but again, there was no elaboration in the videos.

As the videos continued sporadically, it told the story of five best friends taking care of each other, especially taking care of Eddie who was unable to play guitar at first due to nerve damage in his arm. Steve felt himself tearing up at that because he could tell just how important the guitar was to this younger Eddie. The band adapted well enough, though, with Eddie taking over as the lead vocalist while Jeff took on lead guitar.

It was almost as if that was the ticket to the band getting their big break. Eddie’s unique vocals set them apart and Corroded Coffin started to gain traction. They signed with their label right after graduating and began touring as an opening band for another big metal band. When they were touring, the band would upload “Tour Diaries.”

Steve deliberately skipped the music videos or anything that was just Eddie on his own, like the videos they uploaded when they weren’t touring. It seemed like Eddie did reaction videos and covers of metal songs to keep the channel active which, while interesting, wouldn’t be very helpful to Steve at the moment.

It was apparently the last tour they were on as an opener for some band named Ghost that really put them on the map.

Now, with their third studio album just being released earlier that year, they were doing their first tour as the headliners and were even having a show filmed about their rise to fame and their current tour. The label had given them a lot of leeway so every single they released for their third album received a music video and the concert itself was apparently intense; there was a video where Eddie and Jeff were talking about learning some sort of choreography.

“I mean, I just get to grind on an altar,” Eddie had said, winking at the camera and making Steve blush all the way to his navel.

After several videos, Steve found the band as a whole to be very endearing, but ultimately he learned that Eddie was… a dork. He was hot and a dork, a nerd even.

There was a video where Jeff and Gareth were jamming and talking about things while Eddie sat nearby the entire time, painstakingly painting intricate details onto a miniature for a D&D one-shot they recorded and livestreamed a couple weeks later. When the Tour Diaries started again for the current tour, there was a montage in every installment that was dedicated to Eddie’s clumsiest moments. In almost every Cringefail Eddie montage, there was at least one new video of Eddie losing or destroying his phone by complete accident.

The Tour Diary that was uploaded right around the time Steve first started talking to the rockstar featured a video of Eddie dancing on a half-wall overlooking the Grand Canyon. The camera was slowly zooming in on Eddie’s pocket where, with each movement, his cellphone grew closer and closer to falling right out. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the wrist strap attaching his cane to his arm, Steve was sure the cane would have been lost too with how dramatically Eddie was gesticulating. Steve could hear Chrissy hollering at Eddie to stop waving his cane around and use it to support himself if he was going to stand up on the wall like that.

Eventually, Eddie’s phone finally fell out of his pocket and the camera zoomed back out just in time to catch Eddie’s reaction as he realized what just happened. The clip cut to Eddie staring into the canyon, one hand in his hair while the band howled with laughter and Chrissy yelled at all of them.

Steve was grinning broadly, despite himself. He was starting to piece together some of the how he came to be speaking to the frontman of the band.

The next video was uploaded three weeks later, and the Cringefail Eddie montage started with Chrissy and Eddie wrestling in his bunk and Eddie losing the fight when Chrissy bit him. Then it cut to Chrissy pinching Eddie’s nipple through his shirt before she ran away. When Eddie tried to give chase, he ended up in a heap on the floor of the bus. Steve was still laughing at the face Eddie made when he realized he was being recorded when the video cut to what looked like a green room at a venue.

It started with a shot of Grant and Jeff waltzing (poorly) to some pop song that was playing on the radio in the room. Then the camera panned over to Eddie, who was sitting off to the side in his full concert get-up—leather pants, no shirt, a dramatic leather jacket, as well as horns—and on the phone. Eddie was grinning, the smile huge and dopey, and as the camera slowly zoomed in, Eddie grabbed some of his hair and pulled in front of his mouth, as if he was shy and hiding his face from whoever he was on the phone with.

When Eddie hung up and looked over toward the person recording, his expression dropped and his eyes went wide.

“How long were you recording me?” he asked, and the person holding the camera—Gareth, by the sound of the voice—laughed.

“Who was on the phone, Eddie?” Gareth asked and that apparently caught the other boys’ attention.

“Was it Steeeeve?” Grant asked, drawing out Steve’s name which just triggered a round of the boys chanting it with varying degrees of drama, sometimes moaning it, while Eddie covered his face.

Then Eddie got up and said, “I hate all of you, I’m ending this band right now, we’re done.” He was grinning as he left the room, and the clip ended with Eddie flipping them all off.

Steve went back to the part with Eddie on the phone, staring at the sweet smile on his face.

Something heavy and sour settled in Steve’s gut as he went to the next video.

The next several videos had a new section within the Cringefail Eddie montage, which was the Steeeeve Spotting section. It was essentially an entire subsection of the boys catching Eddie in whatever hiding spot he was holed up in while on the phone with someone. Every time he was caught, he had the same smitten grin on his face and they added multiple recordings of the boys moaning “Steeeeeve” over the audio of the original video.

The most recent video that had been uploaded had a clip that started with Chrissy tearing apart the tour bus looking for her phone. The boys were all desperately holding back their laughter and they went especially silent as the door of the tour bus opened and Eddie climbed up. He was on the phone, wearing that same smile, not even aware that Chrissy had rounded on him with fire in her eyes.

“You!” she shouted, pointing as Eddie finally registered that he’s not actually alone with whoever he’s on the phone with.

“Oh shit, gotta go, babe,” Eddie said as he hung up quickly, and the boys lost it.

Steve remembered the moment Eddie called him babe, and how that rattled around in his brain for days.

In the video, Chrissy snatched her phone back and said, “You have your own phone now! Stop stealing mine to talk to your secret boyfriend!”

Steve blushed at being called Eddie’s boyfriend, and just before the video cut to a new scene, Eddie’s blush was just as dark as his own.

Later in the video, Gareth was recording while he asked Eddie a bunch of questions, both of them crammed into Eddie’s bunk on the bus together.

From what Steve gathered, it was part of a game where they asked each other questions that interviewers didn’t. Usually, they were genuinely stupid questions with answers that weren’t interesting to know, but sometimes they had decent weight to them.

“Mr. Munson, what are your thoughts about the discourse surrounding your recent photoshoot—?” Gareth started, barely keeping his laughter in as Eddie rolled his eyes and groaned.

There was an abrupt cut to a TikTok of someone clearly in the middle of an impassioned speech about Eddie’s nude photo, saying, “Stop making it sexual! Eddie posed like that because—” They were cut off by Eddie stitching the video while laying in his bunk on the bus, recording uncomfortably close to his face. A filter was cycling through random household cleaning items above Eddie’s head as he said, “I posed like that because I’m fucking hot and I’m a fucking slut, shut up.” Just as he finished, the filter stopped on a jug of bleach and Eddie said, “Smash.”

The video returned to Eddie in his bunk, and he was in the middle of his own impassioned speech. “It’s a sensual picture that’s from an article about my disability and specifically positioned in the part about how being disabled doesn’t change that I’m gay and like to have sex, and that I want people to see me as a sexual person while recognizing that I am disabled,” he said in a big rush.

Behind the camera, Gareth hummed thoughtfully in a way that clearly sounded like this wasn’t the first time Eddie had gone on this particular rant. “Go on?”

“Like, I used to hate my scars but now I’ve embraced them and they’re just as much a part of my sex appeal as my tattoos, or the bullshit demon get-up, or whatever,” Eddie continued before glaring at the camera. “I want people to stop being fucking weird about people being horny at the softcore pornography I posed for specifically to make people horny.”

After that, Gareth burst out into a fit of giggles that Eddie immediately joined him in.

“One last question Mr. Munson: Which show are you most excited for this tour?” Gareth asked, and Eddie’s playful glare at the camera made Steve laugh.

“Har har, Gareth, that is so funny,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes. Then, with his voice so soft and smitten, he said, “Chicago.”

Steve’s stomach plummeted.

“And why’s that?” Gareth pushed and at that, Eddie grinned fully.

“I’ve got a date!” he replied, and then in a voice that could only be described as starstruck, Eddie added directly to the camera, “With Steeeeve.”

“Oh,” Steve whispered to himself as he dropped his phone next to himself on the bed, the heavy, sour thing in his gut spreading to his chest. Tears began to sting Steve’s eyes as he stared up at his ceiling.“Oh… Fuck.”

[ NEXT ]

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