#au where eddie lives

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

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Chapter XVIII: I Gave My Life Away

pre warning: tags contain some non specific spoilers

warnings: 18+ MDNI mentions of a suicide attempt, alcoholism, narcotics addiction, depression. Adult content not meant for people under the age of 18. (spoiler for next tag!) Grinding/heavy petting, an inkling of smut. Angst, hurt feelings, heavy subject matter. reminder that this is fiction and i do not condone the actions of my characters! afab!gn!reader, they/them pronouns, rockstar!eddie, use of y/n lol i did not use y/n once!, pet names

a/n: i am… so sorry. that’s all i’ll say for now.

Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated.

—

January 1991

Eddie’s POV

“Eddie? Eddie!” The voice is familiar, but too far away. He can’t see anything beyond a spinning figure, but he feels the harsh slapping on his face before someone drags him by his armpits into the bathtub. “Cmon, man, please.”

Then there’s water, and it’s cold, and Eddie’s trying to move but he can’t, he can only cough and choke as the shower spray gets into his nose and mouth.

“Oh fuck, thank fucking God.” Then there are footsteps, and Eddie’s hauled out of the bathroom on a stretcher, the frantic voice following closely behind.

-

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

“Ed, they’re looking for you. Two minutes.”

Eddie nods, waving the security off and turning back to her. “You’re still in Ohio, then?”

“Yeah, seems it. Nothing really goin’ on here, though.”

“Isn’t that kind of a good thing?”

She shrugs, her lips pursed. “Guess so, if it means you’re here.”

Eddie chuckles shyly. “Well, I should get moving, or Steve will have my head.

She nods eagerly, wrapping herself tightly around Eddie’s torso, causing him to shift uncomfortably. He hasn’t seen her since before, and he realizes now he’s not that person anymore. It causes his heart to skip with anxious energy.

“See ya.” She sends him a wink, and he waves as she turns on her heel to venture back into the crowd.

The security guard is still there, humming the chorus to Under The Bridge as it plays out of the house speakers, leaning against the wall as he waits for Eddie to finish with the pretty, dainty girl he’s with, and Eddie returns to him like a scolded child. “Alright, let’s go.”

“That your girl?” He asks, making small talk with the rockstar he has likely no interest in.

Eddie shakes his head. “God, no. A friend, maybe. Not even that much, not anymore.”

“Guy like you doesn’t need to dwell on that, man. Sure you got plenty of ladies lined up for a chance with you.”

He snorts, amused by this guy’s casualty. “You’d be surprised.”

The guard escorts Eddie all the way to the stage, where Steve is seething and huffing about, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Sorry, sorry. Ran into someone.”

Steve’s expression softens slightly at the mention. “Was it-“

“Yeah. But it’s fine, really. Civil, even.”

“Right. In that case, I’m still mad at you,”

“Sure, of course. Can we hold off on my discipline until after the show?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as if to prevent himself from taking a swing at Eddie. “Fine. Go.”

Eddie bows his head to thank him, and takes his place next to his bandmates, who’d been left waiting restlessly for their frontman, again. “Hey-“

“Shut up.” Jeff silences him. “Don’t wanna hear it.” And it’s fair. They shouldn’t have to listen to his excuses. He’s supposed to be working on himself, and all he’s managed to do is piss off the people that matter to him most. The house lights dim, and Eddie watches as the crowd grow feral, shoving toward the stage, shaking the metal barricades standing between them and the stage. His heart thumps in his ears, in time with the crowd’s eager chants of “COFFIN, COFFIN,” a command he’s inclined to obey. It drags him forward, led by his band onto the stage to present themselves to a mass of people that want to tear them apart.

The stage lights up with the first chord, and Eddie hears the audience beyond his monitor. He looks back to Gareth, who’s awestruck at the noise, then to Jeff who holds his hand over his chest, genuinely thanking these people for coming. Eddie wants to feel it, too. The warmth these people seem to offer his friends, but he’s somewhere else. He can’t get used to it, like he’s wearing shoes half a size too small. It makes him shift uncomfortably inside his skin, constantly feeling the eyes of thousands on him, relying on him, there for him. It’s then that he realizes he’s sober on stage, for the first time in five years.

He’d stuck to his word, now twenty four hours without consuming a drop of alcohol. He feels his chest tighten, like a hand made of knives has broken open his ribcage to squeeze his heart until it pops. His lungs will fill with his own blood and he’ll choke, he watches as it flashes before him, a panic stricken fantasy but Eddie wouldn’t say unrealistic.

His friends are looking at him. The crowd is calming with their increased confusion; a late start and now a strange, empty pause. He has to fill it. He can’t find you, and he’s taking too long, and it’s starting to confuse his band, so he shouts into the blackness “HELLO, COLUMBUS!” and the room combusts with the release of tension. “I am so sorry we’re late. Thank you for waiting. Let’s burn this fucking place down.” Gareth hits his sticks together, both a warning and a courtesy that there’s no stopping now, and Eddie rides the momentum. He nails every incoming note without thought, and he can feel the vibrations through the building, both of the music and the crowd. He gets the same rush he used to, when he was wide eyed and bushy tailed, younger and in love with the life of a rockstar. For a second, he feels it again, in the same place he’d felt the least alive at this time two years ago.

-

Your POV

“What the hell!” You stomp up to Steve, screaming over the noise of the stage into his face. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Steve only smirks. “How does it feel, huh? To not have a fucking clue what’s going on? He’ll tell you. I can’t-“

“Blah!” You throw your hands into the air, “I get it, you can’t tell me. Just… who’s the girl?”

Steve’s smile only grows. “Are you jealous?”

You groan, more from exhaustion than embarrassment. “Of course I’m fucking jealous, Steve! Don’t play dumb! Please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

His face falls, and he grabs you by the shoulders, jolting you into focus. “You have nothing to worry about. That I do know.”

It’s not enough, but it’s all you’re gonna get. You can’t help but respect it, the commitment to keeping Eddie’s business to himself. Truth be told, Steve is probably dying to tell you. “It’s that big, huh?” He nods sadly, and you mirror him in understanding. “But he’s going to tell you. He’s gonna tell you everything, and it’s gonna be a lot to digest. So I’ll be here when he tells you.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.”

He nods. “That’s my intention. You might not get the answers you want, but you’ll get answers.”

-

You watch the tail end of their set with your brain going in circles. What could Steve possibly mean, the answers you don't want? What answers do you want? Who’s the girl, for starters. But mostly, what happened, in the two years without contact? What made you so angry? You can’t imagine an answer heavy enough to break you, not off the top of your head. Whatever it is, you want it. Even if it’s just to understand Eddie a little more. Even if it means he can’t be with you. Even if it means you have to let him go.

“Thank you!�� Eddie shouts after the final note of a song you couldn’t name. “Thanks for comin’ out, Columbus!” The crowd shrieks, ratting your brain inside your head. “And give it up again for DEATH DANCE APPROXIMATELY!” The crowd politely continues cheering, and a small girl next to you sends you a bright smile. “So, so grateful to have them on this whole tour with us, you have no idea.” Eddie laughs bashfully, out of character for him to do while on stage. It’s a small thing, something you shouldn’t have noticed, but of course you did. He’s nervous. You squint, as if it will help you read him better, and it doesn’t. “This is our last song, I wanna hear you all. Loud as you can, alright?” The crowd whoops, and Corroded Coffin start in on Sweetheart, and you almost choke on your tears immediately.

Eddie has always said the closing song is the most important. It’s the one freshest in their mind, the one that will stick with them the most. It has to be perfect. He’d never used Sweetheart as the closer, and it’s obvious Gareth and Jeff weren’t ready for it, probably assuming Eddie skipped it reading the setlist. Eddie’s voice shakes slightly as he sings, but it’s perfect. His eyes stay closed the whole time, and you desperately wish he’d open them, find you in the wings, and sing the words to you again. Like he had, any time you’d asked him to just because you could. You sing along, lose yourself in the lyrics for the first time in years, actually hearing the words meant for you.

And then it’s over, and they’re thanking the crowd and bowing, and walking off stage, and even though you know you’re gonna see it all again night after night, even though you have seen it tens of times already, you miss it. The feeling of a shrieking crowd feeling all of their feelings while you feel yours. The feelings you hope you can give to your own audience. You feel like a teenager seeing their favorite band for the first time, and you’d forgotten how good that felt.

Robin seems to appear from thin air next to you. “Hey!” She semi-shouts over the bustling crowd. “Are you crying?” It’s a question you should absolutely be used to by now. You hadn’t noticed this time, though. “Oh!” You sniff, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, guess I was. Not sad, though.” Not necessarily true, but for now a nonissue.

“We’re all goin’ out tonight.”

You shake your head. “I’ll catch up.” She frowns at you. “It’s okay! I’ll tell you everything I can after.”

The possibility of a gossip session soothes her curiosity, and she squeezes your arm before continuing to wiggle through the crowd. You follow her backstage, into the massive dressing area backstage, where Eddie sits with his bandmates in a circle of metal fold out chairs, each of them holding a beer. Besides Eddie, who fiddles with the label of his water bottle.

“Right!” Jeff pats Eddie’s knee as he speaks, “We’re goin’ out. celebrating our biggest show to date.”

It’s then that Eddie lifts his eyes and catches you staring. You don’t bother averting yours to the floor, already having been caught red handed. “Do you guys mind if I sit this one out? I uh, have a prior engagement.” The girl, you’re sure. The girl you have nothing to worry about, the girl Eddie knows in the nowhere state of Ohio. You chew on the inside of your lip until you draw blood, anxious and suddenly unsure of everything Steve had tried to warn you about.

“Yeah, man, of course. Come out if you change your mind, though.” With that, Gareth and Jeff exit the room, and your friends follow suit soon after, leaving you and Eddie alone.

-

Eddie’s POV

Now, I have to do it right now. “Hey,”

You face him, eyes wide with questions he so desperately wants to answer for you. Your hands are clasped tightly together, your knuckles white and arms flexed, jaw clenched. “You wanna get some coffee?”

Your nod is vigorous, and he holds his elbow out for you. You quickly latch onto him, and Eddie feels just how anxious you must be. He can’t imagine where your head’s at, with your nightmares and your constant, irritating habit of caring about him so much. He’s exhausting you, and all he wants now is to let you rest.

Eddie asks a remaining staff member to escort the two of you out the back way, and into the warmth of the summer night. “Is there even somewhere that sells coffee around here? Let alone somewhere that’s open?” You joke, and he chuckles.

“I guess I didn’t think that far ahead. Ah!” He points down the road, to the glowing 7-Eleven sign. “Onward!” You laugh, and it floods through Eddie, like it’s drenching his head in ice water, refreshing him. He’s since dropped his arm, but yours stays locked around him, like if you let go he’d run away. As if he’d ever think to do such a thing.

He breaks the thick silence finally, after several minutes of walking through it. “You uh, said you wanted to talk?”

You look up at him. “I did?”

“Yeah, uh, this morning? We didn’t really get the chance.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah I guess so. I just,” You shake your head, frustrated, “I have questions.”

“Okay,” Eddie shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. He wants to give you the answers. Finally, he wants to be completely open with you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, shoot. I’ll answer your questions.”

“Any of them?”

“All of ‘em, sweetheart.” He can’t help it, he loves watching you shy away at the nickname, cute and soft, under all that armor.

-

Your POV

“Okay…” You have to be careful. One wrong move, and he’s shutting you out again. “Where’d you go tonight?” A subtle way to ask it, you think. Not accusatory, just curious, bordering on nosey.

“I ran into an old friend. From group.” You snap your neck, catching the words he says so casually.

“Group?”

Eddie nods, “NA-slash-AA.”

This is nowhere near where you thought this conversation would go. Every question you’d had crumbles at his answer. “What?”

“I’m more of a casual attendee, lately.” You feel your head fill up with more questions, and you’re drowning. “When did you-“ You’re expecting him to cut you off, but he waits. “When did you start going to meetings?”

Eddie looks to the sky as if to find the answer in the blackness above. “Early into 1991. There was still snow on the ground.”

“What um,” You’re walking the tightrope here, and you heed Steve’s warning. “What made you decide to go?”

Eddie looks at you again, his expression sad. “Had a really, really bad night.”

“What happened?” You ask, too quickly. It’s not fair, and you don’t have any right to know the answer, but Eddie snorts a laugh, like this news isn’t breaking your heart to learn. “Steve saved my life. I’m surprised he hasn’t divulged this story to you, even with the fact that I begged him not to tell anyone. Took me years to even tell the guys. I had gotten so bad, I didn’t care what happened to me. I was drinking myself to sleep every night, wallowing in self pity, barely able to function. I was worse than any time before. Worse than I was when you’d called me that night.”

“What night?”

“You were drunk, you probably don’t remember. Sometime in September of the year before, I’d been up all night trying, and you called me at home.” The memory comes back in a tidal wave. You’d just finished recording your EP, your first cohesive body of work, and with it had been signed to Sub Pop. Things had been looking up for you after cutting things off with him in July, but somewhere far away, Eddie had been drowning.

Before you can say anything, he continues, “Anyway, we were on a kind of hiatus as a band, had been for about a year at this point. I had nothing to get me out of bed before three in the afternoon, nothing to distract me from my pity party. I went out every night, drank until I couldn’t see, and did lines in the bathroom with people I didn’t care to know. I probably slept with six or seven different people a week, sometimes more. I couldn’t stop, because then I’d have to feel my feelings, and I was so afraid of them. One time,” He has the gall to chuckle, “after I got kicked out of a bar in New York for trying to fight the bouncer, I was so wasted and beaten that I fell asleep in my front yard with my pants around my ankles. Really glad I don’t have neighbors.”

It all pours out so easily now, like he’s telling you about his trip to the grocery store. “I uh, only got worse after that.” He stops, and you look up at him, waiting with wide, stinging eyes. “You sure you want me to keep going?” You nod. You don’t want to know, but you have to. As much as you suspect it’s gonna hurt, it means something that he’s finally willing to tell you.

He pushes forward. “On New Year's Eve of ‘91, I mixed whiskey and Steve’s Xanax. Way too much of it. Harrington found me passed out in the bathroom of my hotel room at around 1AM and called an ambulance. I'd written a note and everything.”

He pauses again to let you digest it all, and the silence sends a piercing ring through your ears. The words coming out of his mouth feel so far away, disconnected from the mouth they’re coming from. You’d never known Eddie to give up. Nothing had stopped him before; from finishing high school, from getting out of Hawkins, from being a rockstar. Regardless of how angry, or frustrated, or beaten he'd gotten, Eddie had always bounced back.

He finally pulls you from your thoughts. “That was the worst of it, but it had been a long time coming. When we were,” He gestured lamely to the air, “seeing each other, I was usually either on a run or coming down. I didn’t hide it well, I was almost sure you’d known, or at least suspected something. I was so angry and twitchy all the time. As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t bring you into it, though. I never wanted you to know, and in a lot of ways I still don’t. Actually, please tell me you don’t wanna know. I’ll shut right the fuck up.”

“Nice try, but you underestimate how nosey I am.” He laughs, and you smile despite it all. “When did you start, I guess doing coke?” He doesn’t think about it for long. “Ironically, New Year’s Eve 1990 was the first time. I was a pro at it by May. I'd been drinking heavily for years by then, guess I wanted to jazz it up to ring in the new decade.” He stops walking and pivots to look at you, suddenly eager, and in no way aware of how jarring what he’d just said was. “Do you remember when I would get nosebleeds all the time, or when I’d sneeze and there’d be a giant snot bubble?” You nod, your face contorting with disgust at the memories. You remember a specific time, when you’d been making out with him in his hotel room in Boston, and his nose had just started dripping blood onto your bare chest. He’d gotten so pissed off at himself he’s left without putting his shirt or shoes back on. “Yeah, that had nothing to do with the humidity. Deep down, I think you knew that.”

He’s right, but you can still feel the crack in your heart spiderweb and spread as you hear these suspicions about Eddie confirmed.

“When was the last time?”

“The first or second night of the tour, I think.”

“Are you still drinking?” Dustin’s question makes more sense to you now. You wonder how he’d found out.

Eddie hesitates, as if fighting himself on whether to answer truthfully. “I didn’t today. It’s the first full day I’ve gone in a while. Touring is always difficult, and I’m sure you understand why this time is uh, particularly stressful.”

“Because of me.” Obviously.

“Because I know how badly I’ve hurt you, and because I know I haven’t made it up to you yet. I haven't earned your trust or even your time by any means, and I hate that you’re seeing me like this when you should be enjoying your first full US tour.” He chokes the last words out. You’ve stopped walking again, waiting at a deserted intersection, not yet ready to cross. “I’ve been fucking up recently, which is why I haven’t said anything. It’s not because I don’t want you. I want you so, so much. I just can’t do it yet.”

“Eddie,” You reach for him, and he lets you. You hold his face in your hands, feeling his flushed cheeks warm your palms as you look at him under the streetlights. “You don’t earn things like help and support, Eddie, not from people that-“ You pause. Not now, it’s not fair. “People that care about you. Thank you for telling me, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling; surrounded by triggers at all times, having to see me so much. I never would have agreed to the tour if I’d known—,“

He cuts you off, shaking his head, wafting the scent of his shampoo at you. “Don’t do that, please. This is not your fault, this is my own undoing. You are exempt from blame here.”

“I wish I’d known you were struggling. I wish I could have helped.”

Eddie traps your hands with his own on his face. “I know. I do, too.”

A sob shoves its way through your lips, and you can’t rebuild the dam fast enough. You’re crying, ugly sobbing with snot and mascara painting your face into a sad clown. It may be a cry of relief, having finally understood where your love had gone, so to speak, and seeing a glimpse of him right now. A version of Eddie happy, warm. He smiles at you, a big, beautiful smile, but his eyes are so sad. “I wish I had known to ask. Would have saved us both so much trouble.” Eddie drops his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him, your coffee quest long forgotten. “I am so sorry.”

“Thank you.” You do not fight it, because there’s so much for him to be sorry for, regardless of if you want the apology. You trust that he means it. “I won’t push you for anything else. But I need you to ask for help, when you need it. I'm not gonna turn you away.” You wrap your arms around his torso, as physical proof of your words. You feel his arms as they surround your head, and he pulls you further into his chest. His breathing deep and even, heart beating soundly, you let yourself inhale him, indulge in his closeness even for a second. You eventually start to pull away, but he catches you, and you crane your head up to look at him, your nose inches away from his. Eddie’s eyes flick to your lips. It’s a fraction of a second, but you notice because you always do. You mimic him, flicking your eyes over his soft, pink lips and back to his deep, sweet brown eyes.

He moves first, but you’re quick to follow, and Eddie catches your lips with his, and you fight the urge to once again burst into tears. The kiss is one you haven’t felt in so long, like sleeping in your own bed after months being crammed inside a van or a two star motel. It’s a deep, yearning type of kiss you hadn’t known you were missing. Eddie moves a hand to cradle your head, like he’s holding the most valuable thing in the world. He’s gentle, almost timid, like the wrong move will ruin everything, break you both into pieces you won’t be able to fit back together. His lips are so soft, with no aggression or anxiety behind them, no nervous, frantic energy like he needs to consume you before you disappear. He takes his time, and you swim in the calm of it all. You rest your hand on his jaw, your finger lightly brushing his ear, the other stuck with your palm against his chest, squished between your bodies.

The last time Eddie kissed you like this was the day before he almost died. Before he cut that stupid sheet rope and tried to be a hero, he’d held you like you were the only thing on earth worth dying for. This time, though, there’s no rush, no impending doom to cut it short. You wonder if you’re pushing it, if this is too much for him, because it’s almost too much for you.

You pull away for a second. “Is this allowed?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I think I know what you’re asking, but what do you mean?”

“Like, while you’re recovering. Shouldn’t you be more focused on that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Probably. And I will be. But I’m sober right now, at least, and all I can think about is you. And now you know everything, and you still kiss me like I’ve always been worthy of it. Even when I’m still not.”

“Do I really know everything now?” You lace your fingers through his and resume your walk.

He looks at you. “Do you have more questions?”

You have so many, but you’re so tired, so emotionally drained. “What do you think about, when you think about me?”

Eddie snorts a laugh at your question and you hide your face in your free hand. “Nothing good. You’re under my skin, doll. Always have been. Hey, look at that,” you look to where he’s pointing, the bright lights of the 7-Eleven store. “I’m kinda over coffee. You wanna watch a movie? For old time’s sake?” You nod wordlessly as your heart skips about, and he opens the door for you so you can grab some snacks instead.

-

Another hotel room, with boring white walls and bright white bed sheets. Eddie’s suitcases already sit in the corner, placed there by the hotel staff, complimentary mints on the pillows. Eddie flicks the bedside lamps on before fiddling with the remote, and you immediately realize, you’re once again without your own clothes. “Could I borrow-“ Eddie throws a shirt that lands perfectly draped over your face and you’re overwhelmed with his scent. “Thanks.” You deadpan, removing the fabric. He’s tossed a pair of his shorts onto the bed in front of you as well, and you’re silently grateful, because you wouldn’t have asked for them. He quickly flings his shirt off his head, and you watch as he swaps his jeans for a pair of worn flannel pajama pants.

Eddie then clicks the TV on, searching the channels aimlessly for something to watch before quickly giving up, muting it on a late night talk show. “How are you doing?” He’s already sprawled on the bed, resting his head in his hand to look at you, still in your clothes.

“I’m just digesting, I guess.” You face away from him to pull your sweat soaked shirt over your head and toss it on the floor, feeling his eyes on your bare back. You never wear a bra onstage, but you’re regretting it now. You yank Eddie’s shirt over your head to hide your butt as you yank your tights down, suddenly very aware of the color of your panties: red, and far too lacy for these circumstances. You yank Eddie’s boxers up your legs, and feel decent enough to face him again.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He blurts as you slide into the space next to him, on top of the covers still.

“What do you mean?”

“After dark, sharing a bed, sharing my clothes,” He gestures to you, dressed head to toe in Eddie Couture. “Someone might see us. People are gonna start getting suspicious.”

“You think they’re not already?” You shift to lay on your side, now looking at him straight on. “We aren’t exactly being discrete as of late.”

He gives you a half shrug. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“The fans, making assumptions.”

You think about your choice of words. “I thought it would. I think it bothered me more that they weren’t right.”

Eddie cracks a goofy smile, and you swat at him uselessly. “You want to be having a steamy secret affair with the douchebag frontman of Corroded Coffin?” He teases, poking at you.

“Oh, shut up.” There’s no malice in your voice. “You know what I mean. They have it all figured out. We’re together, in love, not ready to share it with the world or whatever. Much less complicated than whatever it is we’re actually doing.”

Eddie considers this for a moment. “Guess that’s true. I don’t think I could explain any of what we’re doing to Steve, let alone the public.”

You sigh. Poor, ignorant Steve. There’s only so much you’d be able to tell him for sure. “He’d have a heart attack.”

“I’ve already spooked him enough for a whole lifetime, I can’t drop this bomb on him too.”

“Let’s not worry about that. We don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“I just know I wanna keep doing it.” The way he says it sends you reeling instantly, drawing you into him, closing the distance between his lips and yours. You melt into him, wrapping your leg around his waist as he grips the flesh of your hip. Your hand slides effortlessly into his hair, tangling around your fingers, pulling a moan from Eddie’s throat as you tug him further into you. You can feel his gentry twitch in his pants, only a few thin layers of fabric separating him from your core. You roll your hips against him, sighing as his tip bumps against your clit, desperate for friction.

Eddie moves, latching his lips onto your throat causing your brain to fog. Your chest heaves as he nips at your skin, marking you, making your head swim with pleasure. You feel his fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt, his calloused fingers sliding under the fabric to caress your skin, sending chills up and down your whole body. You shiver, and he pulls away. “Wanna stop?”

“Shouldn’t we?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

So you kiss him again, hungrier now. You help him yank his shirt over your head, abandoning it on the floor next to yours. Eddie shifts again, pressing your bare chest against his before breaking the kiss suddenly. “May I, uh,” He stutters like he’s a nervous teenager again, as if he’s seeing his first pair of boobs ever.

“Please.” You sigh, and it propels Eddie on, shifting down the bed until he’s eye level with your chest.

“God, I missed you.” He rasps, and you don’t have time to ask if he’s talking to you or your tits before he runs his tongue over your nipple, pulling a whine from your throat. You feel his other hand slide down your torso, freezing when it reaches the waistband of his boxers. “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you let me take care of you?”

—

chapter XIX

haha hehe hahahahah ha ha. ha

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

[ymaohoh]

Chrissy lives AU

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I'm so sorry I'm pretty sure your bard au is supposed to be serious but oh my god I couldn't help but get strong Men In Tights and Monty Python and the Holy Grail vibes

Especially bc of Barnaby I would not put it past him to make a "your mom's a hamster" reference

no no it Is very silly. how can it not be when you've got the neighbors as the characters? silly central. ALSO YOU'RE SO RIGHT VERY STRONG MP&HG VIBES I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOVIE HERE'S SOME REFERENCES

but it is also real. when it's silly its silly and when it's serious!

it's serious.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie starts a live stream by sticking his head into the living room where Steve is looking for something to watch on Netflix like, “Do you want to go on an adventure with me?”

Steve is reluctant to go because Eddie won’t give him any details about it but ultimately gives in because well, it’s Eddie. His reservations return when he gets in the car and Robin is sitting in the backseat, and when he asks about it Eddie just says that she’s there for ‘damage control.’

Like, “What the hell does that mean? She’s not calming and have you seen her walk? She is the damage.”

“Hey!”

“Rob, I love you but that’s true. She’s here for emotional support.”

“What does that mean?!”

Eddie tells Steve to trust him and Steve gives in because well, again. It’s Eddie.

Steve would accompany Eddie to Mount Sauron, or whatever, any day of the week. So he puts his seatbelt on and gears up the playlist they made for when it’s the three of them in the car, and they drive.

Eddie explains to Steve and to his live-stream that he’s doing an impromptu meet-and-greet at a mystery location. He’ll drop some hints over to the course of the drive and if it’s your area and you can figure it out, come out and meet him.

Steve thinks that’s actually a pretty cool idea and thinks it’s great that Eddie is interacting with his fans again after all the death-threat drama. He pokes Eddie in the arm and tells him, “That’s really cool, babe.”

Eddie flashes him a grin that doesn’t quite gel with the nervous tapping of his fingers, but that thought slips from Steve’s mind when Robin punches him in the arm and points, “Look, cows.”

Steve smiles, “I’m naming that one Kirby.”

“It looks more like a Janine.”

Other highlights of the road trip live stream include the three of them absentmindedly singing along to Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, the three of them singing passionately to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, rest-stop stopping so Ozzy can get out and run around for a bit, and Steve outlawing Punch Buggy after Robin and Eddie punched him in the arm three times in a row.

The whole time Eddie keeps dropping vague little hints like ‘taking it back to where it all begins’ and ‘we’re treading old territory’ and Steve initially thinks that they’re heading to the bar in Indianapolis where Corroded Coffin was discovered. So maybe he didn’t really pay attention to the rest of Eddie’s clues or maybe he’s really bad at connecting the dots because he feels winded when they come upon the Welcome to Hawkins sign.

He feels increasingly more winded when they turn down streets that have changed a lot but feel the same. He doesn’t notice how the car went quite or how Eddie keeps sneaking glances at him, just the streets they’re taking. Every turn they take that he’d taken a hundred times before.

“Eddie,” Steve breaths out like he’s just taped the pieces to a treasure map together and discovered ‘X’ was home all along. He inhales in time with the click of the blinker as they turn onto Loch Nora, “What’s going on?”

Eddie doesn’t actually answer that question until after they’re parked outside of Steve’s childhood home. He doesn’t answer until after he gets out of the car and circles the other side, and he holds Steve in his arms.

He says, “You told me that you will never work through this thing with your mom until you understand why she’s like this. If she won’t come to you, babe, then you gotta go to her. You gotta do this to get peace.”

Steve is always shaking his head no because he can’t. He can’t just walk up to her door after twenty years and asks her for an explanation. He doesn’t even know how he’d – he doesn’t –

Eddie tilts Steve’s head up until they’re eye to eye and he tells him like he can hear all those half-formed questions in his head, “You are Steve fucking Harrington, baby. You fight monsters and you save the world, and you are brave beyond words. There are worst things out there than this, so you got this. You can do this.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Eddie continues. “But it has never been easy, and… This is it, babe. This is the last battle you got to fight and then we leave it all behind. I’m sorry I tricked you, but you wouldn’t have come if I told you.”

Steve takes a deep breath and then another, and maybe a third. He shakes the nerves out of his fingers and he hugs Eddie as tight as he can without hurting him, and he says because he knows he’ll mean it later, “Thank you.”

“Take Oz with you,” Eddie tells him and kisses him in broad daylight like he was never able to do on this street. He tells Steve that his meet-and-greet is at high school, and that Robin’s going to stay here with the car, that they’re going to Hopper and Joyce’s after, “If you need anything, call me immediately.”

Eddie stays with Robin to watch Steve walk up to the door and knock. He doesn’t move an inch until the door is answered, and then he smiles at Robin, “That went better than expected, right?”

Robin asks, “Did you end your live stream?”

“Shit.” 

[morganski-19]

Robin passes Steve's room blaring the 1989 rerelease while she hears Steve violently sobbing. She goes straight to the living room and sees Eddie sitting unbothered while watching TV.

"Did you break up with Steve so he can listen to a new Taylor Swift album the right way again?"

Eddie's eyes go wide. "No, he said I didn't need to do that for this one. Why, is it bad."

"Come here," Robin makes a motioning wave of her hand while they go and stand outside of the door.

I said "I love you" You say nothin' back Why'd you have to lead me on? Why'd you have to twist the knife Walk away and leave me bleedin'

"Oh, that's rough," Robin whispers under her breath.

"Should I check on him?"

"I think the song is on repeat, so maybe."

Eddie knocks quietly on the door before opening it slightly. "Hey, baby. You need anything?"

Steve is cry singing the words into his pillow as a response. Eddie turns around and shrugs at Robin, unsure of what to do. Robin shrugs back. Eddie walks up to the bed and rests a hand on Steve's shoulder, letting him know he's there while pausing the song.

"How long have you been listening to this song, baby?"

"Like five times," Steve mumbles into the pillow.

"Do you want me to stay or do you need a little more time by yourself?"

Steve rolls over, showing the wet stains on his pillow. "One more time, then you should come in."

"Ok, I'll be right outside if you need me before then."

Eddie shuts the door quietly before sliding down the wall next to Robin. They sit there silently as the song starts playing again. "So he's feeling some things," Eddie starts as Steve starts to sing to it again.

"Thank god they're on good terms right now or she would be getting some really intense messages right now."

"Honestly she still might be."

[stevesbipanic]

@steddiemas Day 13: Snow Day

Steve was so cozy, so warm and toasty. Sleep was pulling him back under when his evil, cruel and mean boyfriend decided to jump on him!

"Edward fucking Munson, what the fuck."

"Stevie, my sweet love, I wish fucking was my middle name, but get up, it's snowing!"

Ok, maybe his boyfriend was actually very cute and adorable and could be forgiven for rudely waking him up barely past 6. Both the boys had been waiting for today, sharing an enthusiasm for the frozen crystal delights.

Snow days had been a favourite of Eddie's growing up; there was no school, and everyone wanted to play, even with the freak. Wayne had built him a sled his first winter with him, and he fondly remembered spending hours going down the hill behind the trailer park.

Steve's memories of snow days weren't so happy. Snow days meant being stuck at home with his parents if they were around, and his mother never let him play in the snow, not wanting him to come in wet. His first real snow day had been with Robin the previous year, who goaded him into ambushing the kids into a snowball fight.

A winter coat pulled over their pyjamas, the boys huddled outside and watched the first few flecks of white fall down around them. The cold air was already reddening their cheeks, and the snowflakes littered their hair, but it was perfect.

"Thanks for waking me, Eds."

Eddie's fingers tightened around Steve's as he smiled at him, "No one I'd rather share it with, sweetheart."

Ao3

[tink27]

I am dying for an Au where the party left Eddie's body in the upside down and he (for whatever reason) is not dead, and comes back but with significant memory loss.

He ends up in Steve's back yard, covered in his own blood and the muck of the upside down. He's faced with the absolute relief and sadness on Steve's face, as he tried to rush towards Eddie only to see him flinch away, eyes wide and confused.

It takes a while but Eddie begins to trust Steve, he gets re-introduced to the party and slowly but surely his memories are coming back, sometimes in flashes of memory but sometimes without Eddie even realising himself. Like when he calls Dustin "Henderson" without anyone ever reminding him of Dustin's last name, or when he started humming Dio in the kitchen while he drank his coffee (Eddie had no idea what he was even humming and it took Steve about an hour of sifting through Eddie's old tapes to figure out it was Dio's Rainbow in the Dark).

But the memories are also confusing sometimes, particularly when it comes to Steve Harrington. Eddie knows Steve, he's the person Eddie came to rely on the most since he came back. Steve lets him stay in his house, he makes sure Eddie eats enough proper meals and he can tell when things are getting too much and keeps the others out of the house for a while.

But Eddie has memories.

Steve looking a bit younger, but so much harsher. Indifferent and cool as a freckled boy spits mean words at his side. Steve with his arm around some pretty girls waist, smiling at her and sneering at Eddie.

None of it seems right. Because when Eddie looks at Steve, the Steve in front of him, he cannot accept these memories. Steve has only ever looked at him with the utmost gentleness, but still Eddie can't shake them.

So one day, in Steve's kitchen he tests it out with a phrase that's been rattling around in his head "King Steve" he says it softly, and he isn't sure what to expect. Confusion maybe, something to confirm that it was all some insecure figment of Eddie's overactive imagination.

But what he got was a look of pure hurt. Eddie had never seen Steve look so hurt. He immediately had the urge to take it back, to pull the words back into his mouth and take away whatever pain he had given Steve but he knew he couldn't, so he tried again "Steve?"

"you remember, huh?" His voice sounded defeated, like some awful thing he was waiting for had finally happened, like the other shoe had finally dropped.

"some things..." Eddie felt wrong footed but he knew he needed to consolidate these memories in his head with the broken boy in front of him "but they don't really make sense"

He waited to see if Steve would talk, fill in some gaps but he doesn't, so Eddie continues "it seems like" He was hesitant to even say it "you used to be mean... to me?"

Steve scoffed, seemingly more at himself than at Eddie "I used to be mean to a lot of people Eds. I've been trying to get better, to be better, for the past couple of years but, that sorta stuff follows you around"

He wasn't sure how to respond, even though he knew the memories were real, it still didn't feel right, those memories weren't his Steve. "But, you're not like that anymore." He left it like that, staying it like fact.

"no. I'm not like that anymore, I hope so at least" he seems sheepish, and still so uncomfortable

"you're not." Eddie took a step closer, and placed his hand on Steve's arm "you're good, Steve."

Eddie's language hadn't been what it used to be, and Dustin and the others were doing a Lord of the Rings book club to help Eddie regain some of his past vocabulary, but he hoped for now that even simple words could get across how he felt about Steve.

"you helped me, I was alone and scared and you did everything you could do" he tilted his head, trying to get Steve to meet his eyes "You saved me, Steve Harrington."

And that seemed to be more than enough, because in a sudden rush of movement Steve pulled Eddie into a tight hug, and as they stayed their, tangled up in Steve's kitchen, neither of them mentioned when Steve's shoulders began to shake and Eddie's shoulder dampened.

Instead Eddie just placed his hand in Steve's hair, and held him for as long as he needed. No matter what memories he regained of that young indifferent version of Steve, he knew all that matters was this boy in his arms right now. The kind and selfless Steve Harrington.

The Steve Harrington who saved him, in all the ways that mattered.

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

as we speak, patricia and eddie are in new jersey with patricia being the most hype eddie has ever seen her all because the world cup is going to be in their state in two years

[shinebrightlikeanarwhal]

Steve being a middle school teacher and basketball coach that works in summer camps to give children the support system they needed and ends up unofficially adopting hundreds of kids.

Eddie, his emotional support nerd, the rockstar and his husband happily running into the building to drop off the lesson plans Steve left on their dining table. Sharing a quick peck on the lips before scurrying out fast enough to not be bombarded with ‘EDDIE MUNSON!?’

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Chapter XVI: You’ll Cry But You’ll Never Fall

nav | masterlist | playlist | pinboard | chapter XV | get on the taglist!

summary: The secret hometown Corroded Coffin / Death Dance Approximately show does not go as smoothly as any of you would like, and the memories of Hawkins infiltrate your memories again.

tags: ANGST (more than usual?), violence, swearing, excessive alcohol consumption, fighting/arguing, trauma talk, overall just a very sad chapter imo but i’m also very proud of it.

a/n: this is my lil honor to sinéad, my heart goes out to her family and i’m so very upset to hear of her passing. This chapter is also one of the heavier ones, please feel free to skip it or read it slowly if it feels like too much. thank you guys for your continued support as always. ALSO, im seeing a lot of blog name changes and deactivations, so please let me know if you aren’t getting notifications and want to! i’ll see to fixing the taglist for next time 🩷 Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated. Reblog to support the author!

—

October 1987

“Can I show you something?” Eddie stumbles into bed, his Warlock in his grip, a bowl of chips in the other hand.

“Of course, my love.” You pluck a chip from the bowl, shifting your body to face Eddie as he sits beside you. His fingers dance across the chords, and you sway as he begins to sing. When he finishes, you look at him in awe. “Is it done?”

He nods, eagerly. He’s been fighting with this song for almost a year, and you can tell he’s so proud of himself. It makes what you’re about to say that much more difficult. “May I?” You extend your hand, and he nods, handing you his guitar. You know the chords well enough by now to play it, and you start in with your eyes closed. “What if, instead of a major chord, you used a minor?” You play it again with your revision. “And what if, instead of Don’t let go, you could say don’t let go of me?” You sing the line for him, and watch as his face contorts, brows furrowing, lips pursed. You stop. “Or not, it’s beautiful regardless.” Suddenly, you’re embarrassed for even suggesting it.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just mad you made it so much better in two seconds.” He scoffs, and you can tell he’s upset.

“I didn’t mean to overstep, ali know this song has been kicking your ass, as just thought-“

“It’s fine, Y/n, really. Forget about it.” He takes his guitar from you, and leans it on his side table. Before you can say anything else, he’s turned the light off and pulled the covers up to his chin. no goodnight kiss, No I love yous exchanged.

-

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

He makes his way back to the dressing room, which is more of a closet behind the curtains of the small stage. He’s comfortably drunk, aching still with the words he’d overheard earlier as Sinéad O’Connor’s Drink Before The War floats through the speakers. You and Steve stand backstage, him adjusting your mike pack while you fiddle with your in-ear, the rest of your band tightening their instruments or twirling their drumsticks while you talk amongst yourselves. “Eddie!” You call, before he can open the door and slide by you, unnoticed. “C’mere a sec?”

Begrudgingly, he approaches you. You’re draped in a black skirt that sweeps the floor, and a black velvet tank top that shimmers when the light hits it. “Lilith had an idea, and I know this is so last minute, but what would you think about doing the song we wrote together? I know it’s probably too rusty for you, but I figure it could be a treat, for the little hometown show? It’s alright though, if you don’t wanna.” You shrug, but something in your eyes pleads with him.

“Sure, yeah.” He says coolly, confused by the question. Why would you want to, after what you’d said? “Where should we put it, in the set?”

“Was thinking, at the end of DDA’s, we have less time, but we have the room for it. D’you still know the chords?”

He fights off a humorless laugh. “‘Course I do. Just gimme the signal, and I’ll be right out. But we don’t have lyrics.” You nod, beaming, “Oh, but I do! I’ve been mulling them over, I hope that’s alright?”

The panic is palpable, he has no idea what he’s in for. “‘Course it is. See you out there.” He gives a curt nod before turning away, entering his dressing room without another word.

-

Your POV

“He’s being weird, right?” You turn to Steve, who’s just finished fluffing your hair out into the disheveled, rocker look you love.

“Of course he is, he’s Eddie. Now, get out there! They’re excited to have you back home.” He’s right, you can hear the restless crowd growing louder, more excited as your set time inches closer. “DDA! DDA!” The chant crescendos, and the house lights dim.

“Break a leg,” Steve plants a kiss on the crown of your head, and you wrap your arms around him. “and kick some ass.”

You turn to your band for the huddle, the pre show ritual, and let Sylvie lead the way to the stage. The crowd erupts as you take your marks, pressing out across a stage half the size of what you’ve grown used to this past month.

“HAWKINS, INDIANA!” You exclaim, drowned out by the audience as Lilith starts a drumroll. “We are Death Dance Approximately, from right down the street, are you ready to fucking PARTY?!” The response is a cacophony of screaming, just the way you like it.

“One, two, three, four,” Lilith taps her sticks together, and you jump into your first song. You open with Indiana, an ode to home, and you feel the weight float from your shoulders. The house is packed, and you recognize a face every few minutes, whether from school or just around town. Your friends are occupying a table on the side of the stage, and you can barely make out their faces. They dance and sing along though, and at some points you’re sure you hear Max’s whistle. It’s electric, rewarding to have people there for you, that know your songs, love your band. It reminds you why you started in the first place, despite the pain you’d endured on your way up.

-

“Thank you for coming out tonight, Hawkins! We have one more song for you before we introduce our friends in Corroded Coffin. This was a last minute decision, but before we play the song we know you’re all waiting for, could you please give a warm, freaky welcome to Coffin’s very own EDDIE MUNSON!” No amount of preparation prepares you for the screaming. The building must be shaking with the vibrations as Eddie saunters onto the stage, spotlight shining directly on him. His acoustic guitar is slung over his shoulder, and he wears a tattered DDA shirt and torn up black jeans, his converse laced tightly on his feet. He waves to the crowd, squinting into the bright stage lights. He wobbles slightly, and you know he’s drunk, but you have faith in his performance ability regardless.

“This song is one I wrote with Eddie years ago, and this is the first time we’re ever performing it. Please forgive us if it’s not so polished, but revel in the fact that you’re the first crowd that gets to hear it!” The audience responds with applause, and you glance at Eddie. His eyes are glued to the floor, not looking at you at all, so you turn back to Lilith who counts you off.

Eddie starts in with the opening melody, much softer than any song CC has put out, but still with the hard bite that persists within their catalog. You begin the ad libs, ones you love to play with live that can’t be recreated in the studio. The crowd sways with you, and glimmers from their lighters each the sky as you start the first verse.

“I’ve seen my share of gore and pain, enough to last my lifetime. / I wonder how you’re coping now that you’ve got that hurt inside. / I’d ask you how you’re doin’, but I know that you’d just lie, / and I’d bother you to open up, / if I thought it worth our time. / But you’ve been off drinkin’ down the hurt and pain we’d felt, / and I'm stuck circling the drain alone, keeling over as I melt.

Six years of shit, and dirt, and blood / caked under our fingernails, / and all I've got to show for it are these twisted, evil tales. / So all I ask is don’t let go, / don’t let go of me, / and all I want is for you to know / that you’re still the one for me.”

You don’t open your eyes the whole time, and you know you’re in for it when you do. You’re sure he’s caught on by now, the lyrics far from subtle, but still you can’t bring yourself to watch his reaction to them, instead focusing on your voice not breaking as he plucks the strings only three feet away. When the song ends, the crowd shrieks and it’s all you can hear. Eddie waves to the kids at the barricade, mouthing thank yous as they clap for him before approaching you. You entwine your fingers with his, swinging both your arms first into the air, then down to the floor as you both bow. He squeezes your hand before letting go, walking offstage without a word to the audience.

“Eddie Munson, everyone! I know you’re all very excited to see Corroded Coffin tonight, but we got one more song for ya, is that alright?” When the whooping fizzles out, Sylvie strums the opening to Pretty Boy, and it gets loud again. “This song is for, well, if you know you know. It’s called Pretty Boy!”

-

Eddie’s POV

He makes a beeline for the mini fridge, cracking open a beer before even saying a word to his bandmates. “You good?” Gareth raises an eyebrow, watching his bandmate down the bottle without a breath in between.

Eddie belches before snapping, “What makes you think I’m anything but perfectly fine?”

“Oh, just, everything.” He mumbles, but Eddie hears him anyway.

“What’s up with you, man? Aren’t you two on good terms now?” Jeff asks, plopping down on the arm of the sofa next to Eddie, who’s sprawled in the middle like an old rag doll.

“I have no idea. Thought we were, but I overheard them talking earlier and-“

Jeff interrupts, “Overheard? How much did you actually hear? Ever wonder if eavesdropping is maybe not the most reliable source of information?”

Eddie glares at his friend, who only rolls his eyes. “I know what I heard.”

“Whatever, man. We have a show to do, so get your shit together.” Jeff heaves himself off the couch again, and Gareth follows, clicking his drumsticks.

-

“Good evening, Hawkins! We are Corroded Coffin, and we’re here to fuck shut up!” Gareth shouts into his mic and is met with an eruption of screaming fans. Eddie feels the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream as he strums a chord, amping up the tension before the drummer counts them off. They break into the first song. His vision’s fuzzy, but he can still sense you, standing right up front, mouthing the words and nodding your head to the beat. He can’t let himself think too much about it, already distracted by your earlier conversation with your band. Because of him. You’re having nightmares again, unable to rest, because of him. The words play on a broken record, spinning out of control inside his brain, and he barely realizes he’s broken a string from strumming too hard.

When they end the song, a crew member cloaked in black rushes onstage to help him fix it while Eddie stands there, useless and shaking with a feeling he can’t place. Not exactly anger, nor anxiety, but a sinister lingering in his gut. The crew member leaves, Eddie’s string replaced, and Gareth waits for a cue to continue. “Apologies, my dear friends, for the technical difficulties. Thanks for coming out to see us on such short notice. This song is for anyone that’s ever felt like a freak in their own skin.” Eddie backs away from the mic as Jeff starts in on their next song, Eddie’s voice barely a part of him as he sings. His fingers are starting to bleed from playing so hard, something he hasn’t done since he started playing guitar more seriously.

Eddie fades in and out during the set, on autopilot, his usual lighthearted banter with the crowd now awkward and empty. He feels nothing when the lighters fly into the air during Wiped Clean, or even when he looks right at you when he sings Sweetheart. It feels like something in him has died, leaving a gaping wound. Being home was like ripping that wound right open.

-

Your POV

He’s looking right through me. There is absolutely no feeling behind Eddie’s performance tonight as he drags himself through the set. He’s usually bouncing off the walls, swinging his guitar around or sticking his tongue out while he shreds, but tonight he stands there, his head barely even nodding, let alone banging and thrashing like he usually does.

Around you, there’s a sense of panic. These people came for him, they know what he’s about, and this was likely the last thing they’d expected of a hometown show. Their dancing is tainted with confusion, worrying for the man on stage in front of you. You look to where your friends stand, cautiously swaying and nodding along to the music, glancing back to you every so often with a raised or furrowed brow. Dustin, though, meets your eyes and immediately starts pushing his way through the crowd.

“Move, please! Friend of the band coming through! Eddie Munson’s protege! Out of the way, holy shit!” He makes it to you relatively unfazed, and you grab his outstretched hand to pull him up to the barricade. “What the hell is going on?” Dustin shouts, and you shake your head.

“I have no idea, he’s been weird all day.”

“He drinking?”

“Dustin, he’s an adult!”

“That’s not what I mean! Is he, like, drinking drinking?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

He shoots you a baffled, disappointed look, and you get it. Loud and clear. This, whatever Eddie’s doing right now, is somehow related to you. “I am not responsible for his behavior!”

“No, of course not! But you might be able to explain it!”

You think, hard. You were fine this morning, waking up together, even being mistaken for reconciled lovers. “I really don’t know, Dustin!”

“Shit, okay. I’ll get back to you.” He turns around, about to disappear again, but you grab him. He meets your eyes, reading you in such a way that you probably won’t even have to ask him. But you do, for good measure.

“Make sure he’s okay, yeah?”

“Of course.” And you let him go. You turn back to the stage, where Eddie switches his beautiful electric guitar for his well worn acoustic. You feel a smile pull at your lips, knowing the acoustic rarely makes an appearance at regular Coffin shows.

“Hawkins, you’re so very special to me,” He starts, tuning his guitar as he slurs. Shit. “So I feel I should show you, just how special. We don’t usually do this, but because we’re home, I feel it’s only mandatory. I’m gonna play you guys a deep cut, one we never released and probably never will.” No. No fucking way. “Now, even the guys didn’t know I planned to do this, shit, even I didn’t til halfway through the set. That set sucked though, am I right? I mean, the guys were wonderful as always, but I was god awful, and for that I am truly sorry. It’s hard to put the energy into this town when it sucked the life out of me for so long. No offense, I do love that you’re all here.” Jeff and Gareth exchange looks of befuddlement. They have no idea what’s going on, but it’s starting to click in your head.

“This song is called Salt The Earth.” Your jaw drops to the floor. He’s never shown that song to anyone else, that you know of, because he hated it that much. It was a battle he’d been fighting since you’ve known him, one even you weren’t sure he’d win. But here it is, in the same town he’d written the song, giving it a live debut.

He plays to an almost silent, completely entranced room of people, staring straight ahead at the glowing exit signs, past you and all of his friends.

“Burnt the whole place down, demolished holy ground, packed your bags, didn’t look back, salted earth on your way out. / Fires bright, smoke in my eyes, I never even heard your goodbyes. / When you leave you’re supposed to salt the earth, you’re supposed to cut the rope. / But I'm still here, tied to this post, while you’re out somewhere laughing.”

There’s a bite, a sting behind your forehead, as the lyrics swim through your head. You haven’t heard the song in years, and it was barely passable as a song, but somehow, the lyrics are still there, stored in the depths of your memory, and only yours. As far as you can tell, scanning the faces of your friends and colleagues, you’re the only one that knows the words. Some of them have changed, he’s vastly developed as a songwriter in the last couple years, but it also gives you waves of nostalgia. To you, this song is an old friend, one constantly looping in the background of your life with Eddie. Selfishly, you wonder if your life with him, the ending of it especially, contributed to the song’s growth.

His voice is low, gravelly to match the somber tune. His eyes close as he further loses himself, wincing as he fingers the chords, breaking open fresh wounds on his fingers. Every so often, when you really let yourself watch Eddie perform, you’re hypnotized by his presence. You forget where you are, who you’re with, as everything falls away except for him, on display in front of you, for you, the only other person in the room.

The song comes to an end, Eddie practically playing himself out, still strumming as he leaves the stage. It takes a second, but the room eventually explodes with applause, chants of EDDIE! EDDIE! filling the club to its ceiling. After a good amount of teasing, the house lights dim again and the band take their spots once more, Eddie front and center with his Warlock strapped back in place.

“You didn’t think we were done yet, did ya, Hawkins?!” It’s as if he’s been struck with new life, rejuvenated after playing that song, defeating that looming enemy he’s had for so long. “We have one more song for you, and I know you know it. Thanks so much for comin’ out, tip your bartender!” They start in on The Crawl, the crowd going wild for one of their biggest songs. A pit opens in the middle, close to where you stand with your friends, and you feel at ease for the first time all night. Despite Eddie’s weird behavior, things have been going well. You desperately wish the other shoe would drop, but at the same time want for once for there not to be a second shoe. There’s always a second shoe.

-

Eddie’s POV

The tension still lingers in his shoulders, but he feels lighter. Salt The Earth had been a big, angry cloud threatening to rain down on him for years, and it’s like he’s finally watching the sky clear. Or, he would have been, if not for the much darker, much angrier cloud right behind it. This one holds what you’d said earlier, behind closed doors, and not for him to hear.

He stomps offstage, t shirt in one hand, guitar clutched in the other, avoiding eye contact with his friends and bandmates as he looks for solace: the bar. He’s already very, very drunk, and he knows it’s not smart, but it’s all he can think to do to drown his memory of earlier, and his shame about the way he’s reacting. What a Catch 22, to need to drink not to feel shame, and to feel shame for drinking.

“Hey, is he-?” Your voice floats into his ears, warm and concerned as you ask Steve where he is. “Never mind.” And suddenly, you’re next to him, leaning on the counter, not saying a word as he gulps down his whiskey. “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you, barely even acknowledges your presence. He grunts, “Hmph.” in response.

“What’s going on?”

He won’t respond. He won’t open up to you again, he can tell it’s hurting you.

“Eddie, would you look at me, please?” He hears it, the slight crack, whether it’s from performing or from holding back tears he’s not sure, but it works in your favor.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” His words come out jumbled, slippery in his mouth against the liquor.

“There must be, if you’re drinking like this. What’s bothering you?” He chances a look at you, and wishes he hadn’t. You look up at him with concern, eyes darting back and forth between his, trying to read him, dig into him even deeper.

“Nothin’, just thirsty.” He won’t. He can’t tell you he heard you, it would only upset you, and it’s not fair that he’s heard you in the first place.

“Ed, you know you can tell me anything.”

“Ever think I don’t want to?” He snaps, and you jolt. He regrets it, it’s not your fault he feels this way, not on purpose, but he’s infuriated by your care for him.

“Okay,” you start, voice low, “you don’t have to. But I’m around, y’know, if you change your mind.” You almost place your hand on his shoulder, a gesture of consolation, but he leans away, and you tighten your lips to keep them from quivering. “See you later.” And you’re gone.

“Another round, barkeep.”

-

Your POV

“Well?” Steve meets you in front of the buses, overseeing the crew as they load the trailer. “How is he?”

You all but break down at the question. “I don’t know, I really don’t.” You don’t know why it hurts so much, he doesn’t owe you anything. “He won’t talk to me, but something is most definitely wrong. Whatever happened, I don’t have a single inkling of what it is.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Steve is gentle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you let a single tear slide down your cheek.

“You’ve done so much for me already, this whole time. I can’t keep letting you fight my battles for me. I’ll figure this one out. On my own.” He nods, giving you a reassuring squeeze before letting you by, into the bus. You’re the first one in, the rest of your band enjoying their night with each other, and you’re in here sulking. “Fuck it.” You mumble, exiting the bus again. “Let’s go enjoy our night home, huh?” You wipe your face hurriedly, much to Steve’s confusion, but you don’t let him ask more questions. “C'mon! Let’s go dance and drink and be fuckin’ merry!”

He laughs, but it’s a nervous giggle. “Okay, okay! Don’t get all weird on me, though.”

“Please, Steve, you know I can’t promise that.”

-

The house music is blaring Soundgarden’s Jesus Christ Pose as lingering fans drink and dance, trying to catch glimpses of band members in the makeshift VIP sections. You catch your friends in the far corner, and they wave you over when they see you. “Thought you’d gone off with your boy!” Max teases as you sit next to her in the booth, and you try not to make your irritation known.

“He’s probably off somewhere, brooding.” Robin intercepts, a smirk on her face.

“That’s all he seems to do now. Any chance we’ll see him again before we leave?” Mike quips, and El giggles.

“And if we do? Chances are we’d say something to piss him off.” Lucas adds, slumping in his chair.

Dustin mumbles something only meant for you, but even you can’t hear him. “What was that?” When his eyes meet yours he looks away, and before you can ask again he’s sliding out of his seat, off into the darkness of the club. “What’s his deal?” You ask the group.

“Guess he’s not in the mood to rag on Eddie? Strange, he’s usually the one to start the rolling of the punches.” Lucas shrugs, and you sigh.

“Should I go apologize?”

Will shakes his head. “He’ll get over it, hang out with us!”

-

Eddie’s POV

“What the hell, man?” The voice next to him is unmistakable, even in his current state of intoxication. “Why are you hiding from everyone? We haven’t seen you in two years, more than that, and you’re avoiding us!” Dustin yanks the drink out of Eddie’s reach. “Fucking say something!”

Dustin’s anger startles him. “Whoa, big guy, hang on,”

“I have been hanging on, all week. You were fine, almost normal, and tonight you go on stage acting like a zombie, and you don’t come say hi to anyone after. I'm done waiting around for my friend to reappear. What is your damage?”

Eddie looks at Dustin, his sweet face and big eyes as he tries to keep his composure. “Look, man, it’s adult stuff, something you’re not gonna understand.”

“Would you drop that? I’m 20 years old, Eddie, as much as you don’t wanna admit it to yourself. Is it Y/n? Cmon, give me something to work with. Pretend we’re friends again.”

It takes a second, but Eddie catches the last part. “We are friends, Dustin, ‘course we are. I didn’t wanna burden you, or any of the guys with it. But I guess I owe you, y’know, for not giving up on me.”

Dustin crosses his arms. “Yeah, you do.”

“Alright, fine. Let’s go talk.” Eddie throws an arm around the boy, and they exit the club.

-

“What do you wanna know?” Eddie asks, a cigarette pressed between his lips.

“Everything. What happened with Y/n? Why’d you disappear? Why didn’t you call?” Eddie can tell Dustin’s trying to stay composed. He’s a strong kid, but this is even harder for him than the rest of the party. Eddie owes him an explanation, and they both know it.

“We broke up.” Eddie starts, and Dustin nods to keep him talking. “We broke up three years ago, and I hadn’t seen them in two.”

“At all?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I couldn’t, it was too hard. I left Hawkins after that, and couldn’t make myself come back. I couldn’t face you, the guys, or even Wayne, y’know? Everyone thinks…” He trails off. Everyone thinks it’s his fault. It is his fault.

“I don’t.” Dustin seems to read his mind. “Sure, you didn’t handle it correctly, you ran away from us. But it’s not your fault it happened.”

“Dude, I know you mean well, but it is. I let everything get to me. The fame, the break up, and you’re right, I did run away.”

“The fame would get to anyone, Eddie. And as for the break up, of course it would. I had never seen you like that before Y/n. You two were inseparable, infatuated with each other beyond belief, obviously you’re gonna hurt. But you had us, you could’ve talked to anyone, to me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have.”

“Why’d they break up with you?”

Eddie gapes at him. “Why do you think they broke up with me?”

Dustin can’t help but snicker. “Sorry, dude, you’re not hiding it well. The avoidance, the brooding, the drinking. They’re hanging out inside with everyone right now, and you’ve been at the bar all night.” Eddie doesn’t say anything. He wants Dustin to keep talking, to be angry at him, he has every right to be. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something recent.” Eddie bows his head, kicks the gravel at his feet. “Something to do with Y/n?”

“They uh, they said something. To Steve, last night.”

“Oh, please, can you drop that? Steve and Y/n have never been anything but platonic, you know that.”

“No, nothing like that. They told him about a nightmare they had. Said it was my fault.”

“No.” Dustin says simply, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t. You sure that’s it? You heard them say that?”

“Well, no, but-“

“But nothing! You’re an idiot, Eddie.”

“Gee, thanks. I wasn’t already feeling horrible about myself or anything.”

Dustin groans. “You know eavesdropping gets you nowhere! For all you know, they were blaming you for a scuff on their boot.”

Eddie purses his lips. “I don’t really think that’s what it was.”

“It definitely wasn’t.” You stalk out of the shadows. “Dustin’s right, though, eavesdropping doesn’t get you anywhere. Well, except for when I do it.” You give him a sad smile, and he looks away. “Henderson, can I have a minute with our rockstar, please? The guys are on the other bus, if you wanna go raid the snack stash or something.”

Dustin nods, and turns back to Eddie. He wraps him in his arms, the first real hug he’s gotten since coming home. “Hear them out, okay? There’s an explanation for all of it.” Dustin pats Eddie on the back, then gives you a hug before disappearing into your bus.

Eddie can’t look at you, still basking in the post gig glow, cigarette dangling between your fingers. You walk closer, slowly as if not to scare him away. “I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Then what were you talking about?” He asks the ground.

“What did you hear?”

“‘All of this is because of him, as much as I hate admitting it. He’s the reason.’”

“Oh my god, you really are an idiot.”

“Right, I got that.”

“Eddie, I wasn’t talking about the nightmare. I told you, it happens when I come back here. It’s this place, feeding on whatever I’m already worried about. I was talking about my whole career. You’re the reason I’ve come this far, the reason I write what I do. I wasn’t blaming you for anything, I promise. Will you look at me, please?”

He does, finally. He looks into your pretty eyes, sparkling under the bright lights of the parking lot. Your cigarette hangs long forgotten in your hand, and you take another step towards him.

“You think you got here because of me?”

“I know I did. I couldn’t have done this without you, you have to know that. Deep in your soul, you know.”

He doesn’t, or at least he can’t admit it. What he does know is you don’t need him now. You’ve outgrown him, mastered your craft in such a way that doesn’t require his assistance anymore. And yet, you’re still there, waiting for him to come around, just like every other time. “I’m sorry. For this, for me. It wasn’t right of me to assume, to take something I only heard part of so personally.”

You shake your head. “No, it really wasn’t. Here I thought something real had happened. I thought I’d done something to hurt your feelings, with the way you’d been treating me. Avoiding me suddenly like I’d kicked your dog. Turns out, you’ll look for any small problem to excuse your behavior.” Your voice carrie’s a venom Eddie recognizes, each word stinging as it’s spit at him. “I’ll leave you alone. I get it. This is too hard for you, and I guess it’s not worth a fight.”

Before he can respond, you’re turning around, walking away again. “Wait! Please, wait.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to break, but he can’t help it. He can't watch you leave again.

You stop walking, but you don’t turn around. “What?” There’s no feeling in your voice, it’s cold.

“Are we okay?” He asks lamely.

You sigh. “We’re whatever you want, Eddie. Just like every other time.”

He’s dumbfounded as you walk away. You leave him there, alone, just like you’d found him six years ago.

-

Your POV

You can’t let yourself be proud. You know, deeply and surely, that you’d done nothing wrong. So why does it feel like you have? You’re in no mood to see your friends anymore, but it’s your last night in Hawkins before tour resumes, and you’re once again stuck with Eddie and his stupid face.

When you decide to make a beeline to the bar, you’re halted, colliding with a figure lurking behind the building. “Whoa, hey, sorry,” He stutters as you say, “You’re not supposed to be back here,” when he moves into the light. He’s older than you remember, more lines carved into the skin around his eyes and mouth, hair more white than gray, but it’s him. “Wayne, oh god, hi!” You squeak, and it takes him a second to recognize you.

“Y/n, wow. How are you, kiddo?” He cracks a smile, and your heart warms. He doesn’t hate you, even after everything.

“Oh, you know, same old.” He scoffs at your pathetic response, and you laugh too.

“Right, same old, touring the world and all.”

“Totally, just another day in paradise! Did you see the show?”

He nods, suddenly somber. “That’s why I’m back here. I don’t expect you’ve seen my boy?”

You frown at the question. “He hasn’t said hi?” Wayne shakes his head. “Yeah, he was just outside the bus, the big black one down there,” you point to where you’d come from. “Should still be there.”

“Thanks, love. How’s he, uh…” He trails off, realizing his question probably won’t have the best answer.

You give him one anyway. “He’s not good, Wayne. I don’t think he’s been good for awhile.”

He shakes his head sadly. “Haven’t heard from him in months, and after seeing that I had to find him.” His voice trembles, his fists clenching and flexing with each syllable. It scares you.

“Is this normal behavior with him?” You ask the question gently, trying to hide your nerves, and settle his.

“We talk once a week. Thought I’d give him some space when,” He pauses, meeting your eyes for the first time. They’re glassy, and it breaks your heart to see him so defeated. “I don’t know what you know. It’s not my business to tell, I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’ll walk you over to him.” Forgetting your dramatic goodbye, you pivot to face the buses, down the road from where you’d bumped into Eddie’s uncle.

“How’s tour been, by the way?” He begins, turning his head to look at you again. “You guys are making something great. Both of you,” He nods his head in the general direction before them.

“It’s definitely been chaotic. We've never done anything this big, and to do it under these circumstances is,” You falter.

“A punch in the face?” He offers helpfully.

And you laugh. Despite it all, you belly laugh at the man’s words, and it feels good to talk to someone outside of everything. Selfishly, you hope Eddie isn’t there, maybe you could hang out with Wayne. Maybe get your questions answered, or at least some inside scoop on why Marie’s diner is now called The Wrench.

“Yeah, a huge punch in the fucking face.”

You make it to the bus, still not running and therefore not leaving this shit town any time soon. You knock three times quickly, three times slowly, and three times quickly again. The bus shakes, and the door flies open. You’re met with the silhouette of Eddie in his underwear, travel sized toothbrush shoved in his cheek, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “What the- Are you okay?!” Your last conversation forgotten, panic written on his face, Eddie switches the front light on. “Wayne?”

“Hey, boy.” Wayne’s voice is weathered, a calming wave over this terrible tension, a welcome distraction.

“Didn’t think you’d have heard about this.”

“You think I’m not cool enough? You shoulda seen me in college, son.” And Eddie laughs, for the first time all day, and you can’t help giggling too.

“I’ll leave you guys alone, it was so nice seeing you, Wayne.”

“You too, kid. Keep it up.”

You nod, holding out your hand for him to shake. Wayne swats it away, pulling you into a hug you return with fervor. “Thank you for everything.” You whisper, and you can feel him shake his head, but he doesn’t respond. He has no idea what he’s done for you in raising Eddie, letting you crash at the trailer on bad nights, and promising not to say anything when he’d caught you singing in the kitchen that one time he’d come home early. He’d treated you, and all of your friends, like his own. He’s your family.

-

You end up playing Bullshit with everyone on the ride back to Nancy’s.

“5” Dustin slaps a card down.

“BULLSHIT!” It’s unanimous.

It’s a five

“FUCK!” Cards are thrown, birds are flipped, and there’s a pink tint to it all. You’d give it all up for this moment, but you know it’s not forever. The kids will go back to school, they’ll graduate, they’ll do something important. You’ll go back on tour, bumping into Eddie in different cities, different countries, until you inevitably kill yourself with drugs or pyrotechnics, or sell out stadiums until you’re fifty, like The Rolling Stones.

“Alright, kiddos, we’ve arrived.” Steve shoves himself from the bench to open the door. Both buses are parked down the street from Nancy’s, halfway to Dustin’s to make the trek home easier for them. “See you soon.” Steve squeezes Dustin first, then the rest of his children one by one. Eddie peers cautiously out of the crack in his own bus door, and you catch his eye. You have a million questions for him, and not a single one you’ll be able to ask any time soon.

“Ed, at least come say goodbye.” Steve says it with humor, a lightness you couldn’t manage if you’d tried.

It does the trick, as it always does, and Eddie emerges from his shelter. He makes his rounds, saying goodbye to the kids, then turns to Steve to say something. You can’t make it out, but Steve responds with a nod, and brings Eddie into his chest for a hug. “Alright, we’ll pick you up in the morning, you gonna be ready to go?”

“I don’t need Mother Steve over my shoulder to make sure I’m ready to leave. Wayne will do it for you.” He pats Steve on the shoulder. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?” You join your friends in waving goodbye, despite the lingering heaviness in your chest. You’re worried about him, despite how many times you’ve told yourself he’s not your responsibility.

Eddie gets back into his bus, and it drives away, leaving the rest of you at the fork in the road. The kids take the left to Dustin’s, and you follow your friends and bandmates back to the Wheelers’. “I didn’t know Wayne still lived in Hawkins,” You start, hooking your arm through Steve’s. “I figured he would’ve left as soon as he could.”

Steve nods. “Guess it’s more difficult than that. But Eddie bought him a real nice plot of land on the far edge of town, and Wayne built the house.” Of course, Eddie bought Wayne a massive plot of land, that doesn’t surprise you at all. “What’s your deal? You haven’t visited the parents yet, everything okay?”

You shake your head. “They moved back to Boston after I graduated, they had no reason to stay, Dad quit his job because he missed the city so much. But they told me they’re coming to the show out there, so that’s keeping me going. It’s weird, being here now. Beyond you guys and the kids, this isn’t my home anymore.” You remember the day they told you they were leaving, and asked if you had wanted to come. By then, you and Eddie had already planned to move in together, but right now you were between jobs and Eddie had only just gotten signed. You’d moved into the trailer instead.

Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder. “You always have a home here, y’know. You can take the rockstar out of Hawkins, but you can’t take Hawkins out of the rockstar. Prime example just drove away.”

Your group reaches the front door, and you say your goodnights before dragging your tired body into the guest bed. Tonight, you sleep alone.

-

You’re back in the dark, this time going seemingly unnoticed as you watch the figures in front of you. You recognize Eddie instantly, even with his strange posture and soulless eyes. In front of him, the taller, lanky figure stalks around, surrounding Eddie with its massive arms and veiny body.

“You have succeeded in your mission, Eddie. You have eliminated the one thing holding you back. Whatever you do now, you do it without them.” The one supposed to be Eddie, he doesn’t say anything. He watches the figure as it moves, unfazed by the words it seems only to be thinking. The voice is disembodied, swimming through your ears, or living inside your mind, you’re not sure.

Before you can react, though, the limbs stretch, tangling themselves around to Eddie’s body. You can't move, can’t speak, only watch as the branches of its arms tighten around him, lifting him into the air before swiftly snapping his spine. The body falls to the ground with a thud, and you can’t scream, can’t cry, you can only watch the body of the boy you love bleed out in front of you, as it would have years ago if you hadn’t gotten there in time.

-

You’re woken up by Nancy barging through the guestroom door, panic on her face. “Hey, whoa, hey,” she hushes you, rubbing your back as you continue hyperventilating. “Another nightmare? Here, here’s some water.” She hands you the glass and you gulp, stopping only to gasp for air. “You wanna talk about it?”

You do, but you can’t bring yourself to start. The first thing out of your mouth is, “Where does Wayne live?”

“Wayne? Y/n, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, where does Wayne live?!” You try not to snap, but this anxiety inside you is not letting up. Nancy tells you the address and you barely register it, but you bolt out the bedroom door and down the stairs, slipping on a pair of abandoned sandals before throwing the front door open.

“It’s far, hold on a second, let me drive you.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” To your left, Mike’s bicycle lay against the side of the house, and you yank it towards you. “I’ll take his wrath for this, but I need to go now. I know you’re gonna try talking me out of it.” You throw your leg over the bike, amazed that it’s now too big for you considering you’d met Mike when he was several inches shorter than you.

“Okay, please be safe. Give me a call in the morning.” Nancy wraps her arms around you, and you lean your head on her shoulder. When she lets you go, you pedal away, only vaguely certain of the direction you’re going.

-

It takes you forty five minutes, but you find Wayne’s house. Out front, Eddie’s old, beaten box of a van sits on cinder blocks, and it makes your heart hurt. You shove that feeling aside like you do the bike, tossing it onto Wayne's front yard before sprinting to the door. It dawns on you, you have no idea what you’ll say, regardless of who opens the door, if anyone does. The light inside is on, and you think you hear music playing, so you say a quick prayer that you’re not disturbing anyone’s much needed rest.

You bang on the door before you can talk yourself out of it, and you don’t stop until it’s answered. When it swings back, Eddie basks in the glow of the porch light, draped in a torn tank top and plaid boxers, rubbing his eyes. “Y/n?”

You have to physically stop yourself from charging at him, throwing your arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. “God, I’m so sorry, did I wake you guys up?”

“No, you’re fine. I was just about to go to bed. You uh, wanna come in?” You nod sheepishly, and he moves to let you by, clicking the lock shut behind you. “Are you okay?”

You take in the living room before you, much bigger than the trailer you’re used to picturing Wayne in, but still very cozy. His mug collection is still on the wall, as well as pictures of him and Eddie, the Hellfire Club, and even a picture of you and Eddie from your senior year. It makes you smile to see you’re still part of the family. in Wayne’s eyes at least.

“Uh, well,”

“Right, stupid question. ‘Nother nightmare?”

You can't help it, you break. The tears fall from your face before you can make them stop, and your breath seems to leave your body. The sobs that erupt from your throat are strangled, broken noises, and you rush your hands to your eyes to cover them. You feel Eddie before you see him again, embracing you without a second thought, rubbing your back soothingly as he lets you cry. “We don’t have to talk about it. It was just a dream, you’re safe. I promise.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest to suffocate the remainder of your sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Eddie. I couldn’t think of anything else, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. I woke Nancy up and I still couldn’t tell her. It was so dark, I was so scared you were,” You pull your face away to look at him. He’s tired, you can tell, soft eyes carrying bags of sleep beneath them that he’s more than ready to put down, but he’s here with you instead. “I can go. I know you probably don’t want me here, just give me a second. I just had to make sure you were okay.”

Eddie shakes his head, holding you still. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. It’s way too dark, and I don’t have a vehicle to bring you back. I didn’t come here to get away from you. I just wanted to be somewhere quieter for tonight. That’s all.” He pulls you back into him, seemingly more for himself than for you. “You’re alright. Let’s go upstairs. I’ll give you the tour tomorrow.”

Eddie holds his hand out, and instead you hook yourself around his arm like a child reunited with your parent, holding on for dear life so as not to get lost again. Eddie leads you up the stairs, and down the hall to what you can only assume is the guestroom. When he opens the door, though, it’s far too lived in. Eddie has clothes in the closet, shoes on the ground, and records on the shelf in the corner. “I keep a lot of my stuff here. Wayne won’t let me take it to LA, thinks it gives me a reason to visit more.”

“Does it?” You sniffle, finally relaxing.

He shrugs. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He looks you up and down, taking in the clothes you’d ridden here in. “You need something to sleep in.” He turns to his dresser, pulling out an Iron Maiden shirt and another pair of boxer shorts. “It’s not much but,” He holds them out for you, and you take them gratefully. “I can uh,” You’re already changing before he can finish, and you don’t care one bit that he didn’t even bother turning around.

“Thank you.” It’s a whisper, full of shame. You didn’t want to disturb him, to interrupt his time away from everyone. You’d been selfish, biking your way here just to see him.

“You don’t have to thank me. Or be sorry, for that matter. Never.” He pulls the covers back and climbs into the big bed.

“I can sleep on the couch, I know you probably want to be alone.” Even though you don’t, you can’t be right now. You would, though, for him.

“Absolutely not. Get in. Please.” It’s not a question, but you nod, and climb into the bed beside him. Before you can move, Eddie drags you into him, his arms closing around your waist, head burying into your shoulder. Instantly, you’re calm. Eddie washes over you, and you’re overwhelmed by his warmth, his smell, his soft breath on your neck. I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe. You repeat it to yourself until you’re dozing off, and Eddie’s breath evens out. You fall asleep with him wrapped around you, and you don’t have another dream.

-

chapter XVII

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2-deactivated20230 @poisonedluv @kellsck

[sp0o0kylights]

Since I’m on a roll, here’s another part I had fun with. Both this and the Steve-Goes-Into-The-Car-Blanket-fort scene are apart of Illustrated which is my lil Soulmate AU. 

“The famed bedroom of King Steve. I feel like I should have made you work harder to get me in here. Rumors say you enjoy the chase after all."  Munson drawls, as they walk down the hallway.  

"Rumors say a lot of things, Munson. Most of it’s-" Steve stops, catches himself before he says the word bullshit and inflicts psychological damage on himself. "Stupid." 

"Stupid." Eddie echoes, teasing lilt to his voice. 

“Tommy once spent six weeks trying to convince last year's freshmen that Ms. Click is in a motorcycle gang.” Steve counters. “Went so far as to try and get the school’s journalist club to fake some pictures for him.”

“That explains the entire debate club's fixation with leather vests.” Eddie says triumphantly, looking like there’s a story he’s about to tackle (likely with many dramatics, because omelets seem to have somehow restored the guy’s energy) but stops dead as Steve swings his bedroom door open. 

“Oh my god why is there so much plaid?” Eddie’s jaw drops, teasing forgotten entirely as they step into Steve’s room. 

Who rolls his eyes. “Why does everyone always say that?”

“Because no one in their right mind has plaid walls, dude.” Munson blinks, dramatically staggering backwards like he’s been hit. “My eyes are being assaulted right now.” 

Steve should be annoyed, but surprises himself when he finds he actually wants to laugh. “Does it help if I tell you I didn’t pick it?”

The look Eddie gives him almost makes him laugh anyway. “Who the hell did? Satan?” 

“Close enough. My mom.” Steve turns to look at his room, imagining how someone like Eddie must see it. 

Plaid walls, minimal décor, a bed that’s made (only because Steve’s mother drilled that habit into him) and hideous, matching curtains. The whole set was picked out of a catalog, right down to the stupid, framed car poster. 

The only thing that shows any signs of life is his desk, which is covered in scraplets of paper, pens, a phone and random other objects. 

(Steve’s favorite is a small stuffed penguin wearing a sailor costume. Robin had a matching one, a tribute to the way they had met. It would be the very first thing he’d grab in a fire, one of the very few possessions he owned that Steve truly treasures.)  

“Ahh the fabled Mrs. Harrington. I thought she was made up.” Eddie says, finally  entering the room. He explores it like something might pop out at him, and hell, Steve couldn’t blame him for that either. 

“Yeah. She picked it out when she used to be here more. Before her and my dad fucked off to New York.” 

“And you didn’t immediately renovate?” 

This is the most expressive Steve’s seen Eddie in the last twenty four hours. Feels almost like he’s got the guy back to some semblance of a balanced mental state, which makes the part of Steve that loves caring for people unbelievably happy. 

Steve shrugs. “Honestly, I never thought about it much.” 

Doesn’t mention that these days he tries to spend the least amount of time he can inside his own home, instead bouncing between work, Dustin’s house, and any antics the kids or Robin had pulled him into.

Thinks vaguely that he and Robin may have actually slept in his living room more than his actual bedroom-or, him in her bed, considering how often he sneaks into her room. 

A fact her parents would be furious about except they’re so painfully relieved that they’ve purposefully given Steve some grace. Something Robin hates and Steve does his best to distract her from. 

“Yeah we’re gonna fix that.” Eddie spins slowly, looking all the way up like some bit of personality is hiding out on the ceiling. “Immediately.”

Digs around in one of his pockets, and pulls out a thick black Sharpie, before turning with it to give Steve a wild grin.  “What do you say to a little home makeover?” 

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, before looking over his room once more. “You sure you don’t want a shower first” He asks, to buy himself time to think.

Has a feeling Munson can find the time to shower, nap and cause chaos, in equal amounts. 

Sure enough, Eddie waves him off. “Don’t you worry about me, Steve-o,  I think I can manage to figure out how to use your bathroom after giving this place a little art CPR.” 

Screw it.

Will in fact, likely help Munson channel out whatever leftover emotion he had left into whatever horrors he drew upon Steve’s wallpaper, which at the very least, could always be removed later.

It’s not like his parents can get any more disappointed in him. 

“Fine, just promise me no dicks.” He agrees, with a sigh. 

Eddie cackles. “Don’t you worry man, just watch the master work.” 

Steve rolled his eyes.

Does actually hang around, if only to turn on his cassette player and point out where all his tapes are. 

Leaves when Munson momentarily stops “redecorating” in order to trash Steve’s taste in music, in alphabetical order. 

“I get it, I’m a mainstream prick, you jerk.” He calls over his shoulder as he exits. “Now I’m going to go where I won’t be insulted, and see if Cunningham needs anything.” 

(She doesn’t, but does playfully insult him, having overheard the conversation. 

“Well fuck me I guess.” Steve mutters with a sigh, as she laughs at him.)

[daryldamnson]

made a wish on elevens - historical royal au

summary: eddie’s a servant. he knows what that means. he knows he can’t have you. he loves you anyway. fem!reader, hardcore pining

unoffically made this for yearoftheotpevent's 2023 thing because i'm not actually taking part but i really liked the idea so i picked january: historical au

word count: 1k

title from wish on an eyelash by mallrat

“Is it so wrong?  Wishing to love and be loved in return?”

You remain oblivious to the sad, lovelorn stare levelled at you as you sigh quietly, gaze roving over the hills in the distance as you continue to muse.

“Perhaps not wrong, I suppose…  Just silly.  A naive wish I thought I’d long grown out of.”  You glance over at him and flash a dry smile.  “Apparently not.”

“You knew the day approached, My Lady.”  Eddie speaks softly, wary of slipping up and speaking out of turn, especially within the walls of the castle.  “Surely it does not come as a shock to you?”

“I don’t know, I…. I suppose I never truly thought it through until today.  Or, rather, I did and simply hoped I may grow to love the man chosen for me.”  You let out an amused huff of air, shaking your head.  “Or, Gods, even like him.  Is a fondness for my husband really so strange a wish?”

“Of course not, My Lady.”  And then, because apparently he’s a masochist, “You don’t believe you may form affection for Lord Hargrove?”

Your eyes flick over to him and he can’t help the soft breath of laughter that escapes him at your expression.

“That awful?”

“And more.  Gods, Eddie, you should’ve heard the way he spoke to his footman.  And Robin when she served his drink ‘from the wrong side’ - honestly!  He has also clearly never had to use the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ before, which is a minor indictment on his list of offences, I assure you, but I find it enraging all the same.  And - stop laughing at me!”

Even as you admonish him for his stifled laughter a bright smile grows on your face and a few giggles of your own slip through.  He’s not always entirely sure how he does it - though he certainly puts on the show of a jester sometimes just for your sake - but Eddie loves making you smile like that.

He shouldn’t, he knows that.  It’s wrong.  You’re a Lady and he’s lucky to even work in the castle, let alone harbour affections towards…  It’s wrong.  It’s wrong.  It’s wrong.

Eddie tries his hardest to convince himself, but how can his - usually successful - attempts at bringing such a lovely smile to your face be anything but right and good? 

Your laughter fades out but there’s a happy quirk to your lips that remains so Eddie takes this as a success.

“I’m truly serious, Eddie, he…”  You shake your head, almost baffled-looking.  “I cannot imagine having to marry a person like that.  Basic decency should never be an optional trait - certainly not in someone I’m to spend my life with or trust to look after my people.  I had hoped…  I don’t know, that I could at least be friends with my betrothed.  Best friends, preferably.  I mean, is that not the point?  Are we not supposed to get along?  Make each other happy?  Want to spend time together?  I don’t believe any of those things could be true if I were to marry that selfish, tactless, inconsiderate brute.”

Your weary sigh and freshly returned frown weighs heavily on his chest, and he finds himself scrambling for something to reassure you with.  But nothing appears - what can you say to a woman destined to marry someone not of her own choosing?

Marry me instead, a voice echoes in his head.  I would make you happy, or try my best to.  I would be devoted to you for the rest of my life - I will be anyway, no matter whom you marry.  Please.  Just consider me.  I love you, I love you, I love you.

No.  He certainly can’t say that.

“I am sorry, My Lady,” he lands on, pouring sympathy into his tone as your gaze lands on him once again.

There’s a comfortable pause before you speak, holding eye contact as you grace him with another gentle smile.  Eddie hopes he isn’t imagining the fondness in your eyes or your tone.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“For what?  I hardly provided useful council.”

“For listening.  For always…  Always listening and letting me ramble on at you.  I’m forever grateful.  You truly are my best friend.”

Your hand rises and hovers near his arm, a ghost of a smile flitting across your lips as you pull away, both of you distinctly aware of what the ramifications of you touching a male servant in such a familiar way would be.

Eddie would suffer for it, and you won’t stand for that.  Sometimes he thinks it would be worth it, but were he banished or imprisoned he’d never see you again so he has to admit he’s infinitely grateful for your stronger willpower.

The sudden appearance of Robin causes you to take another step back from him and Eddie finds himself mourning the loss.  Even more so when she informs you that your mother is requesting your presence and you let out a long-suffering sigh as you turn to follow her.

You exchange a parting glance, Eddie dipping into a gentle bow as you walk past, and it’s not until you’re halfway down the hallway before you look over your shoulder to see him watching you leave.

“Wish me luck that the next is more tolerable!”

He can’t call down the hall at that volume the way you can lest he be punished, but he does mutter “good luck, My Lady,” under his breath for you.

Because as much as he longs for you to return his feelings, you are more important.  You will undoubtedly be marrying a man of your own stature, and Eddie loves you too much to wish you anything but pure happiness, even if that is found with someone else.  Even when it would break his heart.

Eddie would happily wish for it to be torn to pieces if only to ensure you a contented life.

The heavy doors close behind you and Eddie turns to look out of the same window you had occupied only moments before.

He allows himself one moment to let his thoughts of you swirl through his mind before he closes the lid once more and turns to walk in the opposite direction, off to complete the duties of a lowly manservant you would never be allowed to marry.

requests are open but no promises i just go where the inspo takes me

p.s. it was no accident that reader said she wanted to marry her best friend and then called eddie her best friend two minutes later, eddie thinks it's unrequited but he's dumb ♡

[batsfangs]

i doodled some of the fictional ships me & my fiancé relate to for valentines hehe <3

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

They learn quickly that the monsters are sensitive to sound.

He gets used to talking quietly. To always watch his step and always be aware of his surroundings. Someone had the idea to raid the schools and communicate exclusively using blackboard and chalk. Hawkins has never been so silent, but that doesn't bother him too much. He grew up in the silence, after all.

What bothers him is that his hands won't stop trembling. He never had the prettiest handwriting, but the chicken scratch he produces now is barely readable. Worse, he needs for-fucking-ever to write even a single word, only for it to not even look like english half the time.

He and Robin can communicate without words - he is truly convinced that they are living proof that soulmates are a thing - but with everyone else he has to struggle with the chalk, until he just gives up and starts talking less and less. If he died because he took too long writing smalltalk or pleasantries on the blackboard he would never live it down. He tries to convince himself that the grizzled-cool-silent-type suits him. With moderate success.

Although the whole town was literally transported into a different dimension, all adults seem to maintain a silent agreement to continue on as if nothing is wrong. They still go to work and they still need to pay for groceries and the holes and cracks in the streets are nothing more than inconveniences. He even overhears someone complaining about those, once. As if everything would be fine if the holes were only filled with cement. (oh gee, he wonders - silently as always, why did we never try that genius idea the last three times the upside down made an unwelcome visit). The only shop that has escaped the clutches of capitalism is the weapons shop.

He can somewhat understand it, the need to pretend that everything is fine. That it was all some collective nightmare that will fade with the dullness of day-to-day life. Doesn't mean he can't hate it. Though he doesn't take it as hard as the rest of the party.

It makes sense if you think about it. Robin, Nancy, the shitheads - they are smart, they could all actually go somewhere, do something with their lives. But him? Steve Harrington never had much of a future anyway, and his chances of making it out of this godforsaken town were always miniscule. No. What honestly bothers him more are his hands that won't stop shaking. You can't use a gun if you are unable to hold still and aim. You have a harder time being fast and quiet when everything takes twice as long if you don't want to drop anything. Even his beloved bat becomes less reliable, the swings weaker and his actual target always a few centimeters off. So yeah, his trembling hands are fucking inconvenient.

Gas and Water and Electricity stopped working. The first few months all of Hawkins stinks of rotting food until some teacher has the grandiose idea of distributing history books. This has the added bonus of giving everyone something to do that isn't "pretending not to be under constant panic". Water filters get classified under "weaponry" so that everyone has access without the mayor having to change the law again.

Once more, he doesn't mind too much. The only reason he used to turn on the TV was to feel less alone, and now the rest of the party basically lives in his house. He doesn't even mind having to walk the entire way to and from the lake while carrying buckets full of water: he will always be a jock at heart, and it is a great way to work out and be useful at the same time. His biggest complaint is once again his fucking hands. Water is precious, but his stupid arm won't stay still and it keeps spilling out of the bucket. Every lost drip feels like a stab in his heart, and the only reason he doesn't cry is because that would be an even bigger waste of water.

But the most stupid and embarrassing part is that this isn't even his first rodeo. He has been here before, he knows what it is like. Everyone else is living the same situations that he is. And still, his hands are the only ones that won't fucking stop trembling.

[fandomsnfluff]

reddie fanfic info just hit super hard but GOD has it been a hot fuckin minute since i've actually sat down to WRITE a fanfic god help me--

[milf-harrington]

i think i've loved you before for wip Wednesday please!

Somewhere, a guard cleared their throat as politely as one is able, and Steve reluctantly pulled his hand away, fingers curling in tight like he might trap the residual warmth of Eddie’s skin inside his own.

As the night continued on, Steve discovered that Eddie was certainly an… interesting character, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever enjoyed a stranger's company more. He was quick witted and shockingly judgemental of the guests’ fashion choices, muttering comments to himself that had Steve covering his mouth to hide the smile he had yet to control. 

“Is this the first ball you’ve attended, Eddie?” Steve asked, insatiably curious about where he’d been hiding all this time, wanting to know more. Eddie hummed, now seated on a plush dining chair Steve had asked one of the guards to fetch for him - even the way he sat was peculiar, and entirely refreshing. He had one leg thrown over the armrest, happily bouncing his foot in time with the band playing in the corner while the other was curled underneath him.

Oddly, he reminded Steve of a cat– particularly the rat-catcher employed in the castles holding cells, as awful as a comparison it might seem on the surface.

---

longer than 3 sentences but i am Not Complaining