#and has built a life with Eddie - the kind of life and love he’s been searching for

[stagefoureddiediaz]

So is that awful and ill placed and thought out daddy kink joke supposed to be a set up for Buck season 8?? For Buck actually exploring his trauma around his father and around Bobby??

Is it supposed to be the set up for Buck realising he is still on the hamster wheel of relationships where he’s in it for the emotional connection and his partner is only in it for sex?

Is that what this is - because I have spent my night trying to figure out what other reason there could possibly be for dropping that ‘joke’ at that moment and making that scene weird?

Buck is clearly more invested in the relationship than Tommy is - you can see Buck is still invested and engaged in his first queer relationship - that he’s still a bit starry eyed over Tommy - but that scene was screaming Abby 2.0 at me - Tommys behaviour was very similar to Abby’s in my opinion.

And while I’m not mad at that as a concept - Tommy being similar to Abby makes a fair amount of sense - in the same way she helped move Buck from playboy to relationship material (I maintain the playboy persona was a mask and coping mechanism for his loneliness) Tommy is helping him move from straight to queer - unlocking another part of himself.

But if that is the case - that scene - that set up - was just not it.

Every other main had at least a fair hint of what there arc will be for season 8, but Buck didn’t really - yes it was made clear he’ll be there for Eddie (and Chris) but that journey is Eddie’s not Bucks - Buck had no hint of an arc for himself so I’m left trying to figure out what they’re doing with him and this is where I’m at.

[say-al0e]

Casual

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Steve Harrington has always been kind of an asshole and you've always been kind of in love with him. But a lifetime of friendship doesn't mean either of you are ready for something more than a casual fling because there's nothing scarier than vulnerability, even in Hawkins. [Set between seasons 2 and 3] Warnings: Car sex, requited unrequited love, unprotected PinV, mentions of cheating (parents, Carol; not Steve or Reader). Pairing: Steve Harrington x rich girl!Reader (briefly mentioned but important, off-screen Eddie Munson x rich girl!Reader) Word Count: 5.6k

Steve Harrington was kind of an asshole.

For as long as you’d known him, he’d been a bit of a dick. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, depending on who you asked, you’d known him your entire life. You grew up together, neighbors, with parents who, in their own way, were best friends - if either of your parents were capable of such a thing as friendship. And because of that, you saw a side of Steve that few others had ever witnessed.

There were moments where you saw the softness, the honeyed sweetness, that shimmered through the cracks in the facade he crafted for himself - beneath the hair and the smirk and the snarky quips. Moments where the real Steve, a tender-hearted, well-intentioned sweetheart who was always on the verge of getting it right but never quite managed to make it, lurked beneath the heavy crown he wore.

Just as there were moments when he saw beneath your own carefully crafted persona. He was the only only person who had ever seen the worry, the sadness, the deep-rooted yearning for something more that was buried beneath your walls of ice. He saw every impossibly strong, deeply felt emotion that lingered beneath your careful composure, your even stoicism. He saw the real you, not just the Ice Queen cloaked in department store dresses and expensive perfume.

Only, neither of you acknowledged those moments.

It was an unspoken pact, one you’ve honored since thirteen when you both realized that being popular meant more than being nice. You both pretended that you were still the same vapid rich kids you’d always been, unburdened by a world built to cater to you.

Even if that was no longer true. Even if it hadn’t been true in a very long time.

Either way, you didn’t mention his newfound soft spot for a strange, ragtag group of children and he didn’t mention the fact that he knew the hickey just beneath your jaw was from none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson.

Just as you had nearly every weekend for the past six months, the pair of you sat in the backseat of his BMW after yet another party that neither of you particularly wanted to attend. It had long ago gotten old, pretending to enjoy the self-involved prattling of your former classmates - their bragging about taking on the family business or which colleges they’d be attending in the fall, snide remarks about Steve’s lack of direction while conveniently ignoring the fact that you were the only one with an Ivy acceptance - and you couldn’t help yourself as you huffed.

“Tommy and Carol are the worst. I swear, if I have to hear her bitch about his inability to make her come or him make another stupid fucking dick joke, I’m gonna scream.”

For as long as you could remember, you’d wanted to tell them both to fuck off, to disappear back into whatever hole they’d managed to claw their way out of, but Steve reveled in their following, once upon a time, anyway. Now, he looked almost resigned to their existence in your lives as he frowned.

“She told you that?”

“Won’t stop telling me that,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as his hand fell to your thigh, fingers idly tracing the bare skin just beneath the hem of your skirt. “I would tell her to break up with him but, honestly, they totally deserve each other. May they spend the rest of their lives making each other completely fucking miserable.”

It was only in these moments, hidden away in the thick of the trees near Lover’s Lake, that any glimpse of your real selves began to emerge. Your annoyed huffing, directed at the awful people you found yourself surrounded by, and Steve’s tender touch as he shifted closer and carefully brushed a lock of hair from your neck. Neither of you mentioned it, too lost in your own little world, but it never escaped either of your notice.

Still, Steve hummed dutifully. “Totally,” he agreed, “told him she cheated on him with Billy but he called me a liar.” He paused for a moment, shifted just a touch closer - his jean covered leg pressing into yours, body warm even in the cool air conditioning - before he changed the subject by asking, “New perfume?”

“Everyone knows about her and Billy. But, like, who hasn’t Billy fucked at this point.” Steve leaned in, nosed at the curve of your jaw, and you hummed. “Mom brought it back from that last conference they went to. Said I needed something more mature before I leave for school.” You left out the part of the conversation where she went on for nearly an hour about how much of a waste it was for you to even consider college in the first place when you were meant to marry someone of status - someone like Steve - and tilted your head to allow him more room.

“Smells good,” he complimented. “Like oranges or something.”

“Or something,” you mumbled agreeably, shifting against the seat to make yourself more comfortable as he began to press his mouth to the sensitive skin of your throat. “What’re you doin’, Stevie?”

“Giving you the attention you deserve,” he answered, never missing a beat and only pausing to nip at the pulse point. “Can’t have you unfucked in this skirt. That’d be criminal.”

As if he sought to make a point, Steve’s hand began to drift higher up your thigh, fingers traveling a well-worn path and ghosting over bruises left in his wake after last Saturday’s party at his own home. Again, he decidedly avoided the few extra spots that lined your thighs - the bite mark he would see when you parted your legs, in the shape of a certain metalhead’s teeth, and the hickey you’d been left with at the juncture of your thighs - as you laughed.

“Should call Hawkins’s finest,” you teased, grinning when Steve huffed a laugh.

“They’d send Callahan,” he mused as his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh and pulled you closer, encouraging you to climb onto his lap. “Would love to see him try to figure out what to do with you.”

“And you know what to do with me?”

Steve’s smirk was obvious, clear even as he nipped at your skin. “‘Course I do,” he assured you, settling back against the plush of the seat as you shifted in the small space and settled on his lap. “I know exactly what to do with you.”

“Prove it.”

The challenge hung in the air for a moment, thick even in the cool interior of his car, and gave you the briefest respite to study him. Soft brown eyes were blown black with lust, a darkness that you sometimes found yourself grateful for the chance to witness, and his hair had begun falling in his eyes. His cheeks were tinged pink and you knew that his lips would follow soon. 

Steve was beautiful, a work of art in the dim moonlight, and your heart beat just a touch too fast for something that was supposed to be casual as you waited for him to take the bait.

Before you could tease, attempt to bring some levity back into the moment that suddenly seemed too intense, Steve’s large hand found the back of your head. He pulled you in with a practiced ease, a touch that betrayed just how comfortable you were with one another, and pressed his mouth to yours.

Whereas Steve’s facade was all flash, easy confidence with nothing to prove, his kiss was almost desperate. There was the knowledge that he was good - he’d earned it, sought to learn exactly what you liked and adapted quickly - but beneath that, there was a desire to make the moment everything you could want. He kissed you with an urgency you could never quite understand, almost as if he wanted to savor the moment because he feared it may never happen again, but you knew that couldn’t be true.

As reticent as you both were to delve into your true selves - into your true feelings - you knew that this would happen time and again. It would happen until one of you inevitably broke the other’s heart, and maybe even after.

Still, Steve kissed your with more passion than you ever could’ve expected.

From your position on his lap, skirt bunched around your waist and hands falling into his hair, you could feel the growing bulge in his jeans. There was a slight rocking of his hips, something you might’ve dismissed as an attempt to get comfortable if you didn’t know him so well, and you still managed to find yourself surprised by just how much the little things turned him on.

“Girls like you,” he rasped, breaking the kiss before you could even think to, “just need to be fucked dumb. Be all pretty and cock drunk. Made into that pretty little trophy wife you swear you’d hate to be.”

The way he spoke was so casually condescending, a little mean in the way he’d discovered you liked, and you felt your cheeks heat as you squirmed on his lap. He knew - knew that your mother hated your ambition, swore you were purposely sabotaging her attempts to marry you off, including the few attempts she’d made with him - and smirked when you shot him a half-hearted glare.

“You can pout all you want, but that’s what you need, right?” His hands fell to your thighs, raking up the soft skin as your own tangled in his hair and tugged. “To be taken care of, to be fucked like you deserve.”

“Don’t think some hotshot husband would care enough to fuck me like that,” you countered, swallowing hard in an attempt to maintain your composure as his fingers trailed higher. “Would never come. He’d be too focused on fucking the secretary ‘cause she won’t be upset when he gets off and she doesn’t. But that’s why the trophy wives fuck the pool boys and tennis coaches, I guess.”

Steve hummed his understanding - had his own firsthand knowledge of both your father’s affairs, knew just what kind of men he was surrounded by now that he was old enough - before tipping his chin to glance up at you. “Guess you’ll have to look harder to find someone worth your time, then. ‘Cause this pussy’s too good to be wasted on some dickhead who won’t appreciate it.”

“Steve.” His name came out softer than you intended, a near breathless sort of whine that betrayed you - more than the growing patch of slick clearly visible against the light pink fabric of your panties - and he hummed.

“Don’t worry, babe. You know I’ll take care of you.” Though Steve could be an asshole when he wanted, he was nothing but a giver when he settled between your thighs. There were moments where you worried, secretly feared this might be the moment he decided to be selfish and leave you hanging, but more often than not, you were the one to tap out first. And any argument you could’ve formed died on your lips as he ordered, “Just shut up and sit pretty for me, yeah?”

Despite yourself - despite the part of your brain that wanted you to argue, to fight back and tell him to go fuck himself - you melted into his touch as his fingers ghosted over the fabric between your thighs. You heard him sigh, felt the warmth of his breath fanning over your mouth as he refused to put more space than necessary between you, as his gaze met yours.

“Next time, I’m fucking you in my bed,” he decided, gaze flicking back to where his fingers hooked into the soft material and dragged it to the side. “Can’t taste you the way I want in here.”

“Can’t keep saying shit like that,” you mumbled, nails biting into his skin as you gripped his shoulder to keep yourself upright. “Gonna make me think you actually like eating pussy.”

“I do,” he admitted, grinning when you rolled your eyes. “Like eating yours the best, though.”

With that, Steve’s fingers swiped through the slick gathered between your thighs. His thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves and his mouth returned to yours, eagerly swallowing the soft noise of surprised pleasure you released.

Each swipe of his fingers was easy, almost lazy. There was a practiced ease there, a lover’s knowledge of your body - absent any of the almost nervous exploration of the first time - and you forced yourself not to think too hard about that fact as his tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

The small space was cramped, not the easiest to maneuver, but it was familiar.

Though sometimes familiarity equated to boredom, routine, Steve’s touch was anything but. Every swipe of his fingers through your folds, every brush of his thumb over the aching bundle of nerves, was electrifying. He had you teetering on the verge of begging, eager for him in a way you’d never been for anyone else - almost anyone else - and you knew he could tell as he finally gave you something more.

Two thick fingers, skilled and steady, pressed into you. They stretched you - never quite enough to fully prepare you for the impressive length hidden beneath the denim you knew you were soaking through - in a way that had your breath catching in your throat and your heart hammering in your chest. Steve knew exactly where to press, fingers finding that one spot that made you see stars, and you could feel the twitch of his mouth as he refused to allow you to pull away from the kiss entirely.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, tone so smug it made you realize why so many were eager to brand him an asshole. “C’mon, babe, the sooner you let go, the sooner I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Despite your conflicting emotions - the desire to hit him, to call him an asshole and tell him to just get on with it; the desire to kiss him, to tell him that you only wanted this, him for the rest of your life - you settled for the middle ground and allowed yourself to sink into his touch.

Those murmurs of encouragement, almost reverent in a way that you hoped no one else had ever heard, had your mind blanking and your chest heaving as you focused solely on the press of his fingers. His pace was perfect, steady and even and never too much - always too much, always enough to make you wonder how you ever thought you could be fine with losing this someday - and you would’ve told him as much if you were capable of speaking without admitting that you were afraid you could love him for the rest of your life.

Instead, you settled for sinking your nails into his shoulder, for tugging at the soft strands of his hair, as he nipped at your skin. He sucked a mark just beneath the one you knew he’d seen, despite your attempt at concealing it, and that was enough to throw you over the edge.

Steve once admitted to loving the noises you made, promised they turned him on rather than weirded him out - something you only admitted when he asked why you were so quiet, refused to let you come until you explained yourself - and you knew you wouldn’t have been able to quiet yourself even if you’d tried as his fingers worked you through the first orgasm of the night.

Knowing him, Steve wouldn’t stop until he had you desperate - he liked to see your tears, watery eyes and mascara running as you finally let down the walls he’d only glimpsed behind - and that seemed to be the case as he resumed his pace the moment your breathing began to even.

“Steve,” you huffed, your best attempt at something resembling normal, though you could hear the whining edge to your tone. “Fuck me,” you demanded, or at least attempted to. “Fill me up. So big, always feel so full when you’re inside.”

It was a low blow, an attempt to appeal to his ego - exaggerated, though it was true; he was the biggest you’d ever had - and he rolled his eyes as he nipped at your bottom lip.

“So fucking impatient,” he huffed, though he gave in, just as he always did. “Such a spoiled brat.”

With a tap to your thigh, you shifted. You held yourself upright, knees digging into the soft cushions of the seat, long enough for him to unbutton his jeans and shift his hips. As you had every time you found yourself in this situation, which was more often than not lately, you watched with wide eyes and bated breath as he freed himself from the confines of too-tight denim.

For years, you wondered why so many girls flocked to Steve when they knew how things would end. You wondered why anyone gave him a chance, why anyone came back when he forgot to call or blew them off for someone else, but you understood now. The look of him, the weight and feel of his cock in your hand as you reached out and swiped at the pearl of precum beading at the tip, was almost answer enough. The effort he put in to make you feel as if you were the only person that mattered, as if your pleasure were more important than his, quelled the rest of your doubt.

When you lifted your hand to your mouth, lapped the bead from your thumb and hummed, Steve groaned.

“Fucking tease.” There was no bite, no venom, to the words, but you still bit back your grin as he reached for your hip with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He dragged you closer, settled you firmly on his lap and swiped the tip of his cock through your folds, as he tipped his chin in a silent request for you to return your mouth to his.

As you pressed your lips to his, he used the grip on your hip to drag your hips down. It was swift, faster than he’d ever gone and almost desperate in the way he pulled you in, but you reveled in the slight pinch as he stretched you open.

There was something so overwhelming about feeling Steve so close, about having him in the way you dreamt of when you first realized how you felt about him, but you did your best to swallow the sudden lump in your throat as your eyes fell shut and your lips parted.

The pace always varied with Steve. Some nights were hard and fast, usually when you were both wound up after a particularly rough night; others were soft and slow, when the emotion began to overwhelm you, when the desperate need to be close outweighed the potential damage a confession might bring. And others still were somewhere in between, teasing and playful; an alternation between soft and hard, slow and quick - a way for him to make you beg, to bring you out of your head and into the moment.

Tonight was no different.

Though you sat atop him, Steve did all the work. His hips snapped, cock pressing into you with every movement, as his hands dragged you down. He controlled the pace, controlled the moment, and you allowed yourself to be fully present.

There was no facade in these moments, no pretending to be anything other than you were, and you imagined that was why you both returned time and again. This was Steve - giving, eager, desperate to be good enough. And you were just as present, just as honest; soft, pliant, warm and overjoyed that he still wanted you despite the surface ice that froze most others out. 

Neither of you could pretend here, with nothing between you but a few pesky articles of clothing. Neither of you wanted to.

And you knew, as your mouth returned to his, that despite the rough snap of his hips and the bruising grip he held on your hip, that your kiss betrayed you. Each swipe of your tongue, each breathless gasp you allowed him to swallow, told him exactly what he needed to know.

When his hand fell between your thighs, thumb pressing to the aching bundle of nerves, your mind went blank and your thoughts revolved solely around the beautiful brunette beneath you.

The curve of his jaw, the warmth of his eyes, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips; Steve, Steve, Steve, was all that existed in your mind. The drag of his cock, filling you so perfectly that it almost seemed as if he were a missing piece, designed especially for you, was all that existed. And just as he wanted, it left you pliant in his hands.

“There we go,” he groaned, voice softer than you imagined he intended, as a hand lifted to your cheek. “Look at that, givin’ you what you need, hm?” When you moaned your agreement, lips pursing in a silent request for him to kiss you, Steve smiled. “Look pretty like this. Soft and fucked out for me. I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, yeah?”

It was the first confirmation that he knew, that he cared more than you thought he might, about the other man in your life. And though you wanted to tease him, to poke and prod and be a bit of a bitch about it, you could only moan your agreement.

Eddie was good, was more than enough, but there was something about Steve.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice only just beginning to show his exertion as his hips snapped a little harder. “Come for me, babe. Show me how good I make you feel.”

As was beginning to become a habit, you gave in to him without so much as an attempt otherwise. The press of his fingers to your aching clit, the rough snap of his hips, the warmth of his breath fanning over your sweat slick skin; all of it was too much, just enough, to send you barreling over the edge for a second time.

With a cry of his name, keening and louder than you intended, you came and Steve followed shortly after. You could feel the warmth of his spend, the twitch of his cock, as you settled for a long moment, and felt the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes.

Without so much as a second though, Steve lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks, careful not to press too hard, and swiped away the few that had fallen before he pressed a kiss to your cheek and shot you a teasing wink.

“Love it when you cry for me, babe,” he teased, though you wondered if he’d have the same reaction if he knew the tears were, at least in part, caused by the overwhelming flurry of emotion that had you questioning everything you knew. “Seeing the Ice Queen melt never gets old.”

“You’re such a dick, Stevie.” The huff was as playful as you could manage with your breath still coming in short pants and your stomach churning with emotion but he grinned just the same as he helped you off his lap.

“Think you mean, ‘you have such a great dick, Stevie’.” When you rolled your eyes, straightening out your clothes and attempting to smooth your hair, he laughed. “Oh, c’mon, not gonna say thank you for the incredible orgasms? Your parents raised you better than that, babe.”

“They raised me better than to fuck some rich asshole in the backseat of his car, but, here we are.” Steve followed your lead and began to straighten himself out, zipped his jeans and at least pretended not to stare as you settled your panties back into place, the fabric immediately darkening with his spend. “Speaking of, you should probably get me home, Romeo. It’s past curfew.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Steve simply tugged you back into his side, hand cradling your jaw as you both attempted to catch your breath.

The lie was obvious - your parents didn’t care very much how late you stayed out, even less when you were with Steve - and you knew that he knew who would be waiting for you to return home. However, you didn’t expect him to ask.

Steve’s touch was soft, though you could see the distaste in the set of his mouth as his fingers brushed the two marks beneath your jaw - one fresh and one fading. “What’re you doin’ with the freak, anyway?” He’d never asked, neither of you made it a habit to pry into the other’s personal life, but he seemed unable to help himself as he continued. “You know you could just buy weed, right? You don’t have to fuck him for it.”

“I don’t smoke,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes even as you leaned into his touch. “Dunno,” you shrugged, avoiding his gaze as your hands worried with the hem of your skirt. “He’s exciting. Well, not really,” you amended because he wasn’t, “but he’s different. He’s just… Eddie. Doesn’t try to be something he’s not.” The slight was unintentional but you caught Steve’s slight wince, even as you barreled on. “And, I mean, it totally pisses off my dad every time he sees Eddie sneaking out because the guy’s a total fucking klutz and can’t leave without waking up half the neighborhood.” Steve scoffed, though you weren’t sure you were meant to hear it as he quickly covered the sound with a clearing of his throat before you added, as an afterthought, “And he listens to me. Not, like, pretends to.”

“I listen to you.”

While it wasn’t a lie - Steve listened, retained whatever you told him - neither of you were ever particularly honest with one another. Your conversations were never as serious as the ones you shared with Eddie, never as deep. For someone you considered your best friend, Steve barely knew anything about the real you. Though, that was as much your fault as it was his.

There was always a fear, deep and unfounded, that he might not like the real you. That if you were honest, that if you allowed him to see you for who you really were, that he might hate you. That he might leave. With Eddie, that didn’t matter very much. He was fun, a distraction, a taste of something forbidden and a glimpse into another life, but he was temporary. He could leave at any time, decide he didn’t like the real you and it might hurt for a moment but you would get over it quick. 

With Steve, it was your biggest fear.

Thinking that he might not like the real you, that he might suddenly change his mind and decide the real you wasn’t worth his time, was a fear that felt almost paralyzing. Steve’s opinion mattered, more than anyone else’s, so you held tight to the person you’d always been - the one he’d always at least tolerated - and never breathed so much as a word to the contrary.

Regardless, you humored him. “You do,” you agreed, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair from his eyes. “But you kinda have to. And you also moaned Nancy’s name the first time we fucked so, like, that sorta cancels out some of the good stuff.” Steve flustered, cheeks flashing neon pink as he recalled the moment - a drunken hookup soon after his breakup, the first of what would become a regular occurrence - but before he could defend himself, you asked, “How’s that going, by the way? You figure out how to get her back from the creep?”

Steve shook his head, then, and sighed as he admitted, “Don’t think I even want to, anymore. Think I was just… She was right, maybe. We were kind of bullshit.”

The resigned misery in his voice was obvious, still upset by the hurtful declaration of a girl you knew he’d loved - in his own way, anyway - and you sighed as you rested your head against the seat cushion. “All of this is bullshit,” you shrugged. “High school, Hawkins, Indiana; none of it means anything.”

“We don’t mean anything?” Despite his best attempt at nonchalance, Steve sounded almost heartbroken - devastated to hear yet another person who meant something to him declare that he meant nothing - and you sighed as you grabbed the hand that rested on your thigh.

“You know I hate sentimentality,” you mumbled, unable to look him in the eye, “but you’re the only thing worth anything in my whole life. You could never be bullshit. Annoying, totally, but not bullshit. Never bullshit.”

There was a brief pause, a moment in which you both felt the weight of you admission pressing on your chests - stealing what little air seemed to remain in the car, windows still fogged and radio still playing too softly to really hear - before Steve swallowed. “You know I…” He cut himself off, paused and seemed to think better of voicing the thought aloud, before he asked, “You know, right?”

‘I love you,’ went unspoken, as it always had. It lingered, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to crack the ice and set it free. You knew, just as Steve did, that you were in something like love. Maybe not a love that would last forever, maybe not even a love that was ever meant to be, but it was there.

Warm, shiny and bright, and just waiting for you to stop pretending that things between you had ever been casual.

So, you nodded.

“Yeah,” you assured him, reaching for his hand to squeeze it gently. “I know. Me, too.”

Silence fell, then, thick and suffocating. It filled the interior of his car with a bitter chill and it struck you just how new that feeling was. It made you wonder what a future might be like, if you had one at all, and you found yourself mildly horrified at the idea that you could end up as either set of your parents. There was no world in which you could see a future without Steve at least somewhere in your life but there was no happiness in a world in which you both continued to pretend.

Either way, you were both stuck - caught up in a never-ending performance, an act for an audience that only existed in your minds.

What began as something effortless, something casual, had become so complicated that you no longer felt certain of much beyond the understanding that you loved Steve. How -  if you could love the real him, if you only loved the idea of him, if you loved the safety of him - was a question you had no answer to but before you could begin to even fathom it, the moment ended.

Steve pressed a final kiss to your mouth, bruising in a way that made your chest ache and your eyes sting with unshod tears, before he made his way to the driver’s seat.

And then, just as he had every night since he got his license, Steve drove you home. He pulled up to the door to let you out and didn’t mention the van he saw parked down the street. He squeezed your hand before you could step out into the night, three times in rapid succession, and lit a cigarette the moment you stepped out of the car. 

King Steve wasn’t one to fall in love easily, neither was the Ice Queen. But Steve Harrington wore his heart on his sleeve and that heart beat for you. Despite the distractions, the desperate attempts at finding something so disconnected from the cushioned prison of his gilded cage, he knew that it had been you all along. And just as neither of you mentioned the real people beneath the personas, neither of you mentioned just how real the love you shared had grown.

Loving one another, allowing yourselves to be vulnerable - to reveal the deepest, darkest secrets - was terrifying. Both of you feared what the other might think of the truth that lay beneath the crown so you agreed, silently, that to pretend was better than to face rejection.

So, Steve drove the few streets that separated your neighborhood from his and let himself into the empty house that meant nothing when his true home was likely sliding open a window to allow the only person he’d ever seen as true competition inside. And he wondered when the love of his life became a casual fling, when you both resigned yourselves to pretending that neither of you deserved something real - something true, something happy. He wondered why he carried on with it, knowing that in a few short weeks you would be in Boston, knee-deep in a life you hated, while he was stuck in Hawkins, wishing he’d had the courage to be himself and that he’d asked for something more than casual.

There was no satisfactory answer, not if he really thought about it, so he decided not to. 

The rest of the summer would be spent in the same way the last six months had. Steve would pretend to enjoy the parties and the attention of girls who only wanted him for his reputation. You would continue pretending that nothing fazed you, not even him. And things between you would remain casual. 

And he supposed that was just the way it was meant to be.

_________________________________________________

Author's Note: Did you know there's a chance black beans will catch on fire in the microwave? 'Cause I didn't. Anyway. This was my first time writing 'King Steve' and I had so much fun. This was loosely inspired by Chappell Roan's Casual. And my love of both Steve and Eddie. :)

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff​, @valthevalkyrie-main​, @crying-caro​, @inglourious-imagines​

[fastcardotmp3]

Eddie Munson does do the whole rock star thing, but it doesn't quite go the way it did in the daydreams of a sixteen-year-old kid trying to stay awake in school.

He leaves Hawkins after the world doesn't end, gets himself out there, takes all the hurt and fear and fucked up shit and puts it into a handful of good enough songs to get himself signed.

It's not quite the genre he grew up with, not quite something any of his idols might have played, but only because it is so entirely Eddie, so influenced by where he's been and what he's seen that it kind of doesn't fit one specific influence.

It's new and it's good, is the point. Really good. And he skyrockets fast enough to give himself the spins.

He's recognizable and then he's famous and then he's too famous and too young to know what to do with it and too far from home and everyone he loves to really cope with it and it's just.

Eddie isn't built for it. Eddie hasn't even processed the fact that he was maybe supposed to die in that place, or the fact that he did watch people better than him actually die, but he's out here shooting to the top of the charts and being called the next big thing and it's too much.

It's just enough, at the end of it all, for him to self-sabotage his way out of being more than a one-hit wonder.

One big hit, a contract broken by the guys at the top with the fancy lawyers because Eddie has become the too much thing, just like always, and it's over as quick as it started.

He disappears, becomes one of those whatever happened to him? he was supposed to be the next big thing? stories that travel by word of mouth and then fade with the shift in conversation.

So what does happen to Eddie Munson?

He falls hard, he hits rock bottom, he crawls his way home to an uncle who deserved for Eddie to really make it, make him proud, have him financially set for life and get him into a real house with two stories and a garage to park the truck in, maybe even a yard for a dog.

He spirals and isolates and falls apart and stops letting himself make music at all and makes some personal choices that will probably have lasting effects on him for the rest of his life and then somewhere along the line a girl with hair like tangerines and terrible aim manages to smack him with her cane and says if I learned to walk again, so can you, asshole.

There are people in his life again after that, a reason to get out of bed and realize that he can make Wayne proud in more ways than the one he'd already fucked straight to hell.

Eddie watches a bunch of kids graduate high school and then he packs up and chases down some people who pulled him out of hell once before up in Chicago, crashes on Steve and Robin's couch until he gets himself a job painting houses and they can afford three bedrooms instead of just the two.

He cuts his hair, not short but shorter, and he gets more tattoos and itches for the guitar that sits in a case under his bed, ignores it. Itches for the pen in his hand, ignores that too.

He's still barely past his mid-20s and he still has some fucking around left to get out of his system, some finding out to accomplish doubly so, but he learns as he goes no matter whether it's forwards or backwards.

He falls in love and falls out of it, gets fired from jobs and tracks down new ones, gets into fights with his friends because they're all a little fucked up and codependent and weird but makes up with them for the same reasons.

The thing with Steve happens slowly, going from tolerating each other for the sake of knowing they'll always be on the same team to genuinely liking each other to discovering a care between the two of them that's a bit too strong to be normal about even if it still takes them a half-dozen so-called turning points to really name it and take it and keep it.

Eddie's 33 when they buy a condo together on the outskirts of Chicago two weeks after they fall into bed with each other for the first time, and he's over a decade on from being a kid who rose to the top too fast but it doesn't feel dissimilar, that sensation of a too-good thing that's bound to go wrong.

Only this time he doesn't try to sabotage it, tries the opposite, tries to hold it tightly in ways that would probably be too tight for anyone other than Steve Harrington with all his deeply intense feelings and inability to love at anything other than an eleven.

It's in the move that Steve finds a box of notebooks, snoops because it's who he is, and finds years worth of words that never made it past the tip of a pen but did, eventually, make it that far.

And it's not an easy thing, convincing Eddie that they're words worth sharing, because Eddie doesn't want it to be an easy thing. He can't let kind words shoved into his orbit by a beautiful man be enough to make it feel worth it, can't see a world where sharing his art doesn't end in another great big self-induced mess that he can't let happen when he's finally found something good.

He doesn't want to go on tour and get screamed at on stage and, besides, he's pretty sure the rest of the world doesn't want to scream for him anymore either, but then Steve has to go and remind him--

"You don't have to be the face of it. You can just be the words; you are so fucking good at being the words, Ed."

Which still isn't quite enough to be convincing, but it's a start in a solid six months of the words coming easier now that he has someone to share them with, someone to listen as Eddie plucks away at a guitar that sits out in the open now, free of dust.

It stops feeling like something shameful to hide, his music, and the thing is? It doesn't feel how it did back then either.

It's not an escape or a purge of violent energy or a distraction from everything he didn't know how to think about. Sure, it takes all of that into consideration because it takes the whole of Eddie into consideration, but more than anything it's just fun.

Like he's thirteen and still learning how to play the guitar, like it's just a hobby that never has to go anywhere, like it's just art that maybe deserves to be heard.

Everyone pitches in on ideas when they find out he's trying to come up with a pseudonym, and it's goofy and supportive and kind of the final straw in reaching out to old, burned bridges to see about any new artists looking for equally new tunes.

The first time Eddie and Steve catch familiar lyrics being sung by a new hotshot band on the radio, Eddie cries not because he's jealous or disappointed, but because it feels right.

He doesn't like being up in front of the crowds, had only ever walked across tables and made himself big and scary and loud out of self preservation, would always rather his biggest performances be for the people he knows really care.. Besides, after everything he's survived he's learned, albeit slowly, that he really likes the freedom of the quiet.

This way he still gets to say what he has to say, gets to throw his hat into the ring of an artform that he loves without selling his soul to a machine that tried to eat him alive (trust him. he knows what that feels like.)

Of course, someone is going to put 2 and 2 together eventually, the industry isn't as big as it looks and pseudonyms only pull so much weight when you went out in such a spectacularly messy and memorable fashion, but Eddie's got his condo in Chicago.

He's got the guy he shares it with in his bed.

He's got two cats and a windowsill full of plants he's going to keep alive this time, Steve, just you watch.

He's got his uncle settled in Indy these days, a small place with a small yard.

He's got music, too. Turns out even his own tendency to self-destruct couldn't take that away, huh?

It's what got him out of hell alive, after all.

[hotluncheddie]

For the @steddie-spooktober day 17 prompt : hayride

rated: T | cw: none | tags: Steve Harrington owns a farm, Eddie Munson is a clown, fluff

🤡🤡🤡🤡

Steve is on the last leg of the days final hay ride rout. It’s been another weekend of setting up and making sure all the stalls are covered with their seasonal workers, checking in with health and safety and ensuring the entertainers got the newest version of the final Halloween themed weekend schedule, before everything shifts to the Christmas holiday themes.

But it went off without a hitch, another solid season overall.

The farm had been his passion project. Built thanks to his Grandad’s sudden death and meticulous stipulations that all his money go to his only grandson. Freeing Steve completely from under his father’s thumb and allowing him breathing space to finally do something he enjoyed. Even if he is using the business degree his Dad bullied him into, it’s definitely not the route his father wanted for his life.

But Steve loves it. Every moment. Working outside, with people he trusts, like Robin who runs the creative side, marketing a decorating and generally making the place look amazing. Being an honest to god farmer, much to his mother’s chagrin gives him a real sense of purpose and pride, every pumpkin he manages to grow is like a pat on the back.

And, privately, Steve gets to give kids the kind of memories that he could only dream of when he was younger. And that’s worth more than anything.

That last thing is part of the reason why he so often spends the last couple hours of opening running the hay ride. He gets to hear the families and kids enjoy their time together, react to the view and the wooden characters Robin painted, huddle into their coats and snuggle in close. It’s magic. Steve loves it. So he drives the tractor as often as he can.

It’s great. He loves his life, he really does. But, unfortunately, it can’t all be perfect. This season in particular has had one little problem. One bit of danger.

The danger which just so happens to be the first thing he sees as he rounds the last bend of the hay ride. Eddie. Their newest entertainment hire and the thorn in Steve’s side.

He’s way too hot for Steve to be any kind of normal around him.

A honest to god clown. With tricks and magic and jokes and songs. With his little autumn themed outfit and matching makeup. Steve’s heard nothing but good things about him, a shoe in to be rehired every season going forward. The crowds can’t get enough of the guy.

Which is all great. If Steve didn’t have a disgustingly huge crush on him.

Even dressed fully in his clown paint and outfit he’s hot.

It really shouldn’t be hot.

But it is.

And Steve can’t even think about what he looks like in his normal clothes because he could honestly start to get hard thinking about it. The guy is insane.

Not to mention one of the kindest sweetest people ever. To everyone, but it seems to Steve especially. He can’t count the amount of times Eddie’s made him blush just from being so sweet or a little flirty or a little tease.

So really, it’s been hell, the whole season, because I Steve can’t work out a way of asking the guy out that doesn’t make him come off as some creepy boss.

And now Eddie’s there, waiting for Steve at the end of the hay ride. And Steve has no damn clue why.

Steve parks and opens the gate for people to file out. Waving and thanking them for coming, hoping to see them soon.

He stalls until everyone is gone, until the section of farm is empty except the two of them.

Steve bites his lip, jumping up to grab the tractor keys so he can have another moment not looking at Eddie.

Eventually though, he turns, smiles. ‘You good man?’ He asks.

Eddie nods. Looking fidgety. He’s still in his clown makeup but his costume’s been replaced with black jeans and a padded flannel.

Steve crosses his arms and tries not to think about that way the denim stretches over his thighs.

Eddie takes a deep breath. ‘I know you’re my boss and all. But, well, my last shift just finished and I would love if you extended my contract, seriously, but. I’d honestly kick myself if I didn’t at least try.’ Eddie says in a rush.

Steve scrunches his eyebrows.

Eddie revels a bouquet of balloon flowers from behind his back, shy through the face paint, biting his red lip.

Steve is lost for words, mouth opening and closing dumbly.

This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to him.

‘This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.’ He says, dumbfounded.

Eddie smiles, his whole face lighting up. ‘Steve Harrington, will you please go on a date with me?’ He asks.

Steve laughs, takes the flowers and sniffs them just to hear Eddie’s giggle. ‘Yeah.’ He whispers. ‘I’d really like that.’

🤡🤡🤡🤡

Tag list: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @thecatkingsthrone @marvel-ous-m

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots

[diazwake]

okay so i have to just ramble about why i think buck and tommy have been doomed to fail from the jump.

i've been thinking about the discussion tommy and buck had right before their first kiss. tommy telling buck to stop being jealous. that he could never take the place buck has in eddie's life. that buck is not replaceable to eddie. tommy talking about how christopher would riot without buck in his life and buck going 'really?' with the brightest happiest goofiest smile on his face just thinking about how much christopher and eddie want him and need him and love him.

these are all things eddie has told buck before, but buck has so much guilt from hurting eddie in his jealousy, that the thought he might have caused the end of his most valuable friendship makes buck's past trauma rear its ugly head. in that moment buck needed someone to tell him he didn't fuck it all up and that he didn't lose his best friend.

this is where i start getting delulu. but i think it’s here, right after tommy reassures buck, that buck starts processing his feelings on what eddie means to him, what they mean to each other, and what they ultimately are. but buck, in an avoidance to fully take in and accept the reality of his feelings for eddie, performs an exercise in subconsciously pivoting those feelings onto tommy.

buck does this because he has nothing to lose with tommy, but he has everything to lose with eddie. he was just reminded of that. "trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting" is an insane thing to say to tommy, and even tommy knows it. those words were meant for eddie.

it's buck's luck that tommy can see the gay of it all and is also a little greedy, so tommy makes the choice to fill in some of the gaps for buck with the kiss. in exchange buck takes this opportunity to use tommy as a blank canvas for what a relationship with someone like eddie could be like, without any of the risk. tommy knows buck is only going to be with him for as long as it takes for him to figure himself out, but tommy's not leaving that exchange empty handed. tommy gets to not feel alone, because he admitted he's jealous of the found family the 118 have built since he's left.

tommy knows it's temporary. i think that's part of the reason why tommy's character is so polarizing in the context of his relationship with buck, and why their relationship so far seems to superficial despite them dating the entirety of 7b. because why would tommy get invested in a relationship built on misguided feelings, fully knowing it's doomed?

[shybunnie20]

The Decorative Divide

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

(sort of) enemies to friends

★My Masterlist

Summary: Dustin and Suzie request that you and Eddie work together to organize a special dinner for them.

Author's Note: This has been collecting dust in my drafts for a year but I didn’t want to abandon it.

Kind of angsty with a happy ending, no use of y/n, Eddie and Reader are around 28 since Dustin and Suzie are 23, implied that Reader is single, self-indulgent mentions of midwestern food, not polished & was proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: bickering, both Eddie & Reader have quite an attitude and get a little mean, self-deprecation, instance of fainting, includes swearing

As a close family friend, you’ve had the privilege of knowing Dustin for years. Despite living two towns over from Hawkins, you often babysat him once you were old enough to be responsible, given your age gap.

Alongside your friendship with Dustin, you have also come to know Suzie. Dustin and Suzie met during their summer at Camp Know Where. Dustin and Suzie's love has stood the test of time. As young adults who have graduated college and built a life together, they have reached a significant milestone in their relationship.

To celebrate their joyous engagement, the pair has decided to host a casual dinner at their place and they’ve called on you to help. While you would typically be thrilled to take on the task of planning such an event for them, there's a catch. You’re co-planning it with Eddie Munson.

Dustin has spoken highly of Eddie over the years, but your brief encounters with him have left you with a different impression. Contrary to the caring, creative, and devoted individual Dustin has described, you see him as loud—bordering on obnoxious—and overly sure of himself.

When you were first introduced, he showed no interest in getting to know you beyond your face and first name. He appeared closed off and cynical, by the way he shook your hand. You felt as though he’d already decided who you were and what you were about just by looking you once over.

While it was rather impolite, it didn’t bother you all that much at the time. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt since some people take time to open up. Even so, you were disinterested in engaging with someone so dismissive. The indifference toward each other’s existence was mutual.

Dustin saw this party as an opportunity for you to get to know Eddie better. To the best of your ability, you’ve mentally braced yourself for the likelihood that he doesn’t have a clue about organizing a dinner party. By his looks and demeanor alone, it seems obvious that he hasn’t had many opportunities to even attend one.

Maybe you’re being a bit unfair, relying on assumptions, but you have to have a backup plan in case it’s your intuition guiding you, not your cold judgment.

Having arrived not long ago, you’ve been in the small kitchen of the couple’s apartment for about ten minutes, busily preparing the space. You search the cupboards and retrieve the items you need, like a cutting board and casserole dish.

Your heart stammers when the front door slams shut, the reverberation shaking the thin walls. Just as you were starting to worry that Eddie might not show up at all, he has, albeit with a pulse-stopping entrance. You’re relieved he’s here, despite the mini heart attack he’s just given you.

There’s a brief silence as he moves through the living room toward your direction. Shortly thereafter, you wince at the distinct squeak of each sneaker as he steps onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

With an air of nonchalance, Eddie is holding a heavy paper bag of groceries, appearing unfazed by the fact that he’s fifteen minutes late.

Rising slowly from your squatted position in front of the counter cabinet, you release a subtle huff. Glancing down at your watch before directing it at him, you remark, “Jesus, where the hell have you been? Dustin said you’d be here at 4:30.”

“Well, you see, I had this stupidly long list I had to tend to first,” Eddie retorts as he carelessly plops the bag onto the island that separates the two of you. A glass jar at the bottom of the bag clicks against the granite upon contact.

“Of course, you waited until the last minute to go to the store,” You suppress an eye-roll, but the tone of your voice carries the same effect as if you’d done one. Removing the items off of the top of the bag and working your way further in, you mentally check off the list. Tater tots, ground beef, canned green beans, pudding mix, Cool Whip, Snickers… “You forgot the apples,” As you near the bottom of the bag, you glance up at him before withdrawing the one remaining item.

“Nah,” Eddie gestures to the medium-sized jar you’re holding while wearing a confused expression. “Just got that instead.”

“I specifically wrote down one bag of apples. Why the hell did you get applesauce?” You hold it out to the side while you question him, the tension in your body language growing increasingly rigid.

“I figured it would make your job easier. Now you don’t have to waste your time mashing whole-ass apples. Duh?” Eddie pulls a stool out from under the lip of the island and perches himself on it. Oblivious to your irritated stare, he begins to fiddle with the stack of paper napkins that he blindly threw into the shopping cart, neglecting to grab regular white and instead carelessly opting for ugly patterned ones.

“Why on earth would I be mashing-” you begin, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger. “This is useless to me!” You set the jar down a bit harder than necessary, causing it to thud rather than clink like it had before. “If I’d known you were gonna bring me baby food, then I would’ve just gone to the store myself.”

“How was I supposed to know what you need apples for? Nobody told me shit.”

“You don’t need to be told anything, all you had to do was follow the list,” you round the island and snatch up your car keys and purse. “Don’t burn the place to the ground while I’m gone, please?” You storm out of the kitchen, muttering to yourself all the way to your car.

You have to drive halfway across town and back before you can even start properly preparing dinner, which is beyond frustrating because now you’re even more behind schedule. Once you arrive back at Dustin and Suzie’s apartment, Eddie is lounging on the couch tossing a baseball in the air, not having been tasked with anything since you left.

You put him on the job of tossing together the Snickers salad. It’s just three ingredients, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to handle that. All he has to do is mix Cool Whip with chunks of apple and Snickers—it’s not rocket science.

You’ve been so focused on browning the beef for the hotdish that you haven’t been checking in on him. When you finally look over your shoulder to do so, you notice that Eddie is chopping the apples and Snickers bars into rather large chunks. “Eddie-”

“Oh my god, what?” he snaps, setting the knife down noisily and turning to you. “What’s your problem now?”

“You have to cut those smaller, or else all of our friends are going to choke and die. We’re celebrating an engagement, not planning a mass funeral.”

Eddie’s head throbs with how hard his eyes roll back. He bites his tongue and shakes his head. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he mutters sarcastically. Albeit loudly, he does as you asked and dices the pieces. Under his breath, he adds, “Royal pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

As you finish up the main course and put it into the oven, Eddie is in the dining room on a short step ladder hanging up streamers. You step into the room to inspect and it’s immediately evident how crooked they are. The sound of your sigh prompts him to drop his head and take a tense breath, his arms still outstretched above him.

You stand there, arms crossed, eyeing him from below. “It’s not straight. You’ve gotta go up by like three inches on the left. Are you even trying to make this look good?”

“I am, actually!” Eddie barks, dropping the side of the streamer he was holding. It floats to the floor, only attached to the wall on one end. He backs down the ladder and turns to face you. “Just because I'm not obsessed with every little fucking detail like you doesn’t mean I'm not trying. If you stopped being a control freak for five minutes, you’d see that it’s fine the way it is.”

You scoff, your crossed arms tightening. “Control freak? I just want everything to look nice. Is that a crime?”

“No, it’s not. But you’re nitpicking and micromanaging every fucking thing I do.”

You jut out your chin as you speak, standing your ground. “It’s a special night. If it were my dinner, I’d want everything to be perfect.”

“Yeah? I bet. Except it isn’t yours. Who would even propose to you anyway? You’d probably tell them exactly how to do that too,” Eddie pauses, his gaze hard and fixed on you, watching for a shift in your expression that’ll indicate whether you’re even listening to him. “If you want it done a certain way then just do it your damn self.”

“At this rate, that’s the only choice I have. Move then.” You motion for Eddie to step out of the way, and he promptly stomps out of the room. Before you can climb up the ladder in his place, the phone rings. You answer, and it’s Suzie.

She adds a few more tasks to your already extensive list, leaving you feeling utterly overwhelmed with the level of upset you’re already at. Despite how much your head is spinning, you’re adamant that you won’t ask Eddie for help. You’re convinced that he’ll just continue to half-ass everything all while hurling insults at you.

After you promise Suzie that everything will be taken care of in an upbeat tone, you hang up and suppress the frustrated tears pricking your eyes. You return to the streamers and bend over to retrieve the abandoned string. The weight of exhaustion sets in as you climb the ladder, determined to see the job through.

Your palms feel clammy and the thought of holding the sharp thumbtack makes you nervous, but you push the worry away. Persevering, you reach high above your head and try to position the streamer even with the opposite end. You have to lean on your tiptoes a bit, and that’s when the light-headedness swarms. You’re not taking deep enough breaths, and your balance begins to waver.

You’ve been so dead set on ensuring that everything goes smoothly tonight that you’ve neglected to take proper care of yourself. Just as you’re securing the streamer to the wall, you lose your balance entirely.

Amidst patting himself down for his pack of cigarettes, Eddie’s attention is abruptly stolen by the loud thump in the dining room. “What the fuck was-” he peeks into the dining room and he spots you lying on the floor. “Oh, shit,” Eddie rushes over and drops to his knees beside you, his features etched with concern. “Are you okay?” At first, he’s unsure of what he should do. But when he sees that you’re attempting to sit up, he hesitantly guides you. “Did you hit your head?” Once you’re seated upright, Eddie leans in to inspect the back of your skull, as if expecting to find a cartoonish goose egg.

“I don’t know, but I’m fine,” you groggily dismiss his concern, adjusting your position so that you can slouch against the fall. “I just missed a step, that’s all.”

“When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” His brown eyes are wide and shining with concern at your drained appearance. “Say the word and I’ll bring whatever you need.”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes as you pull your knees up to your chest. “I just- this dinner is so important for them. If I can’t give them a simple party then-” You try to take a deep breath but it stutters—a tearful hiccup. “You were right. I’ll never have my own party like this. I guess I just want to give them a night I can only dream of.”

Eddie’s frown deepens as he looks down, picking at his cuticles. He’s kicking himself for the hurtful comment he made earlier. At the time, he didn’t realize how deeply that would cut you; he hit you where it hurts. Right now, he wants to reach out, hold your hand, and apologize. Eddie wants to tell you that you’re doing a good job.

You should be taking care of yourself instead of piling all of the pressure onto yourself to satisfy Dustin and Suzie’s requests. He wants to express that, but he can’t. Not after what he said.

In the awkward silence, a humorless laugh escapes you, your embarrassment palpable for exposing the vulnerable side of yourself to him. Harshly, you swipe at your tears, a sting following soon after. Both of you jolt at the timer ringing in the kitchen. You squint through your tear-blurred vision at the clock on the wall. “Fuck, it’s almost 6:30 already.”

You rise unsteadily to your feet, leaving Eddie uncertain, unsure of what to say or if he should even offer to give you a hand at this point. As you fix your hair and try to even out your breaths, you steel yourself for what’s to come. You head back into the kitchen, slipping seamlessly back into work mode.

Eddie gets to his feet a few beats later, but his movements are slow and cautious as he follows, almost as if he’s afraid to intrude. Sheepishly, he enters the room. You’re taking the casserole out of the oven and gathering plates and flatware rather hastily. Despite there being plenty of time and no need to rush, you’re still being hard on yourself.

Twisting the silver bracelet on his wrist, Eddie steps closer to the island. “What can I do to help?” he asks softly, almost cowardly. “I’ll do it the right way this time, I promise.”

You pause. He was right twice over; you were being a control freak, bossing him around. With far less frustration and impatience, you look at him. Though, there’s still a hint of hurt and weakness in your voice. “Would you mind setting the table? I’ll be there in a sec.”

Eddie nods eagerly, a relieved grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s grateful that you’re letting him participate even though he’s fucked everything up so far. He gathers the plates and silverware and carries them to the dining table, setting down a plate in front of each chair.

However, he stops in his tracks, realizing that he doesn’t know how to formally set a table. Lost in thought, he mentally searches for the information that he doesn’t have archived, not knowing where the fork and spoon are supposed to be placed.

You enter the room and tilt your head at his trance-like state. “Daydreaming?” You quip, your voice playful and carried with softness, a far cry from the previous tenseness.

“No, I uh- ” Eddie starts, then looks over at you. “Where do you want me to put these?” He holds up his fistful of the silverware.

“Wherever you think is best,” You reply, offering him a small grin—the warmest he’s ever seen on you.

A warmth spreads in his chest and the apples of his cheeks go rosy. He breaks eye contact and murmurs, “Okay, cool.”

When Dustin and Suzie return home, they’re ecstatic with how the place looks. During dinner, everyone is seated around the table—Mike, Lucas, Max, you and Eddie, Steve, and Robin.

Amidst the intermingling conversations, Eddie rises from his seat and clinks his cutlery against his drinking glass. Voices fade off and all eyes turn to him. His gaze sweeps around the table, a kind smile playing on his lips.

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back, and raises his glass. “To the happy couple,” Eddie begins, his voice carrying easily through the small room. “And to this little lady beside me, who worked so hard to make tonight as great as it is.”

You shy away when he winks at you. The chorus of agreement and praise overtakes your senses. When you chance a look at him, his focus hasn’t shifted. He’s still looking down at you, but this time with a dazzling smile. Your eyes meet, and for a moment, everything stills.

In his chocolate gaze, you see something different—no longer disinterest, but instead, gratitude and genuine admiration. Raising your glass, you join the collective toast. Dustin mouths “thank you” from across the table, and you nod in acknowledgment.

As Eddie sits back down, you bump his shoulder with your own. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He snorts and gives you a playful look. “Sure you could’ve.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to,” You say sincerely, tilting your glass toward him.

He responds by tapping his glass against yours, a silent acknowledgment of the forced collaboration. If it weren’t for that, he might have never gotten the chance to uncover your dedication and selflessness. The swirling warmth in his belly sparks curiosity about what other qualities he might admire in you.

One thing is for certain, Eddie is eager to find out.

★My Masterlist

[livwritesstuff]

tw: references to blood

When Steve and Eddie’s children are old enough to start elementary school and they begin to meet their classmates’ parents, Steve finds himself quickly approaching a new revelation:

Men…kind of suck.

Steve knows that’s a blanket statement, and a bold one at that given how it’s directed towards a camp both he and his husband are a part of, but some of the stories the moms of his daughters’ classmates tell in the school pick-up line are…something else.

One of them once said she didn't trust her husband to be alone with their children for more than an hour. One mom referred to her husband’s time with the kids as babysitting. Another said she couldn’t get her own husband to take on basic household chores.

Truthfully, it takes everything in Steve to not point out how messed up it all is. The foundation of his and Eddie’s entire life together – their marriage, their family, everything – is the partnership they’ve built over the years. At no point during their seventeen years together and their near-decade navigating parenthood has Steve ever felt like he and Ed were anything other than equals in how they tackled all the facets of the small corner of the world they were responsible for.

However.

There is still the (very infrequent) occasion in which Steve catches himself wondering if someone might have swapped out his husband for a fourth kid.

For example:

It’s a Saturday afternoon and it’s raining, so the whole family is stuck inside. In his desperate search for something fun to do, Eddie is trying to invent a new form of bowling, and hacking off the tops off of milk cartons with an old box cutter in his endeavor.

Steve had warned him that this was a bad idea.

“The blade on that thing is ancient, my love,” he’d said, but Eddie had just waved him off, and, of course, less than two minutes after Steve walked away to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink, he hears a pained hiss and the clatter of something hard and metal hitting the floor. Then comes the shrieks of three panicked little girls.

“Papa!” Robbie yells, “Daddy cut himself and there’s blood everywhere!”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters, taking his time dropping the plastic Disney princess cup he’d been holding back into the sink, wiping his hands dry, and heading back into the family room. Eddie is still sitting on the couch, the box cutter at his feet, surrounded by their daughters as he holds his wrist in his other hand so Steve can see a gash on his finger bleeding more than he would have guessed, “Alright everybody outta the way.”

The first thing Steve does is swipe the box cutter off the ground and stuff it in his pocket. There’s droplets of blood on the floor, he notices, and Robbie helpfully says, “Papa, the blood squirted!”

He glances at Moe, the most squeamish out of their three daughters by a mile, to see that she’s white as a sheet and getting greener by the second.

“Enough, Robbie. Moe – walk away, please.”

He tugs Eddie off the couch and pulls him towards the bathroom.

“Girls, don’t touch the blood on the floor, okay?”

“How come?” Robbie asks.

“Because it can have germs in it…and we’ve got white carpets.”

Once they're in the bathroom, Eddie sits on the counter and holds out his hand so Steve can wrap a wad of gauze around the cut and gently press some weight onto it.

“You okay?” he asks him.

“All good. You gonna say I told you so?”

“Nah. Feel like this is sufficient.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

There’s the scuffling sound in the hallway of the girls convening outside the bathroom door. Steve can vaguely hear Robbie saying, “...and if the blood doesn’t stop, he’ll pass out and then the ambulance will come and he’ll go to the E.R. and –”

Steve opens the door a crack.

“Amelia Robin,” he warns, “Beat it. Nobody’s going to the E.R…unless any of you want an extra flu shot. I can make that happen.”

The girls all shriek again and run in the opposite direction.

Eddie is snickering as Steve shuts the bathroom door again and rifles through a cluttered drawer.

“Pick your poison,” he says, holding up three boxes of branded Band-Aids (Mickey Mouse, Star Wars, and Pokemon).

“Give me the mouse,” Eddie replies, sounding resigned.

Steve obliges, wrapping a Mickey Mouse band-aid around his finger. He plants a soft kiss on the spot where the cut is (because it can’t hurt), and then, because it’s the first time they’ve been alone together all day, he plants another on his lips.

"All better," he says when he pulls away.

“What would I ever do without you?” Eddie grins.

“You’d’ve died in the Upside Down twenty five years ago," Steve replies drily.

[whineandcheese24]

I can't believe we're still on the whole Buck vs. Evan thing, but a point I wanted to add is that the reason he goes by Buck instead of Evan doesn't actually have anything to do with his birth name.

People are acting like the reason he goes by Buck is because he hates the name Evan, when that's just not true. He's gone by Evan for 75% of his life. The reason he got the nickname is just because his name was so common and he was probably given the nickname by a random firefighter trainee we've never even met before.

Thematically 'Evan' represents a time in his life when he felt unwanted and unloved. Evan is the man who aimlessly wandered the continent trying to find his purpose. 'Buck' represents his growth and adulthood. The point in his life when he starts to have a purpose and feel fulfilled. Buck is the man who is loved and who has a family.

'Buck' is not a rejection of his childhood or his crappy parents. If it was, he probably wouldn't want to be nicknamed after his parents' last name (also worth noting that at this point Maddie's last name is Kendall, so it can't even be about her).

The only time he shows any kind of animosity or dislike towards the name Evan is when his parents call him that in Buck Begins. And it's not because he doesn't like them calling him Evan, because he clearly doesn't mind them calling him Evan in later seasons. It's because he feels that his parents have never accepted his life or his choices. Remember, Evan was a man who just sort of let life happen to him, but Buck is the man who has made every choice with his whole chest, even the bad ones. Buck built his life almost from the ground up, and when he tells his parents to call him Buck what he's saying is, "This is my life. If you want to be part of that, you have to accept who I am and the choices I've made."

He's never had any problem with the name Evan, and he's never been uncomfortable when Maddie, Allie, Eddie, Chimney, or even his parents post 4x05 called him Evan.

[copperbadge]

I've been a little stymied and thus somewhat putting off work on the new novel, Simon's chef novel, not so much because I'm blocked but more because I wanted to get Royals/Ramblers put to bed and also I was struggling a little to determine the love interest for the story.

While I often tell the Shivadh stories from dual points of view, there's usually a character I think of as the protagonist and one as the love interest -- like in Infinite Jes we knew Michaelis but I had to build Jes (my initial conception of Jes was a trans woman but I had to shift that a bit for various reasons). I've been talking to you guys about this story for a while so I had a bit of market research I guess, which started fitting things into place, but last night was the first time I sat down and just kind of thought about it for a while, so I think I'm finally starting to get her built.

Someone had mentioned they'd love to see what I believe they phrased as "a salt-and-pepper butch" which I liked, and I've been meaning to introduce more characters of color, but I also knew I wanted her to be native Shivadh, so mostly I needed to work out how to navigate her heritage. I'm going to do a bit more research as I write, but I think I've established her as a Sephardic Jew of African heritage, her family having immigrated from Tangier sometime in the 19th century and still having familial links back to Morocco. She's a chef specializing in Moroccan-Sephardic cuisine opening a restaurant on the Promenade, a she/her butch around Simon's age (mid-fifties) who has basically worked in restaurants her entire life and is now finally getting to open her own. I really like the idea of her using fem pronouns but a male name, so I've been doing some research and I think it's going to be either Jacob or Elias -- I like Elias better but there's already Eddie and Ephraim, and I'm trying not to use the same letters for names over and over (M, G, and C are ruled out, too many of them already). I suppose I could go with the unorthodox spelling Ilias, but that looks odd especially with a sans-serif font.

Anyway, now the research fun begins! Time to come up with an appropriate name for her restaurant and then get cracking on the Meet Ugly (they meet when he accosts her for her ricotta and she tells him to get bent).

[leandra-kinard]

On Oliver's social media behavior regarding Bucktommy vs. Buddie

Kind of in line with many of the good points raised by @bbbuckaroo in this ask response, but I wanted to make my own post about it.

I, too, have seen posts that prompted this ask - from more well-meaning people remarking that Oliver could/should maybe say something against the toxic Buddie shippers and promote Bucktommy more, to more critical voices saying he's essentially ship-baiting with Buddie because he keeps posting about them.

As the referenced post says, Oliver "knows how important and pivotal the Buddie FRIENDSHIP is".

So let's look at that from Oliver's (and in connection also Ryan's) point of view for a moment here.

You're an actor who's been playing one half of what is one of the most integral relationships on a very successful show. That relationship has textually always been a friendship, but with elements that make it richer and deeper than most regular friendships; it's a sort of family dynamic.

It could be read as having a potential for romance, and you're open to that, should the writers ever decide that's the direction they want to take it. You have said so multiple times, not just to appease a large group of fans, but because you genuinely mean it. You're open to it, but you don't know if it's ever going to happen, nor do you have any power over it.

You do love the way fans are celebrating this relationship though - whether they highlight the canonical platonic aspects or take it a step further. You "love the love" (as Ryan has put it). It's great, it's heartwarming, it's moving because the potential of that romance and your character figuring out he's bisexual means so much to queer fans who are looking for good queer representation (which your show already has, but there could always be a bit more, right?). You see and want to acknowledge all the creativity people pour into it.

But you're careful after a while, because, so far, that relationship has only textually been platonic, and some fans are accusing both the writers and you of queerbaiting.

So you take a step back, do less social media for a while. You don't want them to think you're confirming anything just because you see value in certain fictional interpretations of the text.

But then you are told that your character is supposed to come out as bisexual; he'll have a romance with a background character they're bringing back for a couple of episodes. While that's not exactly the relationship many of the fans hoped to get, it's still amazing. It's the right representation of bisexual characters that is very rarely done right, and it'll confirm that they always read your character correctly as bisexual. It'll be so validating to the fans to know they didn't misinterpret that, and you're very happy about that.

But you still love the family-like, platonic relationship you've built with the other character for 5 whole seasons before this. And you love the relationship your character has with his son, too. (In a way, Buck is to Christopher what Bobby is to Buck - a father figure).

You want to keep celebrating that because your new romantic relationship doesn't replace the year-long friendship with Eddie. You want to show fans that 'hey, even though this isn't exactly what you hoped for, it's still great; it's important. Eddie and Chris are still and always will be a huge part of Buck's life. Don't worry. Buck will not abandon them. I still see you and acknowledge you, but let's focus on the textual friendship and platonic love here. Which is also very, very important, and very dear to me personally."

And there isn't that much to share about a romantic relationship that's just begun yet anyway, especially with the season being so short and packed with multiple story arcs around the main characters. It's all still at the start, and while it's great, exciting and has the potential to become something lasting, nothing's set in stone yet. You probably also don't want to have people get their hopes up that Bucktommy is 'confirmed' as endgame; and you don't want to put a main character who has his own, very complex story arc going on this season on the backburner.

You've obviously 'done it wrong'. But no matter how else you could have done it, it would have been wrong as well. You probably know this by now, because no matter what you did in the past, there were always people who interpreted your actions and words in bad faith to confirm their own agenda.

So what the hell are you supposed to do other than what feels good to you while applying a little bit of caution?

---

Oliver CANNOT get it right. It's simply impossible. If he didn't post at all, some fans would be mad that he doesn't say anything. If he only or primarily promoted Bucktommy, they'd be mad that he ignores Eddie and Chris entirely. If he only promoted Buddie (platonic) and Chris, they'd be mad that he's ship baiting. And if he goes for the balance of putting his character's 6-year history with Eddie+Chris and the newly developing romance with Tommy in perspective, i.e. what he's doing right now, they're still mad.

In any potential scenario, the loud and obnoxiously entitled portion of the fandom would find a reason to criticize. It really does not matter what he does.

So, where does that leave us? Personally, I'd say leave the man alone. Let him post and say what he feels is best, and don't try to look at it under any 'bad faith' lens. He's probably given it sufficient thought and does what he thinks is best and feels right.

[bellofthemeadow]

Harrington!reader, Steve’s little sister. Popular, a cheerleader, first time senior and Chrissy’s best friend. But she has a secret that only her best friend knows. She’s had a crush on Eddie Munson since middle school. She’s afraid to tell him, thinking there’s no way he’d be into her. Until one day in the cafeteria, Jason Carver calls Eddie a freak. She confronts him, and punches him in the face, breaking or spraining her hand/wrist. Guess her little secret is out, and she may never be popular again.

OF COURSE MY DEAR ANON! I am so sorry it took forever to address this request! I have just started my final year of Uni, and with four seminars and graduate applications, I have not had any time to write consistently! But this idea was too enticing to pass up, so thank you very much for sharing it! For those waiting on other fics, I am slowly but surely getting back into the groove of writing more consistently so it should all come out sooner rather than later (hopefully) and I always welcome more fics or one shot ideas! Thank you to y'all for bearing with me, I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU SO SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️

No warnings excpet for some violence (against Jason Carver so thats fine I think) and some heavy make out session

Word Count: 5.3K

Masterlist

Hit Me Baby One More Time

You had gotten your first taste of popularity on your very first day of middle school, a couple of years ago. That entire week leading up to it had been filled with fear and stress about what people would think of you. Overwhelmed, you had spent the last few days of your summer agonizing over your outfit choice, turning your daily fashion show into a reluctant performance for your big brother, Steve. Despite his huffs and puffs, he had reassured you that everything would go smoothly, but you couldn't help to worry. Eventually, you ended up settling on a cute white dress that reached just above your knees, paired with a soft baby pink cardigan. You had hoped it would be enough to get some of the right kind of attention that Steve always talked about.

In hindsight, you realized that you might have been a tad dramatic as when lunchtime had rolled around, a group of girls had approached you, giggling with excitement. "Are you Steve Harrington's sister?" they had asked-whispered with bright envious eyes. You slowly nodded, and with elated giggles, they ushered you over to their table, where the popular crowd was hanging out. It turned out your brother had quite the reputation, and while you knew he was popular, you hadn't fully grasped the extent to which the name Harrington would impact your social life. For you, Steve was just the idiot older brother who used Farah Fawcet's hairspray to keep his dumb hair in place – But to everyone else, it seemed that Steve was a pretty big deal. So, you were, it seemed, a legacy, and the rest, as they say, was history. And that very day, you also ended up meeting your future best friend, Chrissy Cunningham, who you would grow to love with all your heart.

Five years had come and gone, and now, you were finally well-established into your senior year, ready to graduate in the spring. And while it was true that your older brother might have facilitated your initial entry into the realm of popularity, you had since etched out a distinctive name for yourself. As your brother moved on to new chapters in his life (namely an underpaid job at family video), your own journey through high school took a markedly different path. In fact, your popularity had continued to ascend, like a rising star in the night sky.

Though the Harrington name may have laid the foundation, you had meticulously built upon it, brick by brick. You had cultivated your own unique persona, and it had become a force to be reckoned with in the hallways of your school. No longer living in the shadow of your brother's glory days, you had emerged as a charismatic figure in your own right.

You had become The Harrington sibling who truly counted, especially after the dramatic showdown between Steve and Billy Hargrove during his own senior year. In the aftermath of that clash, your brother's social standing had taken a considerable hit, with much of his social credit being seized by the mullet-wearing bad-boy. The Harrington name, which had once been associated with Steve's swagger, now conjured images of a radiant, saccharine smile, cheerleading outfits, and a personality as pinky-sweet as bubblegum.

While Chrissy indisputably reigned as the queen of Hawkins High, some believed it was only because you had no desire to claim that throne—a belief rooted in truth as you had no interest of being the queen of anything, especially Hawkins High as beyond Chrissy, you harboured little affection for the other members of the popular clique. Whether it was Jason Carver and his cronies or the remainder of the cheer squad, you couldn't help but find them increasingly vapid.

Nestled at the popular table right in the heart of the bustling cafeteria, always donning Hawkins’ green cheer outfit, a nagging sensation of inauthenticity always clung to you. Hitching deep into your soul, making you feel like the fraud you’ve always believed yourself to be as although your elevated social status had smoothed your journey through high school, ensuring a constant stream of party invitations, a steadfast companion, and even a few favors from teachers who were drawn to your preppy smile and sunny disposition, it all felt like a facade, far removed from your true self.

You’ve always known how deep inside, there were facets of who you really were that you couldn't openly share with anyone but Chrissy. She alone knew of your profound love for fantasy and science fiction novels. Nothing brought you more joy than retreating home to dive headlong into the mystical realms crafted by H.P. Lovecraft or to lose yourself once more in the pages of your well-worn copy of "Frankenstein." Yet, these passions remained concealed beneath the veneer you projected: the princess of Hawkins High, painted in shades of pink, sweet, and deceptively perfect.

The idea of letting those hidden, nerdy passions of yours see the light of day felt like a risky bet, one that could potentially leave you feeling incredibly alone at Hawkins High. The thought of losing friends and having nowhere to sit during lunch was a constant source of worry. You had faith in Chrissy's unwavering support, regardless of your social standing, but you couldn't bear the idea of burdening her. She was just so kind, always forgiving even to those who didn't deserve it, and you didn't want to be the one responsible for pulling her down.

As a result, the decision to keep these aspects of your identity hidden weighed heavily on your heart. It felt like an unspoken loneliness, a sacrifice you were making to preserve the fragile balance of the life you'd carefully constructed in high school. Hawkins High had its own intricate ecosystem, and you were very much a part of it. Your place within that system was delicate, and you couldn't afford to disrupt it, fearing that it might set off a chain reaction that could destabilize everything. You had no intention of being the one to upset the frail high school biome of Hawkins High.

Now, however, your situation was far from ideal as you found yourself sandwiched between Carly and Tina during lunch, and today, they were even more exasperating than usual. There seemed to be some sort of fallout from Tina's last party, something involving a boy, and now the two girls communicated exclusively through snarky remarks, making the tension rise with every snip from either girl. A brewing headache was beginning to claw at your temples as you were waiting for the explosion to erupt sooner rather than later.

What was happening in front of you wasn’t any better as you were given a front-row seat to the somewhat uncomfortable sight of Jason Carver deeply engrossed in a passionate kiss with Chrissy. She appeared to be on the brink of embarrassment, her attempts to gently push Jason away carried out with shy reluctance. "Jason, please," she implored, her manicured hand finding its way to his chest, a plea in her eyes. "Not in front of everyone..."

In response, Jason merely rolled his eyes dismissively. "Come on, baby," he insisted, his voice low and unconcerned. "No one's even paying attention to us."

You couldn't help but scowl, unhappiness etching your delicate features as you watched the uncomfortable display unfold before you. Finally, you couldn't take it any longer. You cleared your throat and loudly exclaimed, "Hey, Chrissy?" All eyes turned to you, and you continued, "Do you think we could slip away from lunch a bit early to go over the routine we've been practicing for the upcoming game? I really want to make sure I've got it down perfectly before tonight's match."

Chrissy's sigh of relief was almost audible, and you could sense her gratitude. In contrast, Jason huffed unhappily, clearly irritated by the interruption. He muttered something about leaving you girls to your conversation before he got up and headed to chat with one of his buddies at the far end of the table.

You and Chrissy shared a quick, wordless girl-to-girl conversation. All the words you needed were conveyed through a bombastic side-eye from you and a subtle nod of your head toward Jason. Chrissy responded with a playful roll of her eyes and a slight shake of her shoulder, silently agreeing with your sentiment.

As your eyes shifted away from Chrissy, they unexpectedly locked onto the deep brown ones of Eddie Munson. Two distinct emotions surged from deep within you. One was a rush of excitement as the warmth of your crush enveloped you, causing your face to flush as red as a ripe apple under his gaze. But in an instant, that crush felt almost crushing when you realized that it wasn't you that Eddie was looking at, but rather Chrissy's high ponytail that had captured his attention.

Eddie and Chrissy. Chrissy and Eddie. ChrissyandEddie. It was an undeniable fact that the guy you had the most enormous crush on happened to be utterly smitten with your best friend. It felt almost tragically comical, if you were being honest with yourself. Throughout high school, countless guys had mustered the courage to ask you out, but you had dismissed them all without a second thought. Football jocks, band nerds, potheads, music fanatics – none of them could hold a candle to Eddie Munson in your eyes.From the very moment you first crossed paths with Eddie during your freshman year, your heart had been irreversibly, completely, and utterly captivated by the charismatic and outspoken boy. You were utterly unprepared for it, not like you were out there seeking Cupid's arrow to pierce your heart. You had simply been an unsuspecting victim of one of its whims, but the exquisite pain that followed was worth it. At least, you hoped so.

Thanks to Eddie's recurring attempts at redoing his senior year and your placement in advanced classes, your worlds intersected more than once. One particularly unforgettable encounter unfolded in Mrs. Allen's math class, where the teacher had a peculiar notion that pairing the class's worst student (Eddie) with its best (you) would somehow work magic. You were left a bit shy and entirely tongue-tied in his presence, but Eddie had an uncanny talent for leaning in close and delivering a barrage of side-splitting, utterly inappropriate observations about Mrs. Allen that left you snorting with laughter. For a glorious three months, Eddie was your math partner in crime, and during that time, you dared to believe that something more could evolve from your interactions. If only you could string together coherent sentences without tripping over your words.

However, as fate would have it, the teacher eventually grew tired of her seating arrangement, deciding it was high time to shake things up. This twist in your high school narrative resulted in you and Eddie being separated, an alteration you weren't particularly thrilled about. The new arrangement effectively put a damper on your burgeoning connection.

It was in the midst of this seating shuffle that Eddie tossed a rather loaded question your way, catching you off guard. "Your friend Chrissy," he began, as you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. "Is she still with that Carver douche?" Your gaze faltered as you met his, a nod escaping your lips as a wave of disappointment surged within you. Inwardly grappling with the sting of unspoken heartache, you found yourself clutching the hem of your cheer skirt almost desperately. Without another word, you retreated to your newly assigned seat, a sense of melancholy lingering like a shadow and bitter disappointment coating your tongue.

Even now, your gaze would involuntarily flicker to Eddie whenever you found yourself in the same room. Often, he'd be engrossed in conversations with his bandmates or his D&D group, leaving you on the outside looking in. It was a conflicting sensation, feeling his presence so near yet so far away. If only you could gather the nerve to strike up a conversation with him, but you hesitated. After all, you were the popular girl, the one who played by the rules, and good girls weren't supposed to mix with people like Eddie, no matter how much you desperately longed for it. Perhaps during math class today, you thought, you might find a plausible excuse to approach him. Maybe something as simple as asking about the homework or...

"And what the hell do you think you're staring at, Freak!?" The sudden hush that swept over the cafeteria was palpable as every head turned toward Jason, who had abandoned your table and was now striding purposefully toward the one where Eddie and his friends were seated. A chill coursed through your veins, causing your face to pale. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the unfolding drama as Eddie rose from his seat. While he appeared outwardly confident, the telltale clenching and unclenching of his hand betrayed the nervousness bubbling beneath the surface. It was clear to you that what he was displaying might just be a facade of bravado.

"Did you dribble that orange ball a few too many times, Carver?" Eddie sarcastically chimed in. His words hung in the air, an open challenge that seemed to stoke the flames of Jason's anger. In a fit of rage, Jason lunged forward, grabbing Eddie by the front of his well-worn jeans jacket. The cafeteria held its breath, anticipation hanging heavy in.

 A gasp escaped your lips, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath as the dramatic confrontation unfolded before your eyes. Abruptly, you shot up from your seat, causing Chrissy to turn around in surprise. She sent you an uncertain look as you started to stride toward the two boys. It was as if you were possessed by a force stronger than yourself, you couldn’t let whatever was happening continue – you had to do something!

"Don't try to bullshit me, freak!" Jason's voice reverberated through the cafeteria, anger and scorn dripping from his words. "I saw you looking at Chrissy. You think you can just lay your eyes on her, you freak? She isn't yours; you're nothing but trailer trash! Don't you ever dare to look at her again, alright? Or I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!" Jason was so close to Eddie's face that his spittle sprayed across the other boy's features. He shoved Eddie backward, and it was at that moment, as you were making your way between the mass of students that had clustered around Jason and Eddie that you felt a surge of red-hot anger like nothing you had ever felt before.

"Do I make myself clear, freak?" Jason continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Or do I need to send my boys to deal with you and your pathetic group of losers?" Eddie looked incensed, but he cowered under Jason's menacing threat.

"I...wasn't...looking," Eddie enunciated each word through gritted teeth, avoiding Jason's eyes. Jason burst into fake laughter, glancing around at the onlookers.

"Does the freak have a crush?" he taunted, his voice cruel and derisive. "That's hilarious. You honestly think you'd have a chance with Chrissy? Be realistic, freak. What is it now, twice repeating your senior year?" Eddie's face turned a deep shade of pink, shame washing over him as Jason's taunts struck at his insecurities. His shoulders sagged with each insult, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Everyone knows anyway that the only way a freak like you could ever get close to a girl is when you and your little cult of Satan practice some sacrifices," Jason continued, his words laced with venom. "I'm even surprised they let people like you in here. Everyone knows what kind of trash your dad was, it ain't surprising that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree…”

You pushed your way through the crowd, determination propelling you forward. Without a second thought, you strode purposefully toward the back of Jason. Eddie's surprised gaze locked onto you as you confidently approached them.

You extended your arm and lightly tapped Jason on the shoulder, effectively cutting off his rant mid-sentence. The abruptness of your action prompted Jason to whirl around to face you, his typically handsome features now contorted into a repulsive mask of anger. It was a stark contrast to the carefully cultivated "cool-guy" image he often projected. But deep down, you knew this enraged countenance was his true face, hidden behind the facade. In fight or flight mode, you recalled your brother Steve's advice about fighting, which you had stored away in your memory, "Sis," Steve's voice echoed in your mind, "when you throw a punch, put your entire body behind it."

And that's precisely what you did. With every ounce of your body weight, you thrust your fist forward directly into Jason's face. The cafeteria was filled with a sharp crack, echoing through the room, followed by a collective gasp from everyone present. An eerie silence descended upon the cafeteria.

Jason lay sprawled on the floor, a violent stream of blood gushing from his nose, while you clutched your hand close to your chest. Tears welled up at the corners of your eyes. No one had ever warned you that hitting someone would hurt like an absolute nightmare! It ] wasn’t like that in the movies!

Your gaze landed on Eddie, and you noticed a peculiar expression take over the young metalhead’s face –  His brown gaze held something unfamiliar, a look you had never seen throughout the time you had been admiring him from afar. I was as though he were seeing you – like he was attempting to decipher the mechanics of your very being. It caught you off guard, this intensity in his stare, and you couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking.

“YOU BITCH! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!” Jason roared from his sprawled position on the ground.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from Eddie, you redirected it toward the fallen boy who cut a rather pathetic figure at your feet. Curling your lip in disdain, you adopted your most haughty tone and huffed, "You, Jason Carver, are the problem here!"

Jason, still sprawled on the floor with a nosebleed, glared up at you, his anger palpable, "You little—"

Before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off with a stern gesture. "Save it, Jason. You had this coming."

A stunned silence blanketed the cafeteria, every eye fixed on the unfolding confrontation. It was as if time had frozen, and the entire room held its breath in rapt attention as Hawkins' princess unleashed her verbal assault on the school's reigning king.

In that moment, you felt like you had the entire cafeteria in a chokehold, and you were determined not to let this opportunity slip away, not after what Jason had put Eddie through. Gathering your resolve, you continued, your voice dripping with disdain, "Do you honestly believe you can bully and belittle people just because they don't conform to your narrow definition of 'normal'? Well, I've had enough of your toxic attitude! You, my dear Jason, are the most insufferable idiot I've ever had the displeasure of encountering in my entire life! And I am done catering to whatever you and your dumb friends say!”

Jason struggled to get up, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. Turning back to Jason, you crossed your arms and delivered your final message with authority. "Consider this a warning, Jason. Mess with Eddie or anyone else again, and you'll have me to answer to."

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" Principal Higgins' thunderous voice pierced through the otherwise eerily silent cafeteria. In an instant, your confidence evaporated, leaving you feeling pale and exposed. You were caught off guard, unable to process what to do or say.

Before you could even react, a familiar, warm hand firmly grabbed yours, yanking you along as they sprinted in the opposite direction, forcefully pushing people out of the way. It was a grip you knew well, and you didn't hesitate to follow Eddie as he practically dragged you toward the exit of the cafeteria.

The scene you left behind was nothing short of chaotic. The entire school stood in a collective stupor, mouths agape in disbelief. Jason Carver, his face an alarming shade of red, appeared on the brink of an aneurysm as he struggled to regain his composure. Principal Higgins, in his authoritative fury, barked orders at the bewildered students, demanding answers and an immediate end to the commotion.

As you reached the exit and the clamor of the cafeteria began to fade, you couldn't help but let out a giggle of exhilaration. Eddie continued to lead you, now behind the school building and into the dense woods that bordered the campus. The farther you ventured into the secluded forest, the more you appreciated the sudden escape from the madness. Eventually, Eddie brought you to a worn-out picnic table, the wood weathered by years of exposure to the elements. Eddie finally managed to catch his breath. He exhaled heavily and asked, "What the hell... hfff... was that?!"

You leaned against the picnic table, still catching your own breath, and grinned at Eddie. "That, Eddie, was me finally giving Jason Carver a taste of his own medicine. That douchebag had it coming!"

Eddie let out a loud surprised laugh while still trying to catch his breath, his eyes still wide from the unexpected turn of events. "Well, I've gotta say, sweetheart, that was quite the show back there. You really let him have it, you got a mean hook princess." A warm flush of pride swept over you as you soaked in Eddie's praises. How long had you waited to hear him say something like that—to acknowledge you and gaze at you as if you were the most wonderful girl in the world? It was a feeling you had been yearning for so long, and if you were to die right now, you would die happy!

Eddie's warm, chocolate-coloured gaze landed on you, and it felt as though it softly swept over every inch of your being. He spoke, his voice filled with curiosity, "I don't think anyone was expecting Hawkins' princess to come to the defence of the 'freak.' You know they won't let you forget this, right? Why would you risk all that for little old me, Harrington?"

You let out a sigh, the weight of his inquisitive gaze pressing on you. As you closed your eyes briefly, you grappled with the emotions that had been swirling within you since the first time you had laid eyes on Eddie. A small smile crept onto your lips as you slowly opened your eyes, fixing them on the boy of your dreams. "You're worth it, Munson."

Eddie drew in a sharp breath, taking three steps closer to you. His large, warm hands, bearing tiny scars from playing the guitar, gently swept across your cheeks as he gazed intently into your eyes. "Do you mean that, Harrington? Because there's no going back if I kiss you right now—it's you and me, the princess and the 'freak.' You won’t climb back from that fall.”

You glanced at your right hand, the knuckles scraped and the skin raw, with a slight swelling on your wrist. "I think it's a little too late for that anyway," you sheepishly admitted. Eddie smiled warmly, his eyes filled with admiration, before gently taking your hand in his two larger ones. He slowly brought your bruised knuckles to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on each of them, causing your breath to hitch.

"Who knew that the princess of Hawkins High was Indiana’s future boxing champion," Eddie softly joked, his voice laced with affection. "I just feel bad for this pretty, soft hand – all bruised and battered to protect me, like the prettiest knight in pink armor coming to my rescue." You couldn't help but swoon at his words as Eddie continued to softly kiss your hand, his gaze slowly lifting to meet yours, his eyes filled with… Love? Tenderness? A girl could dream.

A warm smile curved across Eddie's lips, and he leaned in, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss. As you both savored each other, Eddie's hand slowly wrapped around the base of your neck, holding you close to him. As you were trying not to faint from the sheer pleasure this moment was bringing you, a flash of remembrance rushed through you, snapping you back from your trance and causing you to break the kiss and catch your breath. You whispered softly against Eddie's lips, "What about Chrissy?"

Eddie nuzzled your face with his nose, his lips brushing lightly against your skin. "What about her?" he retorted playfully. "I mean... I thought... I thought you had a thing for her," you admitted meekly.

Eddie smirked against your cheek. "If I did, I wouldn't be kissing you right now, right?" His voice held a teasing edge as he continued to shower your neck with tender kisses.

You closed your eyes, feeling a mix of contradicting emotions – wanting to keep going to feel more of him, wishing him to stop playing with your heart because you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. "I mean it, Eddie... I don't want to be your second choice."

Eddie stopped his ministrations and returned to your face, holding your gaze with his. "You were always my first choice, Eddie," you confessed, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. "And I don't think I could handle being your backup plan."

Eddie's whispers were tender as he wiped away the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. "Nononono, sweetheart. Don't cry, please," he implored softly. "You were always my first choice." His words held a reassuring sincerity that began to soothe your racing heart. But you wouldn’t be so easily swayed, as much as you loathed Jason Carver, you had witnessed first hand how Eddie seemed enraptured with Chrissy.

You huffed in disbelief, but Eddie insisted, urging you to meet his gaze. "No, it's true. Hey, look at me," he gently encouraged. "I never thought I would ever have a chance with a girl like you. You know, you're like my dream girl, right?" You gave him an uncertain look, still wrestling with your doubts. "You always stare at Chrissy, though. And you did ask me if she was still with Jason, remember?"

Eddie released your cheeks and took a step back, embarrassment tinging his cheeks as he used a piece of his shaggy hair to shield himself from you. "I wasn't looking at Chrissy. You're always with Chrissy, so I was looking at you," he admitted, his voice tinged with shyness. "And I only asked you that because I panicked. I was going to ask you out, but the guys had been teasing me for weeks, telling me I was too much of a coward to do it. I guess they were right because I chickened out."

As Eddie continued, his embarrassment grew, and he took another step back. He held the piece of hair in front of his face, as if to hide himself from you. "I've actually had a crush on you since last year," he confessed, his words shocking you.

"Are you joking?!" you blurted out, astonished.

He shook his head, his warm brown eyes holding your gaze. "Not at all, princess," he began with a soft smile. "It was last year. You were on your way back from cheer practice, and you were in a hurry, holding a huge backpack. It happened so fast that you didn't even realize a book had fallen out."

His eyes sparkled as he continued, his tone becoming more animated. "I saw it lying there, and curiosity got the best of me – I picked it up, and to my surprise, it was a copy of 'The Hobbit.’” He grinned as if sharing a secret. "I was planning to return it to you, honestly, but then, when I opened it, I saw that there was a bunch of notes in the margins." Eddie started grinning even more as he continued “All there in the margins, notes, thoughts, musings. It was like reading your mind with every turn of the page. Your insights, your emotions, your laughter, and even your frustrations were all there in the margins. I knew I had stumbled upon the most precious treasure in the universe – it was a private window into you."

Your breath hitched at his words, and as Eddie spoke, you felt a warmth spreading through you, "It felt like we were close," Eddie continued, his gaze never leaving yours. "I couldn't put the book down. It was like having a conversation with you, even when you weren't around. I realized how much we had in common, how you saw the world, and it fascinated me.”

The thought that Eddie had held onto that copy of 'The Hobbit,' with your notes and thoughts, all this time was both surprising and heartwarming. Damn, he was perfect.

"Fuck, I sound so creepy," Eddie confessed, breaking your reverie. He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish.

But you weren’t creeped out, far from it. For the first time in your life, you felt completely understood by someone – inside and out. "No, Eddie," you whispered softly, your heart swelling with love. "You don't sound creepy at all. You sound... perfect." A sweet cocky grin got etched on Eddie’s lips “Perfect, eh?”

Getting overwhelmed by his stare, you tried to play it cool and diverted his question by teasingly asking, "So you’ve had a big fat crush on me for a while, right?"

Eddie chuckled, taking a step closer to you, his gaze locked on yours. "Don't get too high and mighty, princess," he said with a warm smile, his voice laced with adoration. "From the looks of it, you've got a pretty big crush on little old me too…"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling a delightful warmth in the pit of your stomach. "I can neither confirm nor deny that," you replied in a sing-song voice, your eyes never leaving his.

Eddie's smile deepened, his gaze filled with affection. With a tender touch, he placed his hands on your waist, and before you knew it, he had spun you around. You couldn't help but let out a joyful squeak as you twirled together in a sweet, romantic dance. As he gently lowered you back to the ground, his strong arms remained securely wrapped around your back, pulling you close.

In that intimate moment, it felt as though the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you entwined in each other's embrace. Your breaths synchronized, and you lost yourselves in each other's eyes, the unspoken promise of a beautiful future passing between you.

"Hey, Eddie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath but filled with affection and longing.

Eddie's gaze softened even more, his eyes filled with tenderness as he held you close. "Yeah, princess?"

With a radiant smile, you leaned in closer to him, your heart singing with love. "I've got a big fat crush on you too."

A soft, contented sigh escaped Eddie's lips, and he held you even tighter as if he never wanted to let you go. "Good." And without another word, he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. Nothing ever tasted sweeter.

“You gonna be alright sitting with the freaks now?” “As long as I sit with you Eddie, I could not care less.”

The fallen princess and the freak," you thought contentedly, "that has the ringing of a love story for the ages.” And all it took was that punch you threw at Jason Carver's face for you and Eddie to find your way to each other.

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: A voice calls to you.

Author's Note: Set around two weeks after the ��earthquake’ and is canon-compliant except there is no Eddie in 1986. This fic takes a couple of chapters to get going, so stay with me. I am SO excited about this, and I think you will love where it goes.

1986

The colony screeched and swooped, taking off into the inky dusk sky with graceless chaos. Each bat had stretched their wings and dropped from their forest dwelling to join the trilling and flapping. Only one remained.

He perched high in the treetops, an unwillingness to join the others that was not typical for a bat. Impossible for a bat, depending on who you asked. He observed the night grow darker with an entirely unnatural sense of understanding.

Eventually, he would fall from the branch and join the others in the hunt for moths and wasps, beetles and bugs. The hunger would drive him to it, yet the hunger could never be satisfied. It had been like that for one hundred and fifty years.

He was the oldest in the colony and couldn’t remember being young. He couldn’t remember reveling in warm nights or cicada season. He felt as if he had always haunted the forest and always would. He felt, and that was the problem.

The other bats did as all Eptesicus fuscus did. They were born into a colony around April and spent a month nursing from their mothers. The pups grew up, hibernated in the winter, mated, and bared the next generation, ultimately living a short life, just shy of a decade at best.

This bat did not. He did not hibernate alone or with others. When they found warmth and shelter in dilapidated buildings, under tree bark, or in caves, he remained a presence on the boughs of the forest’s tallest trees. He did not mate and did not father. He did not fly patterns across the sky while the town below slept. He ate to survive and continued to live well beyond his species’ dictated years. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He watched over Hawkins, Indiana for over a century. With each passing year, things would change. Slowly, the wilderness had been reduced to clusters of wooded areas by modernisation and industrialisation. It was becoming more and more common for the bats to come into contact with humans. A vast majority of the time, the people screamed and ran, terrified of disease or spooked by urban legends. Some marveled at the bats with respectful awe. Some tried and failed to catch the needle-teethed things for sport. Mostly, they were left alone to mind their own bat business, and mostly, that’s what the ageless bat did.

It wasn’t until mid-nineteenth century that the bat sensed a deep and profound shift. The Lab was built and the earth suffered. The bat had an ariel view and echolocation, but he couldn’t know what happened within the walls. Decades passed and the mystery continued. By 1983 though, he knew his kind wasn’t the only nightmare fuel in the woods.

1984. 1985. And, in 1986 the ground split open, spilling the Upside Down into Hawkins. An earthquake, reported the news. The sixth sense innate in all animals knew better Deers, birds, and bees all migrated out of pattern. The colony of bats entirely disappeared one night, having feared the vibrations pulsating from the cracks in the earth.

Only one remained, an unshakable and quite possibly magical force tethering him to Hawkins.

…

“That town is no place for a witch,” came the warning. “Something is still wrong with Hawkins. Can’t you sense it?”

Infamous in Indiana, Hawkins was the place where buildings burnt and people went missing with threefold outcome. One: they were never seen again. Two: returned, but at what cost? Three: bodies found, so disfigured by unseen violence that it was hard not to believe in monsters.

When the streets fell apart in 1986, sending part of the town down into hell, it would have been fair for Hawkins to lose what remained of their resolve. Yet, the town would go on to rebuild, and between the freshly poured concrete and funeral services, a battle was fought in secret.

“A doorway was opened. They may not claim victory,” came another warning with a beg to heed.

Yes, it would be the fight of their lives, but it wasn’t for a witch to interfere with. That was a hard line in the sand of magic that even you would not cross. They called him Vecna, but you had no name for him. His sorcery was not of the natural world. To let him know of yours would be to risk it all.

There was more to you than witchcraft, however. Hawkins was a town in crisis, and there was space for you to help and heal.

“It’s not just him,” cried a third and final warning. “The ground is consecrated,”

“That’s old superstition,” you dismissed.

“So is blood moon bad luck, but look what happened last time. And falling brooms, broken mirrors, and circles of salt. We are superstition. There are some places witches should not go.”

Your mind was set and your path clear. “Something is calling me there. Doesn’t that have meaning?”

“Not all callings are sanctified,”

“Do we fear holiness or not?” you asked. “I can’t walk consecrated ground but should only show devotion to the sanctified calls?”

There was no answer.

You sighed and softened your voice. “Look, I know you mean well. All you do is out of love. I know that. But, I need to do this. It’s… I don’t know… So real. The calling. It almost has a voice,”

“The timing,” was offered as a reminder.

The first time you felt something coming from Hawkins was when the quote unquote earthquake happened. A catastrophic event like that had to have more consequences than just Vecna, you thought. It could have shifted other magic and natural musings.

“I’ve made up my mind,” you stated with boldness beyond your rank in the coven.

“Are you so willing to discount lore?”

“Folklore. It’s 1986. I know witchcraft isn’t a science, but you have to give me more credit than that. We don’t have to listen to every whisper on the wind and take for gospel the tea leaves in our cups… Nuances, you know?”

Your eyes stayed closed and your hand gripped the pen tightly, waiting for a reply to be sprawled out on the page. When nothing more came, ‘Are you so willing to discount lore?’ the last words scribbled in a handwriting not your own, you breathed out hard.

Automatic writing took a lot of energy out of you, but it was the best method of speaking to The Witches Who Came Before. Reading back their psychographic warnings, you felt a small sense of guilt over defying them, but more than guilty, you felt empathy for a town so beaten by evil over and over.

Hawkins was calling.

…

Aid workers, distressed families, and reporters had flooded the small town, making it all the more easy for you to slip by the city limits unnoticed. Although you weren’t sure what should or could be noticing you, there was still a small exhale of relief when you didn’t burst into flames as you drove passed the ‘Welcome to Hawkins’ sign.

The voice calling you to the town hadn’t been polite enough to give specific instructions. In lieu of directions or coordinates, you drove along roads that appeared to be out of the path of the earthquake, finding your way to a bar called The Hideaway.

Inside, patrons sat around watching their town on the news while staff rushed to cook food and package it up for the crisis centers.

“Bit of a wait on food, honey,” a waitress called to you.

“Just after a Coke.”

It seemed uncanny for a bar to be operational in the middle of an emergency, but it also befit a town so used to death. You took your can of Coke from the waitress, left a ten on the counter, and made your way around the tables to get to the noticeboard on the other side of the room.

Lost dogs. Swimming classes. Babysitters for hire. Then, your eyes landed on it.

1BR TRAILER. PARTLY FURNISHED. WATER/ELECTRICITY. NEEDS REPAIR. CHEAP. CALL: FOREST HILLS TRAILER PARK. 312-683-1192.

Maybe it had already been volunteered to home displaced people, but you trusted it was worth a shot. “Hey, can I borrow your phone?” you asked the waitress, walking to the bar and leaning on it. She nodded and dumped the old rotary phone in front of you.

After four rings, “Forest Hills,”

“Ah, hey. I saw your flyer. About the one-bedroom. Is that still available?”

The woman made a scoffing sound. “Apparently beggars can be choosers. Ain’t nothing wrong with that trailer but Red Cross said it ain’t fit for people. On account of the mold, they said.” Her voice was gravelly from a pack a day, but she didn’t sound unkind.

“I don’t mind mold,”

“Guess it’s available then.”

…

The bat had never known illness or injury. Whatever was killing the trees though, had touched him. He didn’t wither and die like other flora and fauna, but he wasn’t unscathed. It was as if he was burnt from the inside out, a mark on his feet spreading slowly but surely.

The sensation was unpleasant at first, but grew more noxious. His wings wouldn’t stretch their full span, and he could only glide small distances. The bat found a small patch of trees not yet turned to ash, settling in at the base of one, hiding under brush for warmth.

It was a fine place to die, if that should be his fate. He was where he belonged.

…

Forest Hills Trailer Park had been subdivided again and again; any spare patch of land was used for caravans and tents of people left homeless or those coming to watch the disaster unfold.

The one-bedroom trailer Michelle, manager of the park, gave you the keys to was indeed in need of repair. There were air vents that sat wide open, the outside cold seeping through. Dark mold grew in the corner of the bedroom’s ceiling. And the carpet should have been replaced years prior.

The very first thing you did once alone in your new home was ring a small bell you kept in your bag. Three shrill rings for good fortune. For everything else, you’d need supplies.

The local general stores would likely be low on stock, and the shopping mall had burnt down only a year ago. It stood in ruin, yet to be redeveloped. Before you ventured to the shops, you decided to take a short walk around Forest Hills and the surrounding land to see what could be foraged.

As you passed people, some looked you up and down, Satanic Panic clouding their perception of anyone they considered to be different from themselves, to be ‘other’ in any way. Some neighbours though, waved and offered a friendly greeting. “Michelle con you into that old trailer?” one asked, to which you politely faked a laugh.

Out beyond the trailers and RVs was a patch of land that seemed unaffected by everything happening in the town. The trees soundproofed the space, making it feel miles away from civilisation. While there wasn’t much in the way of edible mushrooms and plants, nor things needed for your craft, you sensed an undercurrent of magic there.

Crouching down, you picked up a golden leaf, twirling it between your fingers. Close, you thought, but didn’t know what it meant.

It was then you saw it out of the corner of your eyes. Something moved under the tree near you. Small. An animal. A rabbit, maybe? Rats or opossums or a trash-stealing raccoon?

Slowly, you sat down on the forest floor, cross-legged and facing the tree. You would wait until the animal revealed itself on its own terms.

The bat was so weak he could hardly move. He tried to hide away from the human that was watching him, but he couldn’t. When he resigned to his position, he let his vision focus on you.

You weren’t surprised to see the bat. The feeling was relief, like you’d found a missing thing. It was clear something was wrong with the creature though. “Do you need help?” you asked it.

Still slowly, you scooted closer to the bat. There were no obvious signs of injury. His brown fluffy body was free from blood or gore. Perhaps he had torn a wing or flown into a tree.

“I can help,” you whispered, holding a hand out flat to the ground. The tips of your fingers were close enough to the bat that he could bite if he wanted to, or he could shuffle forward into the softness of your hand.

Whatever compelled the bat to never leave Hawkins, compelled him to fall onto your palm.

“Hi,” you greeted, bringing your hand to your chest and holding the bat safely between your hands. “What’s happened?”

The bat was a common species; you recognised him as the aptly named big brown bat. His body was the size of a baseball, and some of his colouring was wrong. His legs and arms would normally be pink, but they were a sickly black colour. It looked like his brown fur was beginning to turn too.

“Did you eat something bad? Accidentally poison yourself?”

The bat, of course, did not answer your questions. You looked around the trees for other lost animals or any sign of something that may have caused your new friend to become sick. When there were no answers there either, you stood and took the both of you back to the trailer.

…

Destiny and a little folly may have led you to Forest Hills and the one-bedroom trailer, but you had come to Hawkins prepared nonetheless. In your car, there were supplies to ensure if you’d had to sleep there for a couple of nights, you could. The bat would benefit from your readiness.

The sleeping bag you’d packed was turned into a soft nest for him. “Alright, let’s get you warm,” you whispered, placing him in the middle. He shuffled on the spot for a few moments before settling, his brown eyes still watching you.

When you offered him a piece of banana, he nibbled at it.

When you gingerly stroked his fur, he let you.

Still, there was something about the way the bat watched you, something in his reaction to your movements. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was most definitely curious.

“Alright, my furry friend. We need provisions. Especially if there’s gonna be two of us.” You spoke to him as you pulled your jacket on and grabbed your bag. “Please be here when I get back. I promise I can help you.”

…

It was dark when you returned home. Stores were staying open late to receive interstate deliveries and provide goods to the in-need townspeople, so you managed to get most things on your list.

Inside the trailer was cold, the spring air outside not yet filtered with summer’s coming warmth. You checked on the bat, ensured he was still cosy in his nest. Then, you got to work.

After soap and scrubbing did its part and the mold was attacked with vinegar and bleach, you boarded up the vents and added repairing them properly to your to-do list. In the bedroom, the bed was covered in fresh linen while you dreamed of a brand new mattress.

The only other furniture in the so-called ‘partly furnished’ trailer was a couple of bar stools at the kitchen bench, a televisionless television stand, a couch in surprisingly good condition, and a coffee table that sat a little too low to the ground.

Next, you took a ritual learned from your sisters whilst in India and let milk and rice boil over on the stove for prosperity and abundance. From time spent in Lowcountry, you observed the practice of painting your porch blue. The trailer didn’t have a porch, but the doorframes would suffice. It would ward off evil spirits, as would the salt ring you ran around the home. Finally, mugwort and sweetgrass smudged through the space, cleansing and claiming it as your own.

By the time you were finished, it was almost midnight and your stomach growled obscenities. The bat had been nibbling on the fruit you’d offered, but you’d not eaten since the morning.

After two cups of noodles and a cup of white jasmine tea, you unpacked the small cat bed you’d purchased for the bat. You relocated him into it, still with the sleeping bag, and pushed it under your bed. He’d like it in the dark, you thought.

Skipping a shower, you changed into pajamas and got into bed. Sleep came quickly, perhaps quicker than it had in decades. You dreamt that night. Of darkness. Of blood. Of screaming. Nothing coherent, nothing recognisable. Just an ominous feeling that you were going to find what you were looking for, ready or not.

End Note: Reblogs and comments are so appreciated. Like I said, it will take a couple of chapters for you to fall in love, but I promise you will.

If you are interested in the witchcraft in the story, check out The Grimoire. It will be updated with each chapter!

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson @amira0303 @munsonsbait @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @stardustmunson @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

[aamy2100982]

So, I was reading the Venom comic THE END again and I had a crazy fanfic idea... I'll probably never get it done, but I wouldn't mind if someone else take it, as long as they sent me the link right away :b

As a few warnings: mention of suicide and forcing someone to change their identity

In this comic we can see that Symby is able to replace Eddie's body and is also able to recreate life through the codex that is in it's own system.

Just as we also know that he is capable of changing memories as happened in the 2018 Venom comics when Eddie discovers that he never had a sister or an uncle who died of cancer and it was only an alibi for the symbiote to make him stay with them through fear.

So let's set this scene. Eddie dies. The reasons for his death are not necessary for the rest of the story, but to give an example... he suicide, maybe.

When I thought of this idea I immediately thought of Flash because, one, he is the first possible host that Symby would join after losing Eddie and two, he is a character slightly similar to Eddie physically. But I guess it can be exchanged if they find a better substitute.

I guess you're starting to see where the story is going. Symby will progressively try to turn Flash into Eddie, physically and mentally. Altering his memories and DNA to turn him into literally Eddie.

It's obviously a gradual change. Something non-invasive so that Flash won't be able to recognize it and stop it.

As the days go by he has the feeling of forgetting things and having memories that he doesn't fully recognize. Symby gaslights him by telling him that things have always been that way, and there is no reason why his memories change from one moment to the next without explanation.

After a couple of months Flash will start to have more Eddie-like behaviors, especially the symbiote will want him to manifest like when Eddie has this feeling that he wants to get away from everyone, go out to find criminals to kill and probably end up in a sewer sleeping on an old mattress.

Since Flash's change is gradual and slow, his friends and family cannot fully recognize what is happening to him, because it does not seem like a sudden change, but rather as if Flash were going through a complicated phase of his life where for some reason he feels more irritated and less friendly than usual.

I imagine Flash not being able to recognize himself in the mirror, but at the same time having forgotten who he looks like, because the symbiote wants to convince him (and itself) that the one in the mirror is Flash Thompson, and not some kind of impostor.

The story would probably end with Flash adopting his new identity as his own. Disappearing from the lives of his loved ones to adopt this lifestyle that Eddie Brock has, living day to day, thinking that, although he has allies here and there, he has no family or friends he can trust other than his other.

I guess the real happy ending would be that Flash recovers and manages to regain his true identity... but that would also ruin the entire concept that is built throughout the story :b

[powderblueblood]

I know this has been done a million and one times, but Eddie just vibing at the gas station. Something inevitably goes wrong. Please and thanks dear Powder

jo my love i present to you 1k+ words of eddie munson's no good very bad wednesday night no warnings! just silly. and acab includes hopper

So it's eight thirty on a Wednesday night, the very armpit of the week, and Eddie's standing there under the glare of the gas station fluorescents. Right in the heart of the snack aisle.

"What's become apparent to me, Sam, is-is-is-is that it's fear. It's the iron claw of the bonds of being a scaredy-cat little bitch that has stunted me fundamentally."

Loaded. So stoned he's stalagmite.

"See, I'm a capable guy. Many capes have I, but it's like, I've finally mastered the fuck-you-chip-on-my-shoulder adolescent thing that I'm reluctant to let it go. I'm skirting around putting on my big boy pants. I'm failing my courses. I'm dumbing myself down to stick around high school, seemingly, on purpose. Because I'm afraid!"

Eddie's pouring his heart out to the narcoleptic octogenarian cashier, the guy that likely built this place out of shiplap and bullet casings way back when it was a horseshit stop for Buffalo Bill's Wild West Freak Show or whoever.

"And I know what you're thinking." Sam isn't thinking anything. Sam's sleeping with his eyes wide open. "Why not really, grr, take root with that family tree, huh? Drop out like my old man and my uncle did? Well, I'll tell ya--"

Eddie wonders, in the middle of his own sentence, what it'd be like to hitch his wagon to an operation like that and coast solely on being a moorless weirdo.

He's really stoned, okay?

"--high school is easy to fail in. Real life? Isn't."

And look, before you get all, he's got good reason. It's been a particular drag of a week, a real sandpaper to the balls kind of kick off. Corroded Coffin's Tuesday night engagement at the Hideout was a special kind of bust--not least of all because the slapdash stage finally gave way under all that threatening creaking, and almost took Jeff's neck with it.

The neck of his bass and his human body. Neither of which Jeff's ass is in any position to fix.

So Eddie's got a band that's bruised and barely in the pocket, and a mouth that won't stop running.

“WSQK 94.5, The Squawk!” Eddie echoes the radio, complete with eagle screech, as the opening chords of Renegade by Ted Nugent & the Amboy Dukes pick up. "Hawk-ening right back to a time when Ted Nugent hadn't yet sold all his actual guitaristry to that pissant Wango Tango-ing... You know what, man, this is it!"

His ringed hands come down on the counter all a-clatter, chip crumbs flying out the bag he hasn't quite paid for yet.

"Lock me in a room full of records under a radio tower and throw away the key, I mean, I would be good to fucking go. None of that shock-jock shit, either. I'd play nothing but real music. The Hawkins Midnight Rambler, huh?" But Sam isn't paying sufficient enough attention. "Think I got a face for radio, Sammy?" Because he's asleep.

It takes a couple of molasses-slow moments for Eddie to register this, he himself still working through his own big sluggishness. I mean, damn, even waving a hand in front of the old man's face is an effort.

He's out, though, like a light. Makes Eddie wonder how this place stays open, much less unrobbed.

Well. Careful what you wish for there, buddy.

His hand is slinking toward a Three Musketeers, ready to nab it from the shelf right under old Sam's nose and write him a little IOU for whenever he next has the cash, but Eddie senses a shuffling behind him.

"Put your fuckin' hands in the air!"

Oh? "Dude, what?"

There's this guy behind him, this guy whose corporeal form Eddie can't be a bajillion percent sure isn't, like, a vivid hallucination, with pantyhose tugged over his face. Poking a pistol around under the cover of his camo jacket. The whole bit.

"Put your hands in the air or I put a hole through ya, asshole! You too, old man!"

Eddie tuts, hands still very much hovering near that candy bar.

"What's the fucking hold up, you and your grandpa tryin' to get shot or somethin?!" this very serious masked assailant demands.

"He's asleep, guy," Eddie says. "He can't hear you."

"What?!" our villain splutters, "Well... wake the fuck up! I ain't got all day and I want what's in that reg--"

He goes to point his still-concealed fuckin' sharp shooter or whatever it is he has at Sam's face, and Eddie, with this strange surge of protectiveness and complete buffoonery, nudges his arm away.

"Don't! Number one, dude's a narcoleptic, you could give him a heart attack if you just woke him up like that--number two, I saw him pull a sawed off from under that counter one time and you're in way closer range so the hole he blows through you is gonna be, like, way bigger and... like, he'll kill you and shit. Be cool."

The would-be thief groans. Oh, god, Eddie just knows he thought this hit job would be way easier. In and out, quick and dirty, wham-bam-thank you Sam.

Eddie nearly laughs. He does laugh, actually, because he's still super-mega fucking high and can't exactly control the noises that come out of his mouth, so next thing the dude is rounding on him with the thing in his pocket. Eddie actually puts his hands up this time. Feels a cold shock go through him somewhere that he really hopes isn't piss.

You ever get that? Get so stoned you constantly think you're peeing yourself? Anyway.

"Get the fuck behind the counter! If the old man can't open the register for me, you're gonna do it!"

"But I don't know how." Liar. Lying ass. Eddie knows how to work a goddamn register. It's not like he's tucking that money from the Hideout straight into his garter belt. Though he could. Maybe he should. Maybe he should buy a garter b--

"I'm gonna tell you how, dickhead!"

"What's in it for me?"

"Is that a fucking joke, wise guy?"

Only kinda. Closed mouths never get fed. "Worth a shot."

But Eddie doesn't really love this dude's tone, so he obediently scoots behind the counter, and almost gets distracted by all the copies of Penthouse Sam is keeping back here. He knew the bastard was holding out on him.

"Um..." Eddie gingerly starts, hands just sort of floating in the direction of the register in a way he hopes to Christ won't disturb Sam and wake him into a world of cardiac calamity.

So the guy tells him what buttons to push, clearly a man of the trade, a fellow familiar with wiling countless hours away behind a counter, which makes Eddie be all, why don't you steal from your own job, you shyster and keeps hitting the wrong buttons on purpose.

But dear old Sammy must have this thing rigged to make Eddie look like an asshole, because out pops the fucking drawer anyhow!

This guy, the pantyhose head, the robber, lets out an honest-to-god yippee! as he reaches over to snatch that cash.

And Eddie, working solely on instinct at this point, narrows his lovely red-rimmed eyes and shoves the drawer right in on the unlucky fuck's fingers.

He screams. And Eddie screams. And something falls out of his pocket. And Eddie leans over the counter, expecting to see and hear the shiny clatter of a pistol hit the lino.

But there is no such hardware.

It was a banana in his pocket. He was not happy to see you.

"What the fuck, man!" they chorus in near unison. They could have been brothers in another life, says some disembodied voice in the back of Eddie's head.

But then, something yellow flies towards Eddie's face and the shock of it knocks him right back into the lotto tickets and cigarettes. Thunk! His head knocks far too hard against the fire extinguisher and now there's two unconscious guys behind the counter.

Now, I don't know if you've ever had a banana thrown in your face by a masked assailant before, but I would call that something of an overreaction.

Anyway, he wakes up to police sirens and that Callaghan dweeb hauling him up by the front of his Hellfire shirt.

"Sshsjesus, Officer Handsy, buy a guy dinner first," Eddie slurs, head pounding. Callaghan's dorky Buddy Holly glasses have an aura around them that he unconsciously tries to swat away.

"He's resisting arrest!" Callaghan yells.

"Keep it down, I have a headache!" Eddie blinks once, twice, twenty-million times and is still having a tough time taking stock of his surroundings. Cash drawer's open and empty, and Sam is nowhere to be seen. "Didja catch the guy or what? He had a banana gun. Threw it right at me."

"Pipe down. Edward Munson, you're under arrest for armed robbery--"

"--wait, hold on--"

"--endangering the elderly--"

"--hold the fuck on!"

"--and swearing at a police officer!" Callaghan clicks the cuffs on and Eddie's about to burst, he's so mad and his head is pounding with such a fury. Shuffling him out into the forecourt and into the squad car like some kind of penguin idiot!

"That last thing isn't even real!" he spits, "None of this is real--I was trying t--fuck, did you not hear me about the banana gun?!"

"Reminds me to drug test him when we get back to the station," Callaghan puffs as he slides into the passenger seat.

"No one's drug testing anybody," Chief Hopper grumbles from behind the wheel. "We don't even have those facilities. Plus, kid doesn't even have any of that stolen cash on him."

"Thank you!" Eddie barks from his seat in the back. He can't really seem to sit upright, and he doesn't know whether to contribute that to the lump that's risen on the back of his head or the drugs that are definitely still in his system.

"W--well, why are we arresting him, then?" Callaghan blubs. Which is actually a salient point.

The Chief shrugs. "I'unno. Wednesday night. Somethin' to do."

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | November 13th-19th 2023 (Part One)

For the first time ever, I have a podcast and podfic recommendations! 😃 The podcast is Dispatch: a 9-1-1 Podcast @dispatchpodcast and specifically the episode with @mistmarauder that inspired me to try podfics!

Complete

🔥 eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by mmtion/ @mmtions (Season 5, Jealous Eddie | 19K | Mature): Really, Eddie doesn’t care that the PTA aren’t his biggest fan. He knows he misses too many meetings, and it’s not like he’s best friends with any of the other parents. But then Buck picks Christopher up from a class trip and it all goes to hell. Like, of course Buck is everyone’s dream guy. He’s responsible with kids, and kind, and funny and interesting and hot to touch. That’s obvious. But now Eddie’s fighting to keep the PTA moms, teachers, and dads, all off an unsuspecting and tempting Buck. Because Eddie is a good friend. Right?

The 118's Secret Book Club by Asplenium, QuietLittleVoices/ @hawkeyefrommash (Post-Season 5 | 15K | Teen): Eddie dropped the book on the counter. “Taylor Kelly wrote a book. I haven’t started it yet. But I was thinking –” “Book club?” Karen asked. Eddie nodded eagerly. “I know I can’t complain about this to Buck, but –” “Say no more,” Hen said, flipping open the book to the introduction. “We’ll get some copies from the library.”

daylight (i can never look away) by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (S4, Quarantine | 3K | Teen): or; a single moment between two almost lovers who don't know where to go next (otherwise known as the buddie quarantine fic nobody asked for)

101 Ways to Say 'What the F#%&' by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Humor | 5K | Teen): The point is, Eddie knows Buck. Or at least he thought he did. Now, Eddie's starting to think the whole relationship has been built on LIES. Because somehow, in some way, it has completely escaped Eddie's vast amounts of knowledge, that Buck is a fucking polyglot.

wait for me to come home by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Season 5, Pining | 3K | Teen): Chris doesn’t take the lego. He keeps staring at Buck with those big, doleful eyes, and says, “Why can’t you be with my dad instead?” His voice is soft and sad, naive and hopeful all at the same time. It’s positively heartbreaking is what it is, especially compounded with the fact that Buck has been asking himself the same question for months now. Buck offers him another smile, softer and tinged with a little of his own sadness, and says, “It’s complicated, buddy.”

spilled milk by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-Coma | 4K | Teen): or; In the aftermath of Buck's coma, Eddie can't look at him. (Part 1 of longing tastes like grief and desire)

something familiar by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S6E15 | 1K | Teen): or; Buck and Eddie get burgers after visiting Marie's grave, and Eddie feels too many things. (Part 2 of longing tastes like grief and desire)

standing on the edge (of great) by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Ediie/Ana Break-Up | 5K | Mature): or; eddie says buck's name during sex with ana. it goes about as well as you would expect. and then somehow, it gets a little better

🔥 Love in the Time of TikTok by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S4 | 5K | Teen): It seems kind of dystopian to let millions of people know he’s in love with his best friend before telling said best friend first, doesn’t it? Whatever. Fuck it. It’s not like anyone he knows in real life watches his Tik Toks anyway, so he can be a little freer with the truth even if doesn’t tell his followers everything. He already keeps a tight cinch around his emotions when he’s at work, he can let his guard down a little on here, right?

this life that we've created (or: how silvia rodriguez learned to believe in fairytales again) by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S4E5: Eddie Begins, Outsider POV | 2K | Teen): or; eddie makes buck christopher's legal guardian told from his lawyer's perspective. because why not

hear me now by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Post-S4E5: Eddie Begins | 5K | Teen): or; eddie finds the footage of buck trying to dig to him in Eddie Begins. conversations and feelings ensue

When My Eyes Are Closed (Til Right When They Open) by mintedwitcher (Season 5, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): When Chris has a tantrum, Eddie slips and refers to Buck as Chris's dad. A lot of feelings are revealed and Eddie has a few realisations at his kitchen table. Buck, as always, is right there. 

The First Place I Go (When I'm Trying to Hide) by mintedwitcher (Season 5, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): A companion piece to When My Eyes are Closed, wherein Buck realises he's in love with Eddie because Chris talks with his mouth full.

hungry for your love by evcndiaz/ @evcndiaz (Getting Together | 1,8K | General): prompt: "who’s gonna write a fanfic where chris is not cooperating with buck and eddie accidentally says “listen to your dad”?"

I wanna spend my forever like that by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Sick Eddie, Getting Together | 8K | General): Eddie catches a cold and stubbornly denies he's sick, while a fondly exasperated Buck is trying to take care of him.

nicknames, supernova similes and the family we make by thewolvesof1998/ @thewolvesof1998 (Established Buddie | <1K | General): Bobby and Athena meet Buck and Eddie's new baby girl.

Nobody Can Do Everything by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Canon Divergence, Teacher Buck | 4K | General): It's parent/teacher night, Eddie having brought Carla along to help him navigate through the vast school. Most of the teachers are unmemorable, save for the pretty English teacher, though she isn't the one that keeps his attention. No, that would be the one with blue eyes, the one his son is always talking about.

if I could see you (once more, to see you) by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (Canon Divergent, Coma | 21K | Teen): Or, in the aftermath of a building collapse, Eddie mourns. Buck dreams.

Kiss Me Drunk When You're Sober by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Getting Together | 5K | General): Buck makes a drunken confession and Eddie makes a decision.

Podfics

🔥 [Podfic] Curl Up in My Heart and Let Me Keep You by liketherestofla, MistMarauder / @mistmarauder (Animal Transformation | 1-1.5h | Teen): When an orange tabby cat starts hanging around the Diaz house, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. The little guy's cute and cuddly, and seems to always know when Eddie's having a bad time. Weird how the cat's never around when Buck is, though.

🔥 [Podfic] Love in the Time of TikTok by MistMarauder/ @mistmarauder (Post-S4 | 30-45 min | Teen): It seems kind of dystopian to let millions of people know he’s in love with his best friend before telling said best friend first, doesn’t it? Whatever. Fuck it. It’s not like anyone he knows in real life watches his Tik Toks anyway, so he can be a little freer with the truth even if doesn’t tell his followers everything. He already keeps a tight cinch around his emotions when he’s at work, he can let his guard down a little on here, right?

WIP

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 99/? | 261K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

🔥 Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 4/13 | 16K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

🔥 and here, too, am i by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Future fic, Married Buddie | 3/4 | 31K | Teen): Six months into their marriage, Eddie is still struggling to decide whether or not he wants more kids, when he knows Buck does. The universe may not scream, but it certainly talks.

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Demon Buck, Canon Divergent | 7/? | 12K | Teen): Buck is a demon with the power to help with pregnancy, childbirth, and infant health. When the Buckleys make a deal asking for someone to help 'save their baby', Buck leaps at the chance as it will give him what he's always wanted: a life on earth. But demon deals are tricky and neither of them gets quite what they're after. This is Buck's journey as he navigates growing up on earth and remembering how to help those in need.

Fractals from the Lightning Bolt by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (One Shots Collection | 38/54 | 73K | Not Rated)

I Haven't Found A Better Title For This Than "Read This In The Six Months Before I Made This Blog And It Somehow Made Its Way To My History Now So I'm Reccing It Post-Facto"

🔥 tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia

[boltonbritreads]

I am at the point of truly begging anons to stop sending hate to writers and ruining the ability for people to share their writing and others to get to read and engage with it. It literally just ruins everything for everyone and taints a space that’s supposed to be anything from comfort, escapism, a creative outlet, to hanging out with friends.

truly- what is the goal? what do you get out of pushing writers off the platform and making a fandom have even less engagement? I wish there was a “stop, are you really sure you want to send that message” screen before you could send anons sometimes so bc of that…..

🖤🖤 Eddie Munson Fic Rec List! 🖤🖤

as a reader who gets so much comfort and vital escapism from fanfic I want to just shout out some incredible stories I’ve been following/read lately:

*totally non exhaustive and just what I could remember at work!!* I’m hoping to add more & eventually made a proper list

@munson-blurbs’s “Trapped Under Ice” - truly lovely single dad eddie story that has so much heart and fluff and getting to see Eddie and Ms Sweetheart build their relationship and grow together has been so satisfying and lovely to read

@corroded-hellfire “As You Wish” I can’t even put into words 😩 I’m so down bad for this eddie and this fic and every single time reader gets to gets to spend time with Luke and Ryan and eddie gets even more smitten I melt

@upsidedownwithsteve’s “Simmer”!! I am truly losing my mind over simmer and as a fellow crybaby who just needs that extra comfort sometime, I yearn for Simmer!Eddie. Truly this fic means so much to me and I relate so so much to reader it makes me cry

@pinkrelish “The Yes Policy” - I mean, do I even have to say anything? It’s everything you could ever want and more in an eddie fic and the descriptions and imagery in every chapter my god ♥️🐭

@abibliophobiaa “Daylight” - holy shit I can’t express the itch this fic scratches it’s just the best and an absolute fluffy comfort fest. Lovesick Eddie, Unplanned Pregnancy reader, strangers to friends to lovers, cuddling in bed?? what more can you ask for?? I really love how *spoilers* eddie has accepted his feelings for reader and is just waiting for if/when she decides to go further with him, ball in her court

@sunflowergirl522 - “M’Lady, M’Lord” oh my this was so good and fun to read!! I’m such a sucker for goofy eddie and seeing reader meet him where he is and be playful back is just *chefs kiss*

@ghost-proofbaby - ok so basically anything Ghost has ever written is incredible but my highlights are “24 hours” because of course it is like ?? such a cool concept and the execution was perfection. I haven’t felt like I’m on the edge of my seat week-to-week for a fic in a while and seeing everyone react to each chapter and collectively lose our minds was so fun and something I love about fanfic!! After you’ve read “24 hours,” head on over to “So Scarlet (It was Maroon)” for some angst and pain and then chase it with “Coffee Shop Blues” for cute slice of life at a coffee shop with barista!eddie 🥰

@neonghostlights - “To the Moon & Back” alien eddie!!! I’m loving this series so far and how much fun and tension can be built into the dynamic of alien eddie and reader who have some language/cultural barriers but also like…..eddie gets it 👀👅

@harrywavycurly - there’s truly so much to choose from!! their master list has so much and there’s all kinds of text fics to dip into and a whole universe of Eddie’s! I personally love and am following “Trouble Next Door,” “It Was Just One Night,” and “Eddie’s Wish.” I desperately want TND eddie and reader to just get to smooch and cuddle but uh….I think getting over being cheated on and getting a divorce takes longer than I’d like 🫤

@carolmunson “Orange Coloured Sky” the older!eddie of dreeeeeeams my god 😍 from start to current this story has been so fun to follow and I’m loving the characterisation of this older eddie who is confident and hot but also….such a dork like immediately texting Steve “she said I’m the best she’s ever had 😎” I can’t

@luveline - ok anything and everything Jade has ever written, literally an entire treasure trove of a master list and the obviously heavy hitters are “June Baby!” and the “Eddie and Roan” series for all of the baby fever of reading about eddie and a cute baby but I also wanted to shout out the fic “A Quest for Bed” because it was so gosh darn sweet and fluffy and I love seeing eddie take care of reader once in a while

@trashmouth-richie - again another obvious incredible gorgeous fic “Honey I’m Home,” it’s so so beautiful and heart wrenching and funny and I’m in awe of the compassion and tenderness show towards the characters in this story. I adore HIH with everything but also “Do You Like How the Water Tastes” has been such a fun new story to dig into! I feel like I truly can’t predict what each chapter will be like and I keep being surprised by how Eddie interacts with reader and it makes each new chapter so exciting to read bc I think it’ll go one way and then I’m totally surprised!!