#and Jeff was Eddie’s | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steddieasitgoes · 24 days ago

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Eddie helps Jeff and Grant move into their freshman college dorms. Eddie's not going to college; it took him six years to graduate high school. He's not about to put more time and now money into a dead-end education, but he respects the guys' decision.

They're upset the university's stupid roommate questionare didn't pair them together. They answered everything exactly the same, and yet they still got split up. It's bullshit. Eddie knows it, they know it, everyone knows it. But it is what it is. Jeff doesn't want to make waves with the school, and Grant's just happy they accepted his sorry ass, so they'll have to live with it.

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant are currently figuring out how they're going to smuggle a microwave into Grant's room. Eddie leaves them to it, already holding a box marked for Jeff in his hands. He saunters out of the elevator and down the hall toward Jeff's room, nodding his head at anyone who does the same to him.

College is weird, he thinks. No one has sneered at him -- not even the frat dude bro type who checked Jeff and Grant in earlier. Maybe it's true what they say, college is full of open-minded people. He'll let the boys be the guinea pig on that one.

Jeff's door is half shut when he gets there, which is weird because he knows they left it wide open. They still have to bring in his record collection, and even though he ditched hundreds at home, the box is still way heavier than it should be. Having to put it down to open the door is a no go.

Thankfully, the box Eddie is carrying now is rather light so he turns and uses what little ass he has to bump the door open before sliding inside.

He stops dead in his tracks as Jeff's roommate turns to meet his gaze.

Eddie doesn't believe in God, doesn't believe in angels -- he likes to think Demons exist, but that's more of an aesthetic thing than anything else -- but he's pretty sure he's in the presence of an angel.

No, he's certain he is.

The large window between the beds shoots rays of sunshine through the horizontal blinds, painting the guy in beautiful shades of yellow and orange. And jesus h. christ the shadow gives off the illusion of a halo around his gorgeous, lush, perfectly styled hair.

He's wearing a sweater -- how he's wearing a sweater in the sweltering heat, Eddie doesn't know, but he is -- with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Eddie can't help but let his eyes take in the miles and miles of sun-kissed skin, unmarked with ink like his own but decorated with freckles and moles that Eddie wants to trace, connecting them like constellations he spent decades staring at on the roof of the trailer back at home. And, okay, maybe a few other unholy thoughts also pop into his head -- sue him.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at that. Of course Eddie's first thought upon stumbling on an angel is to wreck them.

"Hey, I'm Steve," the man says, extending a hand out to Eddie.

Jesus H. Christ, it's bigger than any hand has any right to be. Eddie's mind immediately wonders what else might be bigger than most. He can't help it.

"You must be Jeff," he smiles. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yep, that's me!" Eddie says without thinking it through. He scrambles to put the box down and reaches out to shake Steve's hand.

It's a firm handshake, what Wayne would call "business-like," but it sends a burst of electricity coursing through Eddie's body. It's silly, really silly, but Eddie doesn't think his hand has ever fit so perfectly in someone else's before.

Maybe they're soulmates. He doesn't believe in those either, but he could if this Steve guys is his.

Steve smiles and drops his hand a second later and Eddie tries his best not to buckle under the loss of touch.

"What do you think of the place?" Steve says. His hands shoot to his waist, settling there as he gives the room a bitchy glance over. "It's a lot smaller than I was expecting."

"At least it's only a double," Eddie says. "My friend's stuck in a triple."

Poor Grant. As if losing out on rooming with Jeff isn't enough, he really got fucked.

Steve whistles lowly. "Damn, man, that sucks."

He squats then, digging through an already unopened box, and Eddie feels faint. His jeans were already tight, but with his new angle, they're stretched to the max, leaving very, very, very little to be imagined. And Eddie has no problem imagining anything, much less what the skin under those pale blue jeans looks like.

Steve's shirt rides up a bit as he leans over more, really sifting through the box now, and the tiny sliver of skin above the waistband of his boxers is enough to send Eddie into full-blown gremlin mode.

Maybe he should have applied to college.

"So, Jeff," Steve says, standing again and glancing between the two beds.

Neither has seemed to claim them yet. Jeff -- the real Jeff -- didn't want to be rude, and judging by the single box Steve's been looking through, he's only just started the move-in process.

"Got any bed preferences?"

Sharing it with you.

No, no! he scolds himself.

"Nope, have at it," Eddie says, casting his arms out wide and bending at the waist. He's not sure why he's done it, but by the time he registers how weird it might be, it's too late. So he commits to the bit, and it's worth it when Steve chuckles.

"Cool, cool," he nods. "I'll take this one, then." Steve shuffles over to the bed farthest from the door and tests the firmness with his hand. It gives just enough to make Steve smile. "I can work with this, if you know what I mean."

Eddie thinks he's really gone and died then because Steve honest to god winks at him.

Winks!

At. Him.

Eddie!

What the fuck.

"Yeah," he croaks, a little awkward and a whole lot aroused. He needs to get out of here before he jumps Jeff's roommate and accidentally gets him kicked out. Better yet, he needs to figure out how to get enrolled and kick Jeff out of his room himself. "Alright, well, I've got more shit to bring up, so I'll be back."

"I'll be here."

Eddie nods then bolts, ditching the elevator altogether and taking the three flights of stairs two at a time. Jeff's still arguing with boys when he gets down there, sweaty and out-of-breath.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Gareth snaps.

"Oh no," Jeff winces. "Is my roommate a dick? Did he chase you out?"

"No," Eddie pants, shaking his head widly. He reaches out with both hands and slams them down on Jeff's shoulders way harder than he needs to. "Your roommate, Steve-- he's-- I think I'm in love."

The guys burst into laughter.

"Here we go again," Gareth says, rolling his eyes.

"You just met the guy," Grant adds. "How could you possibly be in love?"

"You can't be in love with my roommate," Jeff scolds, shaking Eddie's hand off of him.

"Jeff, Jefferson, Jeffery," Eddie rambles. "I am in love. He is the man I am going to marry. The one who will father my children. The one to tame this wild horse--"

"You've slept with two dudes, Eddie. I don't think that makes you a wild horse," Gareth scoffs.

Eddie ignores him. He doesn't have time to deal with Gareth. Not when Steve is upstairs waiting for him.

"I need to go back to him."

Eddie moves to step around the three, eager to grab another box with Jeff's name on it and get back to Steve. Back to the love of his life. But Jeff blocks him.

"No. No. Absolutely not," Jeff says, reeling Eddie back in. "I have to live with this guy for a year. You are not going back up there and making it weird."

"Well then I have good news for you," Eddie says, wicked grin already breaking out onto his face.

"This can't be good," Grant mumbles.

"You don't even have to go up there. He thinks I'm Jeff."

"Okay, but you're not Jeff," the real Jeff says, crossing his arms. "I'm Jeff and I'm going to go to my room and introduce myself to my roommate and you're going to stay far, far, far away from him."

Eddie shakes his head. "You can't do that! He'll think I'm a liar."

"You are a liar," Gareth butts in.

"Eddie," Jeff groans. "I have to go up there! I live here. I'm Jeff. He needs to know the truth."

"Or, or!" Eddie shouts, full of frantic energy now. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, mind reeling a million miles an hour as the plan starts to form in his head. This could work. It could totally work. "How about I pretend to be you for the next year and you can be me."

"Dude, no!" Jeff scoffs. "I worked my ass of to get here. I'm not trading lives with you so you can try to fuck my roommate."

"Oh, I won't have to try," Eddie says. "He might have already offered."

"Oh my god. My roommate thinks I want to fuck him."

"Your roommate doesn't even know you exist," Grant corrects.

"What were you thinking?" Jeff shouts.

"He clearly wasn't thinking with his head," Gareth says.

"This is a disaster."

"No," Eddie says, shaking his head. He doesn't know why they're being so catastrophic about this. It's fine. It's all going to be fine. "Okay, new plan, I'll pretend to be you but only in your dorm. You can still go to class and do all the college shit. I'll only be Jeff to Steve."

"And where am I supposed to live?"

"With Grant."

"Asshole! I'm already in a triple! We can't house another person."

"And you're not even enrolled!" Jeff adds. "What happens when the RA finds out? I'll get kicked out and you'll--"

"Go to jail."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I don't think people go to jail for impersonating college students, Gare."

"They might!" Gareth says, throwing his hands up. "Are you really going to risk going to jail just for a chance at fucking Jeff's roommate?"

"Well, I hope it would be more than fucking. I did say I was in love."

Gareth doesn't get it. The only thing he's ever loved is his drum set -- and he can't marry that. Not even in bumfuck Indiana.

He goes back to ignoring Gareth and focuses on Jeff. He braces his hand on his shoulders again and slinks down to his knees. He's not above begging. Not for this. Not for the angel that is Steve who is probably wondering where he is right now.

"Jeff," Eddie says, hitting the pavement. He retracts his hands from Jeff's shoulders and clasps them together in prayer. He's making a scene.

"Get up, you're making a scene," Jeff hisses, yanking him back to his feet. Eddie goes willingly and Jeff huffs. "Alright, alright. Let me think."

"You can't seriously be considering this," Grant chimes in. "Eddie's plan is shit. It'll never work."

"I know that!"

Eddie watches as Jeff paces in a circle with his eyes closed. If he wanted to, he could bolt right now. Grab a box and make a run for it. Lock himself and Steve in the room and not come out until he's sure Jeff won't rat him out. Holding Steve hostage might not be the best impression to give Steve though, so he stays put.

"Okay, how about this," Jeff says and Eddie gives him his undivided attention. "The two of us are going to go back to my dorm and we're going to set the record straight--"

"No! That's--"

"Eddie," Jeff says, firmly. "If you really do love my roommate or well, you want to eventually love him. You have to tell him the truth."

Jeff's right. He's always right that's why he's going to college on a scholarship and Eddie's not. But he doesn't like it. Steve's going to think he's a total weirdo and he'll never get a chance to see what's actually under those tight ass pants.

Still, Jeff's right.

"Fine."

Steve really is an angel because he doesn't even bat an eye at the truth. He does laugh, but Eddie doesn't mind that. He wishes he had his cassette recorder and a mic so he could record it. It's music to his damn ears, and he knows a thing or two about music.

Jeff and Steve hit it off and Eddie tries not to pout about it as he continues lugging in box after box. When Eddie's van is finally empty, Grant and Gareth meet up with them in Jeff's room. Steve introduces himself and Eddie can tell they're both silently judging him.

Yes, this is the dude he would risk going to jail for, Gareth. Eddie thinks, he hopes Gareth gets the message in the glare he shoots his way. He thinks he does.

It turns out Steve also has a best friend who just moved in, too. She's in a different building than them, but he's meeting up with her for pizza at the parlor down the street. He invites them all to go and Eddie says yes on behalf of all of them a little to quickly.

When they get there, Steve introduces them all -- Jeff, Gareth, Grant. He gets all their names right, even Gareth, but when he gets to Eddie, he smirks. "And this," he says, smiling as he slings an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "This is not-Jeff my not-roommate."

"Hi, Not Jeff," Robin says.

Eddie laughs and introduces himself to her with his real name and Robin nods before her eyes lock on with Steve. He can tell they're non-verbally communicating with each other. It's not unlike the way he is with the boys. One look is all it takes sometimes for them to know what he's thinking.

It's weird watching it happen from the outside and especially difficult when he's still stuck under Steve's arm. Not that he minds that part not at all.

Finally, her lips quirk up into a smile and she pulls her gaze from Steve, letting it land on Eddie. At the exact same time, Steve's name gets called and he excuses himself to get pizza, leaving the two of them alone.

Robin's smile falters just a bit as she takes a step closer to him, replacing the spot where Steve just was. "Just so you know, I'm obsessed with Murder, She Wrote. If you hurt him, I know where to hide your body."

Eddie doesn't have time to even think of a retort before she's scampering off to help Steve with the pizzas.

He might not be enrolled in college, but he has a strange feeling he's going to spend a lot of time up here from now on.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #gareth emerson #unnamed freak #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #college au #stranger things #stranger things fic #and they were NOT roommates #dani writes

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undreaming-fanfiction · 11 months ago

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The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

#steve harrington #eddie munson #corroded coffin #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie fanfiction #steddie ficlet #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #chrissy cunningham #drumcheer #not proofread we die like my sleep schedule

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hellishchrissy · 5 months ago

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corroded coffin + whatever the fuck this is

#stranger things #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #gareth st #gareth emerson #jeff stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things #hellfire club #hellcheer #stranger things shitpost #corroded coffin

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steddieas-shegoes · 7 months ago

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pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

#corroded coffin #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #jeff stranger things #gareth stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things #stranger things #rock star eddie munson #pop star steve harrington

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 16

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15

Aside from bathroom breaks, Eddie doesn’t leave his room for two days. Friday bleeds into Saturday, bleeds into Sunday, and Eddie wallows in it. Wayne knows him well enough to not bother him, but Wayne also knows him well enough to barge into Eddie’s room Sunday morning without even knocking.

“Up, boy,” he says gruffly, turning Eddie’s overhead light on. “Your eggs are getting cold.”

Eddie groans, and tries to roll over to bury his face back into his pillow, but Wayne grabs him by the ankle and yanks until he goes tumbling out of the bed.

“Wayne!”

“I ain’t asking,” Wayne says, storming out of Eddie’s room without closing the door.

As is his right, Eddie whines and rolls around on his floor for a minute until he can finally find the will to get up. Clearly knowing that it would take Eddie a minute, Wayne’s just plating eggs and potatoes as Eddie walks into the kitchen, still clothed in only his boxers and the same shirt he’d been wearing when Carver’d kicked his ass on Thursday.

They settle across from each other at their dingy table, Wayne letting him get a few bites of breakfast in him before the interrogation he knows is coming begins.

“What happened?” Wayne asks, pushing his own plate away so he can focus on staring Eddie down.

Eddie swallows his bite of potatoes, throat suddenly dry. But, he wants to tell someone, he wants to tell Wayne, who, no matter how Eddie fucks up, is always in his corner.

“I’ve been getting these letters,” Eddie starts, using his fork to play with his food so he doesn’t have to meet his Uncle’s eyes as the whole sordid tale comes out.

He tells it like he experienced it: thinking it was a joke at first before getting wrapped up in the letters, finding out it was Chrissy, trying to connect the living, breathing girl to the words on the page.

And then, Harrington, strong and sure as he defended him from Carver, taking care of his wounds in the aftermath, lying to him for months until he couldn't get away with it anymore.

Wayne just listens without interruption while Eddie talks about Jeff’s betrayal, the fear in Chrissy’s eyes, the defeated slope of Harrington’s back as he’d walked out the door, going god knows where with his car still at the quarry where he’d left it.

When Eddie’s finally done, Wayne hums and pulls his now-cold food back in front of him, picks up his fork and starts to eat. Eddie watches him, gobsmacked.

“Wayne?” Eddie asks, moving his hand up and down in front of his Uncle’s eyes, checking to see if the old man can even still see him. “That’s all you’re going to say? Hmm, and then back to breakfast?”

Eddie scowls as he forks another potato into his mouth, chewing as he continues his tirade. “Where are your wise words, old man? Why the hell’d you even make me get up if this is all I was going to get?”

Wayne hums again, clearly just to piss Eddie off, then finally answers, “you needed to eat.”

Eddie stares at him, mouth hanging open half-masticated potatoes on full display for anyone to see. Not that anyone’s going to because Wayne’s gone back to polishing off his breakfast.

“That’s it?” Eddie demands, throwing his fork down in a huff.

Wayne sighs, like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here and finally puts his fork down to meet his nephew’s eyes.

“Finish your breakfast, and we can talk.”

Eddie whines, but dutifully scarfs down his plate, never breaking eye contact with his uncle, like they’re in a stand-off. And in a way, they are.

Once done, Eddie tosses his fork across the room into the sink just to prove a point, leans across the table and glares at Wayne. Because he’s an asshole, Wayne takes another sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact, before finally opening his mouth to speak.

“You like this boy?” Wayne asks.

Eddie sputters and stalls out. “You—I—what?” Eddie asks, fisting his hands into his greasy hair.

“It ain’t an unreasonable question,” he replies. “You’re talking about the kid like he’s a knight in one of those little games you like so much.”

“I—no I wasn’t!” Eddie cries, cheeks burning at the implication.

“Mmmhmm,” Wayne replies, eyebrow raised as he drinks more of his coffee like what he’s saying is of no importance at all.

“Wayne,” Eddie says, leaning over the table to clutch at his shoulders, ribs protesting at the pull. “I’m not gay.”

And that, out of everything, is what gets Wayne to put his mug back down and take Eddie seriously. “You ain’t?” Wayne asks, eyebrow raised. Eddie shakes his head, eyes wide. “You sure? There’s an awful lot of men in leather on your walls.”

Eddie squawks, sinking painfully back into his seat. “That’s Metallica.”

Wayne squints at him. “Is that one of them code words y’all use to stay safe?”

Eddie stands up, chair screeching against the linoleum floor. “It’s a band, Wayne!” Eddie cries, at a loss for what the fuck is happening. “I’m not gay!”

Wayne looks up at him, both eyebrows raised enough to scrunch up his forehead, wrinkling his mostly-bald head. “Well, alright then.”

Eddie stares at him, brain buzzing with even more questions than he’d had before. How long had Wayne thought he was gay? Why? What did he do?

Was he really okay with it?

Eddie turns on his heel and marches out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom without another word. He slams the door and collapses onto his bed, gut squirming with all the thoughts churning in his head.

***

Chrissy isn’t surprised when Eddie doesn’t come to school on Monday; she is surprised when Steve does. He’s got bags under his eyes and Robin Buckley super-glued to his side, but he’s still there.

She can’t help the way she runs into his arms, leaving Jeff behind without thought. Steve catches her—he always does, pushing his hands beneath his letterman jacket to grab at her waist and pull her in. They sway there in the middle of the hallway, all their classmates jeering around them.

Chrissy doesn’t care; she’s spent the entire weekend thinking about the crushed look in his eyes as he walked out of the Munson trailer without a backwards glance

“You’re okay?” she asks, face pressed into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

He runs his hand up and down her back as he responds, “I will be.”

She pulls back to smile up at him and reaches up to brush a floppier-than-usual lock of hair behind his ear. “Walk me to class?”

He links their elbows, and does just that, Jeff and Robin falling into line behind them, Robin prattling on about some movie marathon her and Steve had had at her house over the weekend.

Chrissy’s just glad he wasn’t alone.

Steve sighs, shoulders slumping as he says, “I’m sorry, Chris,” he says, not looking her way. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into my mess.”

She stops abruptly enough that Robin stumbles into them and bounces back, cutting off her stream of words mid-babble to squawk at them. Chrissy doesn’t acknowledge her, too busy standing on her tippy toes so she can grab Steve’s shoulders and yank him down to her level.

“You listen to me, Steve Harrington,” she demands, looking into his big, bewildered eyes. “Your mess is my mess, okay?”

He’s still just staring at her, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, so she digs her nails in hard and says, “forever,” with as much finality as she can muster.

He keeps staring at her, looking like he’s about ready to burst into tears in the middle of the hallway. Finally, he says, “come over tonight?” more a demand than a question.

She drops her grip on him and nods, content.

Chrissy doesn’t ask questions when Steve leads her over to Robin in the cafeteria. It’s easy to take that last, final step into social suicide with him at her side.

They fall into their usual routine that night—they watch trashy TV neither would admit to liking to another living soul, and paint each other’s nails.

The lack of letter writing sits like a dead body between them.

“He won’t tell anyone,” Chrissy says, tightening her grip on his hand when he jerks. Chrissy keeps carefully painting his nails, her favorite pink, not looking up at his face. The color suits him—it’s not fair, but everything does. “He promised.”

Steve doesn’t ask for clarification, they both know who she’s talking about. “You believe him?”

She thinks about that torn, guilty look on Eddie’s face and replies, “I do.”

She finishes his pinkie and settles his hand down on her own knee to dry, knowing from previous experience that if she gives it back, he’ll ruin all her work running his hand through his hair.

“That’s good,” he mutters, looking down at his own hand, tilted so far forward that even when she looks up, his hair’s flopped too far into his face to see his eyes. “It still hurts.”

Chrissy sighs. She’d seen this coming all those months ago when she’d helped pen the first letter. Had seen the writing on the wall like it was she herself that was writing it. But, she’d helped him anyway, hoping to salvage his safety, if not his dignity.

She can only hope she has.

“I know,” she replies, biting her lip against apologies he won’t accept. “But, we’re in this together, okay?”

Steve’s fingers twitch on her leg, but he doesn’t pull away. “Even with you and Jeff?”

“You figured that out, huh?” she asks, and that’s what finally gets him to look up at her with a raised brow, making her laugh.

“I mean, you told me you were going to ask him out,” he starts, before leering over at her. “And you two aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Tell that to Eddie,” she replies, wanting to swallow the name back down once it comes out of her mouth, but it’s too late—it’s already been said.

Steve smiles wryly as he says, “well, he’s not exactly the most observant, is he?”

He has her there. Steve himself, no matter how hard he tried, wasn’t subtle with his affections: the compliments, the stuttering over his words, the blushing. But none of it had done more than make Eddie give Steve suspicious looks, like there was some sort of game he wasn’t in on.

There was, but even without knowing he was playing, he’d still beaten Steve.

“No, he’s really not.”

Steve hums, picking up his hand to check if it’s dry before moving onto painting her nails. He picks his favorite yellow for her, even though he knows it washes her out. She holds out her hand and doesn’t complain.

“I really like him,” Steve says, quietly enough that it’s barely audible over the murmur of voices coming from the TV.

“I know,” she whispers, watching the flickering sadness on his face by the illumination of the Harrington’s big television screen. “I love you. You know that, right?”

He pauses in painting her nails to meet her eyes, smiling for real now. “I know,” he says, stroking the skin on her wrist with the free fingers not holding the nail polish applicator. “And you know what? This was all worth it if I got you out of it.”

And then he just goes back to painting her nails like that wasn’t the most romantic thing anyone has ever said. Eddie Munson can fuck himself; Chrissy’s going to be buried in Steve’s letterman jacket and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

***

Eddie doesn’t go to school on Monday. He’s too busy rereading the secret admirer notes—the notes Steve Harrington left him—like if he reads them in the right order, it’ll all snap together in his brain in a way that makes fucking sense.

And it does, sort of. It’s like sorting out a bunch of puzzle pieces after finally knowing what the shape of the puzzle even is. Some parts of the letters just jump out of the page, the longer he looks. In the end, he processes this the way he processes everything: he makes a list.

Proof that Steve Harrington is my Secret Admirer:

1. I’m not trying to bully you.

2. I wish I was brave enough to tell you. Brave like you.

3. I know you don’t like them, but I like sports.

4. My favorite color is yellow, like the sun, and sunflowers, and all those happy, bright colors.

5. But my eyes? They’re brown, but nowhere near as pretty as yours.

6. I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty.

7. Do you hate all of them, or just the bullies?

8. You laughed, but it wasn’t your real laugh like when Mr. Danver accidentally said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’.

A jock afraid of Eddie labeling them as a bully? Check. Favorite color, the same one Steve Harrington had painted his nails all those weeks ago? Check. Rich enough to have a piano that’s just not played? Check. But the most damning part of all: Chrissy was never in Mr. Danver’s class with him last year, but Harrington was. And Chrissy? Her eyes are bright, translucent blue.

The longer he looks at those two incriminating bits of evidence, the stupider he feels. It was never her, and from the looks of it, they hadn’t put much effort into pretending it was. It was always Harrington from that first, forever-lost letter that they’d stuffed in his locker.

And the longer he pours over the letters, the less he can picture Chrissy sprawled on her bed, writing each letter with a shy flourish before spraying it with a puff of her favored scent. No. It’s Harrington, frowning down at the page because words have never come easy to him; it’s Harrington sleeping with Eddie’s letter placed gently beneath his pillow; it’s Harrington who’d made Eddie smile like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

And now that he thinks about it, wasn’t it Harrington whose eye he kept catching from across the cafeteria? Harrington who’d stutter over his words around Eddie, but still told him he was a good storyteller?

Harrington who wanted to go to his show. Chrissy hadn’t even remembered Corroded Coffin’s name.

Harrington had–of course he had.

And he can picture that, too now. Harrington in the crowd in his stupid polo with his bright yellow nail polish, sticking out like a sore thumb in the gruff crowd at the Hideout, beautiful brown eyes trained solely on Eddie.

He can still feel the way his pulse had ratcheted up when they were in the bathroom, Harrington between his spread thighs, palms warm against his tender ribs, sucking all the oxygen out of Eddie’s lungs with how close he was.

It’s too much.

“Hello?” Jeff’s mom sounds curt over the phone, already fed up with Eddie calling before he’s even said anything. Eddie doesn’t care; he can’t when he needs Jeff this badly.

“Can I talk to Jeff?” he cries out, hand shaking around the receiver as he listens to her grumble, but she still shouts for her son to come pick up the goddamn phone.

“Hello?”

Eddie should wait until he’s sure Jeff’s mom is no longer in hearing vicinity, but he can’t, too wound up tight to keep from blurting out, “am I gay?”

There’s a moment of silence that Eddie can barely breathe through before Jeff says, “uhh, Eddie?” in such a bewildered voice that Eddie sort of wants to punch him.

“Yes, yes, it’s me,” he says, words spilling out over each other. “And I’m sorry about what I said, and you’re sorry that you kept secrets from me—we can do that later, Jeff!”

“Uh, oka—”

“Now, am I gay?” he’s panting by the time he’s done, not having taken a single breath during his tirade. He’s waiting for Jeff’s confirmation or denial, but all that comes down the line is his quiet breathing. “Jeff?”

“Uh, shit, we’re doing this? Okay.” Eddie can almost picture the fed-up palm Jeff’s rubbing against his face, as if it’s somehow Eddie’s fault that Jeff is taking so long explaining the squirmy nebulous feeling in Eddie’s gut. “I don’t know man, why do you think you’re gay?”

Then, Eddie does what he should have done all along, and spills everything to Jeff, from the first letter all the way up to Steve Harrington’s bitchy little speech in the quarry as he put himself bodily between Eddie and Jason Carver.

“—and then he kneeled between my knees like that’s a normal, straight guy thing to do and just like, put his hands in my shirt!” Eddie whines, long since having settled onto the cold linoleum of his kitchen floor. “I mean, what the hell?”

“I think you’re forgetting one important fact, dude: Steve’s not straight.”

“Which brings me back to my question!” Eddie replies, trying for breezy and landing on whiny. “Am I gay?”

Jeff hums down the line like he’s really thinking about it this time. “Well, when he was touching you,” he starts, like that already doesn’t have Eddie’s face flaming, “what did you feel?”

Eddie puts himself back into that moment, thighs splayed pressed open by the heavy weight of Harrington’s body, Harrington’s big, warm hands running over his skin, his worried golden brown eyes roving over Eddie’s face.

“I felt like I was on fire,” Eddie whispers, feeling that same heat now pooling lower in his gut.

“…in a good way?” Jeff asks.

Eddie’s brain goes static, full of too much to differentiate good from bad, if that’s a distinction that ever existed at all. Eddie makes a questioning noise in his throat, knees twitching restlessly where they’re crossed in front of him.

“Okay, okay, uhh—hmm,” Jeff hums across the line. “Did you want to move closer or away?”

Eddie closes his eyes and thinks, imagining that trapped, warm, overwhelming feeling of being caged in by Harrington’s body. “Both?”

Jeff hmms again, clearly trying to think it through. Eddie can’t blame him—this is the most confused he’s been in his entire life, and Jeff doesn’t even have an all-access pass to his brain to try to pick answers out of–not that it’s currently doing Eddie much good.

“Do you want to try kissing a guy?” Jeff asks. “I’d do it, if it was for you, dude.”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles, lips puckering in disgust, “ew, you’re like my brother.”

Jeff laughs at him and replies, “so you don’t want to, not because I’m a guy, but because we’re like brothers? Sounds pretty gay, dude.”

“Oh.”

Jeff doesn’t say anything; he’s always been good at sensing when Eddie just needs a minute to think. But this time, he doesn’t think a minute will cut it, so he continues with a, “hey Jeff?”

“Hmm?”

“I really did mean it, you know.” He squeezes the phone tighter against the side of his face, like that will help his sincerity ring down the line. “I am sorry, and we should talk about it, but I can’t yet.”

Jeff still doesn’t reply, but his breathing is steady and sure down the line, settling Eddie’s anxious heart down to a little flutter.

“Is that okay?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, dude,” Jeff replies gruffly. “So, you’ll still call me?”

Eddie smiles. He’s missed Jeff, is the thing. They’ve been so distant lately, and no matter how well Eddie and Gareth get along, he’s no Jeff. “Or accost you at school, whichever comes first.”

That makes Jeff laugh; Eddie lets the sound warm him. “Okay, but I’m serious about the kissing thing!” Jeff replies, “Come over and I can plant one right on y—”

Eddie hangs up on his friend, feeling more himself than he has in days. No matter what happens, he has Jeff.

PART 17

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #jeff is the real mvp here putting up with all of eddie's issues #well. him and wayne

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