#pls talk to eddie hes lonely

[careforaneddie]

Hi! This is an unofficial welcome to my blog. I'll be your host- Host. This blog is for OCS, most if not all had their appearances made up on picrew, many of which are no longer available. I will do my best to link as many as I can when I have time to set up a character navigation.

For now, let me explain the premise here.

Our main star of the show is Eddie (see pfp). A twenty something human. See, Eddie lived in a typical world like ours. However, dimension hopping gods decided one day- fuck it, let's merge the dimensions.

Did this create some paradoxes? Probably

But Eddie's got his own issues to deal with. See, with multiple dimensions being merged into one, there's been reports of people finding alternative versions of themselves from other dimensions.

And Eddie has happened to have found quite a lot of them.

Some human, some not, some have special powers- others are just rich brats.

Somehow, though, his alternates have recognized him as the original. Now, he lives with them in a giant manor (provided by said rich brats)

Here, you may talk to him, or them, or me!

I'll be showing off characters soon, hope to see you around :)

[munsster]

rockstar standards

A/N: PLS PLS PLS DROP SUGGESTIONS FOR HOCKEY STEVE/EDDIE im having a total brainfart but i need to break into the hockey au game bc i love it 😻 (gif creds: @cuntyarmand)

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, 90s AU

Summary: Corroded Coffin starts to gain some traction, and you can't help feeling stranded. 1.5k words

Warnings: minor angst/hurt comfort, fluff, pining, pet names (bug, sweetheart, sweets, baby), jealousy, undressed cuddling,

You watch him parade around the stage every Friday night. Sometimes he's playing the home stage, other times he books random amphitheaters and dive bars. But today, he's drenched in purple light on the outskirts of Chicago. It's by far the biggest venue Corroded Coffin has played. You sit by the pop up bar, but bodies are packed like sardines in this place. It's hot and loud, but it's worth it to see him so elated.

Even through his streaky eyeliner, you can tell he's adoring the attention of the pit. You can see their red fingernails and shiny tank tops and free flowing hair. You never thought Eddie would be the kinda thing you were attracted to. You also know he's not the kinda guy to be attracted to something like you. You know guys like Eddie usually go for the Pam Andersons and Courtney Loves. The Party girls. Not the ones who have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than watch a romcom alone.

That Sunday, Eddie pulls onto your street. It's late and he has a ringing headache. He couldn't think of anything better to do after touching down in Hawkins again. You'd headed home the night before, and it made his gut wrench knowing he wouldn't get to see you the rest of the weekend.

Your door creaks open, and he's smiling on the other side. He's already leaning against your doorway with the bouquet he bought earlier from the woman selling them on the corner.

"Missed you, bug," he huffs, "Can I come in?"

You step aside without another word, and he hangs his leather jacket on the coat rack like always. Something feels off when he sits on the couch to find you're on the complete opposite side from him. Usually, you're not shy about cuddling up beside him to watch a movie or share snacks or just talk.

He frowns and scoots closer, leaning in to grab at your ankle playfully. You kick his hand away, brow set hard above your lethal glare.

"Sweetheart," he huffs, tilting his head in confusion, "What's going on? Where's my cuddlebug?"

"I dunno, somewhere in Hollywood?"

His eyes nearly pop out of his head at that. You're his favorite girl and you know that. So why're you grilling him now.

"Tell me what's goin' on. What did I miss?"

And you look serious, too. This isn't some running joke he missed out on while he was away. He's not sure who bruised your confidence, but he's sure he'd like to have a few words with them. He hates the way your lip wobbles and your eyes avoid him cause it gives you away. That's how he knows you're heartbroken.

"Eddie," you whine, swiping a hasty tear from your cheek. "I just don't know why you keep me around when you could have any of those girls at your bon vivant gigs."

"Fuck is that supposed to mean, bug?" He barks it out on accident, sitting back on his haunches with a scowl. "I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm gettin’ rid of you."

"Eddie, please... you're gonna make it big and get shipped off to Tinseltown, and I'll still be here, teddy. Probably being someone's lonely, suburban housewife. It's what I'm made for, and that's not what you want."

"You're wrong."

"And maybe you should go," you whisper, choking back a sob and standing from the couch.

"No, sweets, you're wrong," he says, standing and striding over to you, "You've got me wrong, and you've got you wrong."

You cross your arms over your chest and finally look him in the eye.

"'S that so?"

"Yeah," he tuts. And he has the most charming, most dastardly smile you've ever seen, flashing his canines like a gentle killer. "'Cause I'm gonna take you with me."

"Teddy."

"Nope, I'm takin' you with me wherever I go, and there's nothin' you can say to change my mind. Even if you hate my music forever, fine, I'll fix you up in a nice five star anywhere we go. You can sit and watch all the movies you like. You'll be nobody's housewife, baby, 'cause I'm keepin' you."

You roll your eyes, batting away tears when he grabs your hand to pull you back to the couch.

"And what if I said that's not what I want?" you suggest, testing his rockstar resolve with your big, wet eyes and stubborn quips.

"Then I'll give you somethin' else. Anything else. But you're mine no matter what." If only you knew how proud it made him to call you his girl. To know you support him even if you don't love his genre.  "Now, would you come closer? You're killin' me."

You obey with a frigid pout, letting him drape your thighs over his and brush his ring clad paws over your cheeks, down your neck.

"But what about your groupies and the pretty girls at the bars or in the front row?"

"What about 'em?" he says, just barely shaking his head, "I'll have somethin' way better waiting for me."

You chuckle. "You're crazy."

He cocks a brow. "Old news."

When he notices how close you've gotten, he smiles. Your manicured nails graze over his chest with the only light washing over you from the dimly lit kitchen. He can't resist his palm curling behind your neck, pulling you close for a sweet kiss.

"Where d'you keep your vases?" he mumbles, remembering the tulips resting on the little table.

"Kitchen. Above the fridge," you say with your fingers already slotting between his to pull him towards the warm light. He loves you like this: sickly sweet and tender, holding him all gentle in your hot pulse. You go to reach for a painted ceramic vase, but he wraps his arm around you and turns you away.

"Ah ah ah, drop it, sweetheart. That’s my job," he says against your temple, holding the lip of the vase and patting your ass. He takes the bouquet from your grasp and sets both on the counter by the sink. You hand him a pair of scissors and he carefully snips the stems jagged, filling the vase with water.

His stomach flips when you wrap your arms around his waist and clasp your hands at his belt. He sets the prepared arrangement aside and turns in your embrace.

"All done," he says wickedly, palming your face with his wet hands. You jump back with a squeal, pelting a dish rag at this chest.

"Use a towel, you slob!"

He chuckles and wipes his hands on his shirt, tossing the towel over his shoulder and leering at you like he's starved.

"Come here," he mumbles. You go a little shy under his gaze, dropping your head and shuffling towards his presence. He catches you by the hips, dipping down to catch your mouth in a prying kiss. You grin against him and he groans, tugging you tight against his body.

"Always love how soft you are, baby. Surprises me every time." He shakes his wild mane and purses his lips for you to kiss this time.

"Where d'you want the flowers?" he says.

"Bedroom?"

His eyes light up involuntarily, and he grabs the vase, bounding off towards your room gleefully. You jog to catch up with him, and when you enter the threshold, he's expertly positioning the vase next to a stack of books on your dresser.

"Much cleaner than mine," he says, gesturing around the room, "You keep it nice in here."

You shrug. "Could be cleaner."

"You can never see mine," he teases, knowing full well you already have. He slings his arms low on your hips, adoring you in the blue light of dusk. "Can I undress you?"

You bow your head and whisper, "teddy..."

"Not like that. Just wanna hold you."

You kiss his slanted mouth sweetly, nodding.

He reaches for the edge of your soft cotton dress, pulling it up and over your head. He whistles low upon seeing your undergarments, whipping his shirt off and onto the floor somwhere. You giggle, helping him with his belt buckle. He traces your temple with his lips leaving kisses along the way. He steps out of his jeans and lets you lead him around the bed.

His curls sprawl out against your pillows, and he welcomes you into his side with a lazy smile. Your reach to touch his waist and softly feel over the scar below his ribs.

"Little tender, bug," he hisses. You bat your eyes up at him scared, pulling your hand away.

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "No, please," he whispers, cradling your wrist, his eyes locked with yours. He draws the hair away from your neck, replacing it with his fingers to dance down along your spine. You’re warmer than he’s ever felt before and thankful for it. His hands are cold, but he doesn’t have to worry about it for very long when you bring each fingertip to your lips for a kiss.

“You’re my girl, alright? Always,” he whispers and you nod, “always.”

masterlist

[brewsterispunkk]

THE TUTOR

part 2/4

pairing: eddie munson x afab!reader (period is mentioned), eddie munson x fem!reader

WC: 4.1k

summary: reader and eddie begin their little deal.

warnings: idiots. just idiots. also brief SA-- nothing explicit, just groping--NOT main pairing, recreational drug use

A/N: here is part 2! hope u love it! pls pls pls leave feedback ;) read it and weep.

Senior Year Bucket List

1) Get drunk

2) Skip Class

3) Do a drug

4) Sneak out

5) Skinny dip

6) Get a boyfriend, lose my virginity

You sighed and shook your head as soon as you’d written that last part, hands only half-shaking.

This was fine, you thought to yourself. 

It wasn’t weird, you kept telling yourself. It wasn’t. Eddie himself had asked you to come to school Monday with an itemized list of what exactly you’d felt like you’d missed out on. “A bucket list of sorts” he called it. 

You had to keep yourself from adding “feeling safe” to the list of things you’d felt you’d missed out on.

That was difficult for you sometimes. 

For the most part, you’d been able to compartmentalize what had happened to you last summer: the deaths, the torture, the “mall fire.” The rest of Hawkins knew that you’d survived it, along with Steve, Robin, and the kids. You’d gotten away with minor bruising to the face and neck after a Russian tried to choke you in an effort to get you to talk. It wasn’t ideal, but it could have been worse. Steve had been the one to take the brunt of the torture. You and Robin had screamed yourselves hoarse while they beat him in the other room. 

You sometimes still had nightmares about the sick sound of their fists hitting his face.

When you’d emerged as one of the survivors of what they were calling the “Starcourt Mall Fire,” your mother had been relieved. After your father had split when you were ten, you were all she had. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for the effects of what had happened to you. To be fair, neither were you. Neither were any of you. 

You’d always been shy, ever since you were a kid, but now instead of having a generally quiet disposition, you were skittish. The slightest noise made you jump, and you couldn’t stand to listen to Reagan talk about the U.S.S.R. on the news without having a panic attack. The nightmares had subsided after about two months, though they returned whenever you were stressed. 

You found you always looked over your shoulder, always looking out for some unknown thing that might be stalking you. When people talk about saving the world, they never talk about the ugly parts. About the broken fingernails and the insomnia and the muffling of sobs behind your hand as you break down in the girls’ bathroom. 

It’s a lonely thing, being a hero. An unfair thing. You felt like that night at Starcourt, when Hopper and Billy Hargrove hadn’t emerged from the fire, your adolescence had been stolen from you. That it had disappeared with the smoke and ash as it engulfed Scoops Ahoy and the rest of the shopping center. You hope that if Eddie actually does follow through with this little deal of yours, you’ll be able to experience at least a little of it. 

- - - -

“So,” Eddie drummed his hands on the top of your desk as he slid into the seat in front of you. “What do you have for me, miss tutor girl?”

He was awfully chipper for 7:00 in the morning. You blinked at him and skated your gaze across the room. 

It was close enough to first period for the room to be reasonably filled with students, most too sluggish to notice. But a few girls towards the front looked over their shoulders at him, eyes narrowed, before zooming in on you, where they widened curiously. 

“What, scared for your reputation?” Eddie was only half-joking, his eyes a little guarded. They narrowed at you. 

You shook your head almost comically. 

“No,” you burst. “No, not at all. Just had a weird night.”

“Hm,” he looked at you skeptically. You rolled your eyes.

“We’ve already talked about this, Eddie. I don’t have a reputation for you to ruin.”

He snorted at that.

“Alright then,” he leaned forward, his chin on his fists. “What’s got you so skittish, then? Another crazy party like Friday?”

“No,” you sighed, leaning down to retrieve your list from your backpack. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

 “Okay.” He looked like he didn’t believe you. You didn’t blame him; you couldn’t have been that convincing. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.  

“Did you bring it?” He asked. 

You nodded, slamming the sheet of notebook paper onto the desk and slid it over to him. 

“Here you go,” you pulled at your sleeve nervously. “Just don’t laugh, okay?”

Eddie looked at you and feigned shock. 

“Me? Laugh at you? I’m offended.”

“Eddie, I’m serious,” you felt your cheeks flush and your stomach plummet. “I’m just–It’s embarrassing. I’m being very… vulnerable and if you’re gonna laugh, we can just forget about it—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” his warm hands covered yours where they were sitting on the desk. He squeezed your palms reassuringly.  “I was kidding. I won’t laugh. Scout’s honor.”

You looked into his eyes for a moment to see if he was serious. All you saw was sincerity. You let out a deep breath. 

“You were a boy scout?” 

His lips spread in a wry smile as he turned to the paper. 

“Nope,” he unfolded the list. “It’s the thought that counts, though, right?”

You shrugged. 

“I guess?”

“Okay, what do we have here?” 

You sat in awkward silence as Eddie scanned the page, dark eyes focused. Hie brows were furrowed and his lips pouted in concentration. 

“‘Get drunk,’ we can certainly make that happen. ‘Skip a class,’ you won’t need to ask me twice.” He stopped for a moment and huffed a laugh. 

You felt your cheeks heat up. 

“What–”

“‘Do a drug.’” He said with a secret smile–like he knew something you didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you drew out. “I figured you’d know a guy.”

“Oh,” Eddie laughed. “I know a guy.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled at you, before turning his eyes back to the page. “Ohh.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkled as he turned them back to you. He looked like a sprite, you thought. With his wild hair and mischievous smile. He was gorgeous. 

“‘Get a boyfriend,’” he set the list down on the table. “Am I going to be playing match-maker, teacher’s pet?”

You rolled your eyes. He was teasing you. 

“If that’s what it takes,” you quipped, your nervousness having melted away. “And I am not a teacher’s pet.”

“Whatever you say,” he raised an eyebrow at you. 

As you opened your mouth to respond, the clearing of a throat interrupted you. 

You looked up to see Cameron Reyes leering over Eddie. 

“Hey. You’re in my seat,” he sneered. “Beat it.”

Eddie sighed, before slinking out of the seat slowly, taking his time. 

“My apologies,” he smiled at Cameron, before dropping into his own seat, next to you. 

You glared at the back of Cameron’s head. 

Why did he have to be such an asshole?

Cameron was on the swim team and you’d had classes with him since Kindergarten. He hadn’t always been a dick; In fourth grade when you’d skinned your knee, he’d helped you up and walked you to the nurse’s office. It wasn’t until high school, when he’d begun running with guys like Tommy Hagan, that he’d changed. Now, you couldn’t stand him. 

That was the way of things, though, in Hawkins. There were the bullies and the bullied—rarely anything in between.

- - - -

As you walked down the halls, you felt their eyes on your legs and you regretted letting Robin convince you to wear this skirt. 

The denim felt heavy on your hips. You wiped your clammy hands on the blue material, wishing that you didn’t have to walk practically across school to get to pre-calc. 

“Looking good,” someone whistled from behind you. You felt dread seep down your spine. 

Please no, not here. 

This wasn’t the first time you’d been catcalled. 

The first time was when you and Robin were thirteen and walking to the general store down the road from your houses. A few men in a pick-up truck had rolled their windows down and told you in great detail all they’d liked to do to you. You and Robin hid inside the general store until the clerk called your mom to pick you up. You hadn’t even gotten your first period yet. 

However, this was the first time you’d been catcalled at school. It still felt just as scary as the first time. 

“Where have you been hiding those legs, teacher’s pet?” 

You whipped around at the nickname, bristling at it. You hated when people called you that, unless that person was Eddie. 

You were faced with a basketball player; one of the guys who hung out with Jason Carver and sometimes Lucas. Thomas Reed. Your skin crawled at the way he and the two boys behind him looked at you. 

“Fuck off,” you spat at him before turning on your heel and walking faster to your destination. 

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that!” He called after you, but you could barely hear him over the blood rushing in your ears. 

It only calmed when you’d reached your classroom.

- - - -

“Are you even listening to me?” You smacked his hand where it was tapping on the wood of the library table. Outside, a heavy autumn rain pummeled the sidewalk, the trees swaying with it. 

“Yes,” Eddie rolled his eyes. 

“What did I just say?”

“That…Holden is a whiny little bitch.”

You sighed, bringing a hand to your forehead. 

“No.” You ground out. “And if you write that in your essay, Ms. Taylor is going to fail you and me, so please, can you take this seriously?”

He sighed and had the nerve to look a little guilty. It made your heart clench a bit. 

In the few sessions you’d tutoring Eddie, your crush had done anything but lessened. In fact, it had grown tenfold. It was one thing to admire him from across the room, it was another completely to spend time with him and actually be able to talk to him. 

You found that in addition to being cute and pensive, he was kind and not at all the scary loner that everyone painted him to be. If he hadn’t cemented his reputation by being an avid player of D&D, he would’ve been popular, you thought. 

And all this goes to day: you couldn’t stay mad at him, even when you wanted to.

“Okay,” he said, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. You briefly reminded yourself to offer to cut them for him later—he’d been complaining about them getting in his face all session. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“What?” Your attention snapped back to him. Eddie looked at you like you’d grown another head. 

“Uhh, I asked what you were saying?”

“Oh! Oh yeah,” you shook your head. “I zoned out.”

“I gathered that.” Eddie snorted, leaning forward. “Uh, off-topic, but I was wondering, when do you wanna get started on that bucket list?”

“Oh. Whenever.”

“I was thinking we could start this week.”

“So soon?” You practically squeaked. As excited you were about these new experiences, you were nervous. Especially because the person you’d be experiencing them with was Eddie. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself. 

“No time like the present,” Eddie’s voice was chipper. “So, what did you wanna start with?”

“I thought we’d start small and work up to something bigger?” You asked.

“That sounds good,” Eddie nodded. “How does skipping class work for this week?”

“Ugh, not well actually.” You sighed, sour. “We have that exam this week in Taylor’s and then for Chem I have—”

“Relax, we don’t have to start with that one. Hmm, what else…”

“We could always—”

You cut yourself off, thinking better of it, but Eddie caught you. 

“Nevermind.”

“No, what is it?”

You looked at him skeptically. 

“If you wanna do something, you gotta tell me. It’s your bucket list, tutor-girl, not mine.”

“What if we…did a drug?”

God, you sounded like such a teacher’s pet saying it.

“Okay, teacher’s pet.” Eddie’s face was gleeful, excited. “You’re full of surprises. We can do that, definitely.”

“Okay,” you let out a breath. 

“Any reason why you jumped to that one?”

“I just– I’m so stressed.” Thomas Reed’s lustful gaze flashed in your mind and you shook it off. 

“You okay?” Eddie grabbed your hand on the table. You swallowed. 

“Yeah,” you said lamely, mouth dry. “Just–a lot going on. School.”

“School,” Eddie repeated like he didn’t believe you. His eyes held yours for a moment before he nodded. “Okay teacher’s pet. Drugs it is. Any preference?”

“Nothing too crazy. Just something to take the edge off?”

“I can do that,” he smiled. “This is gonna be fun.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just think you’ll be funny high.”

“We’ll see,” you narrowed your eyes at him. He just smiled at you for a moment. Your eyes held his and you had the sudden urge to reach over the table and kiss him. You coughed, turning back to your notes in front of you. 

“Anyway, what do you think Salinger’s trying to say?”

“Other than the fact that Holden is annoying?”

“Eddie, I’m serious—”

“I am too!” Eddie insisted. “All this shit about ‘phonies,’ when he’s just like them–”

“You know, I thought you’d relate to Holden.” You smirked at him.

“What?”

“Well, he’s an outcast—all teenage angst and—”

“I’m twenty, thank you.” He snapped at you, causing you to stutter. 

“Oh, no I didn’t mean outcast like—”

“No, it’s okay,” Eddie chuckled, waving you off. “It’s true. And I like it that way.”

You eyed him skeptically. 

“Really, I do.” He folded his arms over his chest. “There are too many assholes in this school. If I wanted to fit in, I’d have to act like them. At least a little bit. Besides, I’ve got people. Not much, but I’ve got’em.”

You hummed. 

“I’ve never thought of that.”

“What, Holden being a bitch, because—”

You smacked his arm, laughing. 

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Eddie giggled. He giggled. Your heart leapt. “What, though? What did I say that was so profound?”

He was being sarcastic, you could tell, but you didn’t care. 

“The whole—having to sacrifice part of yourself to fit in. It’s true. I’d never thought of it like that.”

He hummed, eyes holding yours a moment, before his grin broke the moment. 

“Maybe I should be the one tutoring, huh?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“Turn to page 225.”

- - - -

Thomas found you again the next day, this time before school as you were at your locker. 

“Hey there,” he smiled, sliding up next to you, effectively boxing you in between him and the locker. You jumped, moving as close to the locker as you could. “How are you today?”

“Leave me alone,” you ground out, trying to slip past him, but his hand in a hard grip on your arm stopped you. 

“Aw, but we could have so much fun, teacher’s pet.”

“Let me go—”

“Where’s your little skirt?” he asked, grip tightening on your arm as you scrambled to get away. 

You silently cursed whoever in the administration office had placed your locker on one of the most abandoned hallways in the school. 

“Your legs looked so good—”

His palm came to squeeze the meat of your ass and your stomach churned. Without thinking, you spat in his face, palm coming to connect with his cheek. 

“You cunt—”

“The hell is going on here?” 

Eddie walked briskly up to you as you stepped back from Thomas. He moved to stand between you two, face hard. It was the mask he put on every day in front of the rest of the school, the ones who thought he was mean and scary. Only now, you weren’t sure how much of it was a mask. 

“Nothing, man.” Thomas waved him off, wiping his face. He glared at you in a way that made your feet stick to the spot. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I said it's nothing.”

“And I said—”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled. 

“Hey wait—”

Eddie moved to grab Thomas as he walked away from the two of you. 

“I said it’s fine,” you said louder this time, and reached out to grab Eddie’s shoulder and pull him back toward you. 

“Bullshit!” He spun and turned toward you, clearly pissed off. “What the hell was that?”

“I said it was fine, Eddie!” You burst at him, voice cracking. You took a deep breath. 

“Honey, are you—” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupted Eddie’s suddenly soft voice. You wiped a stray but of moisture from under your eyelid. “Let’s just go to class.”

“But–”

“Eddie, drop it,” you all but snapped, before adding lamely, “please.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Lead the way. Taylor’s gonna be pissed if I’m late again.”

You could practically hear him simmering as he walked a half-step behind you to class, but you didn’t care to acknowledge it. You’d made it abundantly clear you didn’t want to talk about it. If he pushed you, you might just snap. 

As the two of you made your way down the halls, you felt eyes following you. They were all wondering: what was the quiet nerd doing with the freak? You didn’t care to acknowledge that either. 

Let them wonder, you thought. I’m done caring about their rumor mill.

- - - -

“Jesus, Eddie.” You gasped and looked around. 

There was no one in the janitor’s closet with you, but still: with that much weed on him, Eddie would be expelled and arrested. You had no idea how he’d gotten it in the two days since your conversation. 

“What?” He asked, out of breath. He’d pulled you in here between third and fourth period, scarring you half to death in the process. “I told you I’d get the stuff.”

“Yeah, but I didn't know you meant so much,” you scoffed. Now, looking down at the green, wooly buds you were going to smoke, you felt your stomach flood with anxiety. You weren’t so sure about it anymore. “Where did you even get it?”

“I know a guy.”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” you rolled your eyes frustratedly. “What did you drag me here for, anyway?”

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows, looking genuinely confused at your hostile tone. 

“To…let you know I got the stuff.” He drawled, before narrowing his eyes at you. “You okay, sweetheart? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Your stomach was churning. Between the stuff with Thomas that morning and now this, it was too much. 

You pressed a hand to your abdomen as the faint smell of weed permeated from the open baggie between Eddie’s fingers.

God, he had pretty fingers, you thought somewhere in the back of your mind. It was something you'd revisit when you weren’t about to have a panic attack.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie rushed toward you as you doubled over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath and calm the nausea. His hands found your shoulders, and another wave of the sharp smell of marijuana made you retreat further into your mind. 

All of a sudden, you weren’t there; you were back at Starcourt with Billy Hargrove’s hands around your neck, the smell of the weed he’d smoked earlier still on his clothes. 

Your breathing shallowed and you gasped, trying to breathe, but in vain. 

“Hey, hey, breathe for me,” you faintly heard Eddie over your own heartbeat. “You gotta breathe, honey. C’mon, breathe for me. Deep breaths, like this.”

He pressed your palm to his chest as he inhaled deeply.

You looked up at him, at his wide, panicked eyes and did as he said, slowly inhaling a shaky breath. 

“That’s it,” he took another deep breath, eyes not leaving yours. “Just like that. Okay. Another one, now.”

You took a deep breath, much easier this time, eyes never leaving his.

- - - -

“So…” Eddie began, eyes finally meeting yours. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

You sighed, tilting your head back to lean against the wall where you were sitting. You looked up at the fluorescents in the janitor’s closet. 

“That was a panic attack, Eddie,” you said monotonously.

“Don’t be a smart ass. What happened?”

You sighed again. 

It had taken five minutes for Eddie to talk you down from your… episode. After, he’d let you catch your breath. You’d thought that you’d be able to just go about your day from there. You were stupid to think he’d let this go. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, I don't care about that. I just wanna know what the hell caused it. Did I–”

“No,” you said immediately. “You didn’t—”

“Did it have something to do with this morning?” Eddie’s voice was low, and as serious as you’d ever heard it. 

You remained quiet, eyes trained on the light above you. Eddie took that as confirmation. His eyes flashed dangerously as you finally looked at him. 

“I’ll kill him.”

Eddie moved to his feet with purpose, moving to open the closet door. 

“No!” you grabbed his ankle, scrambling. “No, Eddie. It’s not worth it.”

“Bullshit, it’s not worth it—”

“Please, let’s just get out of here. Let’s go smoke. We’ve practically missed all of fourth period anyway.”

“Honey, he can’t just–”

“I know, Eddie,” you stood up level with him. “But right now, I really wanna leave, and that’s more important than whatever revenge plot you have.”

He looked at the door obstinately for another moment before turning back to you. 

“Fine.” he said, not fully convinced. 

“Thank you,” you took a calming breath. “Good. Besides, it’ll be like killing two birds with one stone, right? Two items off the bucket list at once.”

- - - -

Eddie’s car was smoky; a hotbox is what he called it. 

As you took a long drag of the joint he passed to you, the deep, leafy aroma filled your lungs. As you breathed out, all worries or stress you had about school or Thomas or even the Upside Down diminished to an afterthought. 

So this is why people smoke, you thought to yourself, giggling a little bit. 

“What is it?” Eddie turned his head to you, unruly curls brushing your cheek. 

The two of you were sprawled out on the floor of his van, shoulder to shoulder and head to head, about twenty minutes into the session. You’d learned this so far: that Eddie smelled good, like cigarettes and cologne and something musky, and that his eyes got even more glassy when he smoked. All that to say: you wanted to kiss him. Bad. 

You passed him the joint, your fingers brushing his in the process.

“It’s just that I finally get why people do this so much,” you laughed. 

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Eddie laughed with you. 

“And I feel better already!”

Eddie went quiet, taking two puffs from the joint. You turned to look at him, eyes immediately darting to his lips. He was looking pensively at the corner of the van. 

“Not fair,” you grabbed the joint from him. “Don’t hog.”

“I get them too, you know.” He said all of a sudden, somber. 

You stopped, looking at him still. Eddie turned his head to face you, nose only an inch from yours. 

“Not so much anymore, but when I was younger. When I first came to live with Wayne.”

“Wayne?”

“My uncle,” he swallowed, turning his head away from yours. “I live with him. Have since I was twelve. My dad, he was… not a great guy.”

You were quiet for a moment, passing the joint back to him. 

“My dad left.” You said. “Sometimes I’m not even sure I remember what he looks like.”

Eddie grabbed your hand, squeezing. 

Instead of the flutter of anxious butterflies, you felt a calm wash over you at his hand in yours. 

“Do you, uh…” Eddie trailed off, taking a deep huff, “wanna talk about what I saw this morning?”

You sighed, not feeling anxious, but feeling tired. 

“You remember the skirt I wore the other day?”

Eddie swallowed visibly, eyes darting to your legs before your face again. 

“Yeah.”

“Robin helped me pick it out in June,” you fiddled with your sweater. “She convinced me to wear it the other day, finally, while the weather is still at least a little nice. Anyway, Thomas noticed my skirt. He hasn’t left me alone since. And today, he…”

Eddie took a long drag. 

“He grabbed me, grabbed my ass. Fucking pig.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not even, like, scarred by that. You know how ridiculous that is? That I’m not even phased by it anymore?”

Eddie just shook his head, glaring at the ceiling. 

“Eddie?”

He wordlessly handed you the joint. 

“Toke up, sweetheart.”

You chuckled. 

“Jesus, what an asshole.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, taking a long drag. 

“Someone should—”

“Someone should, but someone won’t.” You looked at him. “They never do.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed, biting his lip in concentration. 

“Wanna skip the rest of the day?”

“God, yes.”

Th next day, Thomas Reed had a busted lip and a black eye. 

[eddywoww]

eddywow masterlist

Hi, I'm Eddywow. I write mainly kink related smut fics, so please read the tags and proceed with caution. This is a comprehensive list of all my stuff, so have fun! (all steddie)

18+ ONLY PLS

Join my patreon for exclusive writing!

The Dom Eddie Series Steve downloads a dating app and meets a tattoo artist named Eddie, who just might introduce him to a whole new lifestyle.

Secrets, Secrets Eddie glanced at the username and memorized it. You know, just in case. NotYourBoy22.

Pornstar/Popstar AU Steve (popstar extraordinaire) meets Eddie at a party. He recognizes him but can't quite recall from where...

Ghost Stories Steve pushed away the guilt, the feeling of unease, and kept digging. (monster!eddie au)

Consummate Professional Why couldn't the hot metalhead hit on Steve for once? (nerdy steve and boss eddie)

A Chainsaw and Community Service It's gonna be a weird month, Harrington. (haunted house community service au)

Digging A Grave (That I Can't Fit Into) Eddie didn't like this. It looked fucking bad. (religious trauma au)

Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me It'd been 5 years,for fucks sake. (exes au)

Lonely But You Can't Let It Go "Besides, someone has been checking you out for like...the last twenty minutes. Won't stop staring at your legs."(older teacher steve)

Flashbacks "Why's it a secret?" Eddie asked slowly. (childhood friends au)

Uneducated Guesses Verse Eddie meets a receptionist at a kink club that his best friend drags him to. Remember, you're only weird interaction away from some self discovery. (virgin dom eddie au)

I Made Loving You A Blood Sport Mafia Alpha/Omega toxic romance

Such A Fucking Pretty Girl Wlw steddie au

In A Parking Lot Somewhere Omega Eddie/Alpha Steve AU

In My Boxers, Half Stoned Eddie calls a very interesting and demanding phone sex operator. (dom steve/sub eddie)

Maybe Eddie, Maybe Not "I won't tell anyone," Eddie reassured Steve gently, glancing around. "You're pretty convincing. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't been looking for signs." (Alpha Eddie/Omega Steve AU)

Baby Boy, Boy Toy "“Your skin is very skin,” Eddie blurted out, face heating immediately as he realized what he said. “I meant nice. Your- it’s nice. You have nice skin. I sound like a serial killer, oh my god.” (sub eddie/dom steve with age gap)"

First Face That I Saw "Eddie was used to seeing sad people. Sad families, sad parents, loved ones torn up over the ever-moving cycle of life. (funeral director eddie)"

Tentative "Oookay," The woman drew out, one ringed hand sweeping at Stevie's hair. "Hey there, Uhh. You're kind of in my lap. Can you get up?" (wlw steddie popstar/assistant au)

Impressionable Young Minds "Number one rule. Don't talk to strangers. Don't even look at them. (major trigger warnings: horror fic about kidnapping and abuse)"

Bubblegum Girl "F/M steddie fic. Bartender Eddie/Sorority girl Stevie"

And If I Got Your Name Tattooed On Me, Would You Care? “Is this your dad?” The guy asked out of pure confusion and a hint of fear. (moms best friend, age gap au)

A Man In His Church "I know you more than you know yourself, Steve." (demon/religious au)

Vile Things “Again, it’s your choice,” Craig gestured wide with his hands. “No man that isn’t a creep is gonna do what you want them to do, Steve. You know that. That’s why you’re here.” (dead dove bdsm gone wrong)

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Hawkins University : The Munson Edition

AN: Hey, y'all. I've finally moved! So, I'm working on writing right now. I'm so sorry for the long wait; I've been juggling a lot. I hope you like this chapter; we'll get into more drama and romance in the next chapters! Pls remember that reblogs and comments are appreciated! Also feedback!

→ cliches: friends to lovers, heavy use of nicknames instead of Y/N, we're all just struggling college kids, Music Tutor! Eddie, Resident Assistant! Reader, good girl x bad boy, instant connections, 'I don't trust most people but I trust you', 'are we friends or more?', and 'I can't believe you're such a slut that you have a special dtf drawer...'

→ warnings: mature topics, insecurity, hurt and comfort, drinking and drug usage, strong language, bullying, mental health, discussion of suicide and self harm, mature thoughts, eventual smut, minors dni

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

<Previous Masterlist Next>

Chapter 8

Bug's POV

It had been two weeks since you and Eddie kissed. Though you both had talked about liking one another, neither of you breached the topic of your relationship. And to be honest, it hadn’t bothered you. You got to enjoy the typical activities with Eddie, plus the bonus of kissing or cuddling. You weren’t worried about labels or anything. Plus it meant you didn’t have to feel so guilty about not going on dates or dressing up. Only something more had developed…

You had begun to have a dilemma of jealousy and embarrassment. 

It began that fateful on the November night that was fading into December, finals approaching viciously. You had overheard from a few classmates that Eddie denied their advances, all of them bitter about the situation. You knew why, but couldn’t help but feel worried. You weren’t a virgin by any means, but you also weren’t nearly as experienced as Eddie. And maybe that sparked something in you. 

You were somehow both relieved and frustrated that Eddie hadn’t tried anything with you yet, curious as to how he would be with you. Some stories…made you sit at the edge of your seat, a gasp in your throat. 

He couldn’t help his reputation, really. 

You knew Eddie would make dirty jokes about enjoying choking with Gareth and even fake moans around Steve to make him disgusted. But he never did that with you. He was always sincere and kind. Tamed? In a way. But some tiny little piece of you, something depraved and lonely, wondered why. 

So you decided to test the waters. 

It started out small, of course. Something like a stupid ‘that’s what she said’ joke.

A few days later it snowballed to a joke revolving around your taste in jewelry and saying “Truthfully, I prefer my necklaces to be more...tight. Like a hand.” 

It was laughable, really. Embarrassing. 

But the straw that officially broke the camel's back?

A joke about Eddie's drawer. 

Eddie and you had been messing around, kissing sometimes and giggling, discussing past embarrassing moments. And that’s when you heard the story of how some guy ran out of Steve and Eddie’s shared apartment when he saw the ‘drawer’. You had rolled your eyes, laughing a bit and teasing Eddie gently. 

“I mean it is a bit slutty of you,” You giggled, curled into Eddie’s side. 

Eddie tickled your side gently, grinning softly, “Hey! We do not slut shame in this house. It’s rude,” He teased, nose scrunched up in the cutest way possible. Your heart skipped a beat. 

You smiled a devious grin and shrugged, standing up. “I wasn’t slut shaming…just…word gets around.” Your stomach was twisting and turning with nerves, your heart pumping. You were pushing it a bit, but wanted to test the waters. 

Eddie raised a brow at you, fighting a smile on his lips, eyes dark and twinkling with mischief. “Oh, does it, now? And what exactly…went around…?” 

You walked around, avoiding his gaze as you stared at the Warhammer minis on his shelf, a delicate finger careful to not touch them. “Oh…ya know…things like…how you’re really good at eating out. Or how you like ropes…and maybe…how you love power dynamics…how you…seem to really love getting people off.” With every phrase falling from your lips you felt more and more giddy and nervous, your heart thumping out of your chest. Your thighs squeezed together to rid the ache between your legs as you pretended to be more interested in his decor. You came to his band posters, some local, some big names. You stared at the art work and tried to avoid the intense feeling of Eddie’s gaze on you. 

“Oh…I see. And how much did you believe of it?,” His voice seemed low and almost like a whisper, but the guttural tones and bass of his vocals made a shiver run down your spine. You tried to hold your ground, walking towards his desk, playing with a fidget cube he kept on his desk for concentration. Your back was still to him. 

“Mmm…not much. I heard a lot of what seemed like exaggeration about how many times you made people…finish.” You breathed out, trying to ignore the trembling in your hands and the feeling of breathlessness consuming you. 

Eddie chuckled darkly and seemed to shuffle about, finally stepping closer to you and tracing delicate fingers up your side. “Do you want to find out if it’s true?” His breath was in your ear, making your skin feel hot and your stomach twist in knots. 

You shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant and looking off towards a Metallica poster, chewing on your lip. “I mean, if you want to prove yourself…fine. But there's no way you can make anyone cum that much, no matter how slutty you-”

You found yourself spun around quickly as a pair of strong and calloused hands intertwined into your hair and pulled you in at your waist, his mouth immediately upon yours as he shut you up with the most passionate and panty dropping kiss you had ever experienced. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips encased yours, fireworks going off in your belly. He rubbed his hand at your side, slipping under your shirt to have his cool hand touch your warming skin. He continued to tug at your hair, eliciting little moans from you and making wetness pool in your underwear, your body alight with desire. 

You felt desperate and pathetic, but in the best way. So often you were the caring and overbearing friend, the one who was always the designated driver, the one who worked a thankless job and tried to push others along to succeed. But here, with Eddie, you often felt free to let loose. Free to think less about others and more about yourself. And it seemed that translated into the bedroom too. 

Eddie was leaving your mouth to kiss down your neck, nipping and biting softly, causing you to whimper and claw at his back. He steered you toward what felt like the bed, dropping you onto your back before looming over you. His eyes were dark and his lips pink and swollen from the kissing. His arms were braced on either side of your head as his hair made a curtain around you, your heart beating at the sight of his expression. It was like he was hungry and desperate. 

“You’re so gorgeous…I’m gonna make you see fucking stars,” He growled out, making your body shiver in delight. 

He lifted your shirt off your frame, throwing it to the side as he cupped your breasts, eyes looking at you for reassurance. You nodded, biting your lip. He grinned devilishly, coming in to leaving bruising kisses and bites at your neck, his nimble fingers pinching and playing with your nipples, the desire pooling between your thighs as you squirmed under him. 

“Such a pretty girl…so responsive…,” He groaned out, grinding his hardness into you for a minute while you moaned, before moving down and taking a nipple in his mouth, first giving it teasing licks before he latched on and began sucking and nipping at the bud, making you whine and grip the bedding underneath you, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. You felt like you were on cloud 9. Your thoughts consumed by the goofy metalheads mouth and tongue, pleasure ever growing. You practically lost it when one of his hands traveled south while the other continued playing with your nipple that wasn’t between his teeth, hovering above your mound. 

“Can I touch you, baby? Can I play with your clit?,” He growled out around your nipple, your back arching at his words as you felt your cunt throb. You were mindless. You were putty in his hands. 

“Yes, god please…yes…” 

At that his hands went under your panties, finger quickly finding your sensitive spot and circling it gently. You were squirming, back arching, as his lip popped off your breast obscenely and moved to the other, and his fingers moved to tug at your nipple and keep it hard. At this point you swore you were going to combust. Eddie just kept whispering praise and growling around you, calling you his ‘plaything’ and his ‘girl’. Your back arching as you felt the familiar build, your cunt clenching around nothing as you whimpered, eyes screwed shut. 

“Fu-fuck…’M gonna cum…gonna cum…please please please, Eds,” You clawed at his back, releasing a moan from him as he moved to kiss you, still rubbing at your clit, this time with a bit more ferocity. You felt the pleasure between your legs build and build as you moaned into his mouth, finally snapping as he lightly smacked your clit, growling into your mouth. You saw white, your eyes rolling back as your body shook, gasps and moans escaping your mouth. You laid there, boneless for a moment, eyes shut as you caught your breath. 

Eddie collapsed beside you, sighing out. Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, still trying to catch your breath. 

“I guess…rumors hold…a bit of truth,” You panted, smiling weakly as Eddie chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“That was just a preview…catch your breath because I’m not letting you leave this bed until I’ve had my fill with you,” He whispered, smiling devilishly as he kissed your forehead and your eyes went wide. 

Eddie Munson would be the death of you. 

Once you’d had Eddie’s touch, his kiss…You were insatiable. 

Any moment you had free, you were in his grip. You experienced the ropes, the toys, everything. You now knew exactly what had all the people at Hawkins so hooked onto Eddie, his mere touch making you see stars. You had yet to actually have full penetrative sex, but it was satisfying exploring the space between. 

You hadn’t questioned your relationship, okay with not labeling it for the time. Though it seemed to really bother Steve. 

‘So, you guys finally a thing?’ 

‘He finally popped the lil question?’ 

‘Finally… or am I just hopeful again?’  

The last time he had asked, you were wearing Eddie’s shirt and boxers, cooking breakfast. You shook your head with a smile, laughing at Steve’s groan of frustration after Eddie walked out with a messy bedhead, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. 

Everything was simple and fun. 

And sure, a small part of you hoped soon Eddie would call you his. You knew you were exclusive, and that was great. But some days you had dreamed of hearing the words ‘my girl’ fall from his lips.

But you would settle with the little piece of heaven you were gifted. 

You could always sense a storm before it came. Not a literal storm, but an unfortunate event. Of course it could be argued that your anxiety led you to always sensing a storm, even if one wasn’t oncoming. But you knew the familiar feeling, your belly churning, your heart squeezed, and your head pained by pressure and nerves alike. 

It all started after the afternoon you and Eddie had been cuddling and watching trashy TV, giggling over stupid circumstances. Eddie turned over and looked at you. 

“This may sound weird but…would you be okay if I used you for a song?” 

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh, sure…That’s okay,” you replied meekly, heart leaping at the thought of your closest friend and romantic interest with benefits writing something about you. For you. 

He smiled at you, those ice melting dimples causing your mind to turn to goo. You smiled back shyly, snuggling back into the crook of his arm. 

Then your phone buzzed, causing your brow to furrow. 

You looked down at the screen in your hand, seeing a notification from Instagram.

@ChrissytheCutie has followed you!

You felt a sense of confusion and sourness build. You didn’t know the account, but decided to brush it off. You didn’t post much anyways and you knew a bunch of people would just follow you after seeing you went to Hawkins. 

And boy…

Was that a mistake. 

Taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles @corrodedcoffincumslut @kirisuteg0men @bebe07011 @amira0303 @vintagehellfire @lottie-90 @animechick555

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin. (part five)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 4.6k summary: a party from hell.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, mentions of recreational alcohol & drug consumption, emotional hurt / no comfort in this chapter (sorry, she's a little angsty), blackmail, family drama, mentions of minor character death — if i missed anything, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

celebrity skin. masterlist

The venue is filled wall to wall with people, half of whom you have not met before this night. They’re swaying to the loud music, talking over one another, and indulging in various colourful drinks from the open bar.

Sitting on a sofa in the corner of the large space, you’re watching the night unfold in front of your eyes. There’s a drink in your hand, a cranberry vodka, however, you haven’t touched it yet. Instead, the ice has long melted, causing lone droplets of water to drip down your arm.

A harsh scent of alcohol fills the air. It gets stronger every time a party attendee sits next to you, congratulating you on an incredible single with the band they never thought you’d ever play with. You go with the flow, the politeness you’ve been taught from a young age showing its wings, and thank each person that engages with you for coming tonight.

They ask how this all came about, you on a song with Corroded Coffin. A collaboration for the ages. 

You answer honestly, to the best of your knowledge. “The powers that be organised everything”, and the person you’re speaking with laughs at your answer. Then they ask about a topic much hotter than the new record — your relationship with Eddie Munson.

The second the curly-haired rockstar is mentioned, a smile breaches your lips.

“That’s between me and him, for now.”

Which doesn’t stop anyone from trying to invade your privacy further. Wondering, out loud and with no shame, if what they’re reading in the tabloids is true. Is it just for show, or is it real? And then it goes one of two ways:

“Hope I’m invited to the wedding. It’s shaping up to be quite the party.”

“At least you’ll make a lot of money from this arrangement.”

Not one person wishes you well. Not one person says they’re happy for you, or for the Corroded Coffin frontman. It obviously makes you wonder why because you look happy… right? Why is your relationship such a big deal if you’re clearly happy? 

Don’t you look happy?

But then, in between those conversations, your gaze finds Eddie with ease. His own brown eyes land on you every single time, without fail, as if there was some sort of magnetic pull between the two of you. He smiles wide, shooting you a casual wink from wherever he’s standing at the time.

And so, you force the treacherous thoughts deep, deep down. Squish them until they’re miniscule and a problem for later — which in retrospect, not a good idea — ‘cause right this moment in time, you’re definitely happy.

Eddie makes you happy.

You’re also just glad to see the rockstar is having fun, considering how reluctant he was to leave the comfort of his own home. He’s mingling and laughing. A pep in his step as he orders another drink. After all, parties are his element.

“God, my poor fucking feet hurt so much,” Holly sighs, dropping down next to you with an elegant bounce. “I honestly don’t know how you can perform in heels for multiple nights in a row when I can’t even make it through a couple of measly hours.”

You laugh. “No pain, no gain.”

“Okay, Magic Johnson.” Holly snorts while playfully rolling her eyes.

“Actually, I’d prefer to be Patrick Ewing,” you correct her, it’s a tease with a slight dramatic flare, “‘Cause who am I if not a New York Knicks fan.”

The giggle that escapes your friend is infectious. In between the lighthearted chuckles, she does her best not to spill the fruity drink in her hand, pressing the glass to her lips and taking a sip. She relaxes into the sofa, legs now extended outwards, a hazard to anyone walking by.

“Speaking of New York, when are you taking the rockstar to meet your parents?” Holly probes, brow raised.

“Oh god,” you dramatise in response, “That’s like a super serious thing, no? I don’t think we’re there yet.”

But Holly doesn’t give up as easily, seeing right through the front you didn’t even realise you were putting up. As your best friend, she knows you better than anyone. That includes moments like these, when you’re minimising feelings out of fear.

“Babe, be for real. He has already met your grandma and she’s arguably a lot more important than your parents.” Holly states, taking another quick sip of her cocktail. “No offence to Alicia and Brad, but we all know your family is ruled by the little lady who already hates your boyfriend.”

You sigh. She’s obviously right.

“So, what’s the real reason you don’t wanna take him home?”

Glancing over at Eddie, who’s lost in conversation with the producers of your record, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, wondering what to say to her. “Because I’m scared it’s all moving too fast,” would be an appropriate answer to the question, but then again that’s not entirely true.

Holly nudges your arm and you turn your attention back to her immediately.

“I’ve just been really happy in our little bubble these last few months and I’m afraid if we venture further out into the real world, we’ll lose that feeling.”

Raw, honest. It’s a scary thing to say, but Holly doesn’t judge. She never does. Instead, her arm makes way around your shoulders and she squeezes you lightly when your head rests against her skin.

“With the way the two of you look at one another, I bet my sanity that you’ll be together for a very long time.”

And you hope she’s right.

Eddie walks up to where you’re sitting shortly after, politely asking your friend if he could steal a moment alone with you. Holly of course agrees, saying something about finding Jeff ‘cause he looks mighty fine tonight and she’s a little buzzed, “If you know, you know.”. You watch with a smile as she disappears between the dancing bodies while Eddie sits in the now empty spot, casually placing a hand on your thigh.

“Having fun?”

“I am,” you answer and lean in closer to place a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Even more now.”

He smirks at you. “I’m glad, baby.”

“Seems you are too.”

“I am.” Eddie nods, free hand now holding your jaw, as he leans in to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss is short and sweet, but like everything you and the rockstar do, it attracts attention from pretty much everyone in the room. A click of the camera, a flash of light. But neither of you care. Looking instead into each other’s eyes once you pull apart, as if you’re the only people at this party. 

Even though putting a label on things wasn’t entirely necessary, it definitely cemented whatever feelings are floating within your core. And Eddie feels the same way. He actually feels a lot more than he’s willing to admit out loud. Partially because he’s always battled commitment issues, mainly because he’s really afraid of losing you. 

Again.

-

Eddie Munson loved a good party.

This wasn’t always the case, since during his teenage years he was often excluded from every single guest list. Then he started dealing. Suddenly, the metalhead was a hot ticket, and even though people still didn’t care for his company, they liked the stuff he brought. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention — as fake as it may have been.

Once Corroded Coffin made it big, and Eddie realised that people actually wanted to party with him for who he was, and not the drugs he had access too, (although, for some, it was a little bit of both), the rockstar decided he was going to throw the best damn parties Hollywood has ever seen.

It quickly became second nature. Make money, then spend it just as fast so other people can have a good time.

When the drinking, and other activities, got a little out of control, the guys tried to talk some sense into their friend with a little tough love: “Dude, those people don’t give a fuck about you! They only wanna hang out with you, ‘cause you’re rich.”. But Eddie was too far gone and he didn’t care to stop. His house was full of people every single weekend, most of whom he knew, and for the first time in his miserable life, the rockstar felt like the most important person on the goddamn planet. There was no way he was letting go of that feeling.

Then August ‘92 happened.

The evening started off as nothing special. Just another pool party to combat the unbearable Los Angeles heat. It was a common occurrence during the summer months, so Eddie didn’t think that night was going to be any different.

Surrounded by a group of girls that undoubtedly only want to get in his pants, he’s laughing at the unfunny jokes and taking advantage of the fact that he doesn’t need to refill his own drinks, the “groupies”, as Marianne calls them, gladly do it for him. 

They’re brushing up against him and flirting with no shame while batting their lashes. Eddie usually eats this shit up. Matter of fact, he should be loving every second of it right now, but his focus has long shifted elsewhere, the girls a mere distraction from the actual object of his attention and desire.

From the corner of his eye, he’s watching you.

Jesus Christ. Eddie can’t believe you came. He can’t believe you’re actually here, at his house, seemingly enjoying yourself. And to say you looked fucking hot would be the understatement of a century. Splayed out on one of the lounge chairs, hiding from the sun, you’re wearing a white cotton blouse and skimpy denim shorts, and Eddie aches for his current conversation to be over so he can go and officially introduce himself to you — like he should have at the Grammys.

“Eds, do you want another drink?”

He barely registers the question, even with the girl who has her hand on his bare bicep, rubbing up and down rather seductively. Instead, the rockstar notices how you stand up and look around the party once, before walking in the direction of his big house. So Eddie thinks that now’s his chance, perhaps the only one he’d get, and following a quick internal monologue to pep himself up, he leaves the group of ladies disappointed, following you inside.

That was almost the last party Eddie threw.

You flipped this switch inside of him, one the rockstar didn’t even know existed. After that night, he no longer wanted attention from just anyone. Taking centre stage in his mind — and heart — was America’s favourite sweetheart. Even when he royally fucked things up, he only thought about you.

Though for a number of lonesome weeks, he wasn’t sure you were thinking about him since his actions proved nothing more than borderline douchey. So Eddie fell back into self-destructive behaviour just as fast as he scrambled out of it. The parties got louder, he became more obnoxious.

September 1992. Saturday Night Live.

That will be a night his band, his management, his friends, and even his fans, will never let Eddie forget. Unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.

The drinks pre-show were free and Eddie had a mountain of feelings he desperately needed to get over, along with memories he wanted to bury deep, until they were nothing but specs of dust, flashes that didn’t resemble anything — especially not you.

He did his best not to slur his words during the live performance, and for the most part, he succeeded. Although that didn’t really matter since anyone in the rockstar's vicinity could clearly tell he was intoxicated. Eddie, leaning half his weight on the microphone, round sunglasses covering his bloodshot eyes, should have never been allowed to set foot on the stage that night.

Let alone twice.

Under the dim stage light, as they hoped to conclude their last song without a major incident, Eddie’s band mates were exchanging worried glances. The Corroded Coffin frontman had a couple more drinks in between sets and was barely able to follow along with the music.

Thankfully, behind the scenes, Marianne convinced production to shift the cameras away from unravelling Eddie, even switched off his microphone, and the only people left witness to his drunken mess were the folks present physically.

Eddie on the other hand couldn’t have cared less about how he was behaving since the alcohol didn’t numb him like he hoped, instead the thought of you being somewhere in the same city, overpowered his senses. Would it be crazy to hope you were watching? Would it be crazy to think that despite how rudely he treated you, you’d still show up like you both talked about?

Would it be crazy to try and find you? Search New York, high and low, in hopes that someone knows someone, who knows someone else, that knows where you live?

Instead, against his better judgement and everyone else’s rather aggressive protests, Eddie goes to the after party planned in his name.

Unsurprisingly, you didn’t come.

His black out was imminent.

The damages done to the restaurant came to just under five thousand dollars. The stress from keeping it out of the press robbed his team about two years of their life, so Marianne says.

And that was the last party Eddie threw. 

Considering how out of control things had gotten, how out of control he had become at some point during the night while thinking about you with every drink that burned down his throat, it could’ve been a lot worse.

Eddie still only thinks about you. Difference being, now, almost a year later, you are attending a party together, and the alcohol no longer tastes like regret.

When he looks at you, like he is right now, under the fluorescent club lights, his heart increases tenfold. He wants to kiss every inch of your face, hold you close because that’s where you belong. 

Things simply got better because he owned up to his mistakes and learned to open himself up to love, as scary as that feeling is sometimes. He’s not second guessing your intentions, because that would be cruel. He just loses himself in his doubts sometimes, since in the past, no pretty girl has given him the time of day without wanting something in return.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Eddie whispers against your lips, thumb gently grazing along your cheekbone. He proceeds to tell you how you make life a little more normal, and he’s grateful for it, despite always wanting fame. You tell him how attention is nothing if it doesn’t come from the right person, and he agrees, brown locks bouncing as he nods his head. Then he kisses you again.

And this kiss is arguably a lot more urgent than the last. Eddie is hovering over you entirely. One hand remains holding onto your face, while the other is on your waist, pushing you deeper into the sofa.

You can hear another click of a camera in the distance and despite your better judgement, that voice in the back of your mind, closely reminiscent of your Nana’s, telling you to push your boyfriend away, you slide your hands up his back and cling closer to him.

An inch of regret courses through your veins the following morning when you receive a call from your quite displeased team, “what the hell were you thinking?!”. You deflect. Unwilling for anyone to burst through the happy bubble you’ve found yourself in, you blame them for poor organisation and security ‘cause who even allows cameras to be brought into a private Hollywood event.

That regret is unfortunately also accompanied by a killer hangover and very little memory of what else has happened the night prior.

The empty spot in bed, usually home to a set of wild brown locks, should have been a warning sign ‘cause Eddie never woke up before you, especially after a party. You find him in the kitchen, at the spot where the two of you first met. His head is in his hands and you’re instantly feeling worried.

The happy bubble threatening to burst.

“Hey,” you croak, hoping to get his attention, “are you okay?”

Eddie’s as still as a statue. He doesn’t acknowledge your presence, or your question, and the worry in the pit of your stomach increases tenfold. So you approach him, movements slow due to the banging headache as well as the apprehension given your boyfriend's current position. Only when your hand hesitantly reaches his back, rubbing once downward while you position yourself next to him, Eddie lifts his head and tilts it to the side, finally meeting your eyes.

“Had a good night?” Eddie asks, shifting his stance so that your hand falls down to your side. This should have been a second warning; him trying to avoid physical contact.

“Y-yeah,” you force a smile, thinking that it’s needed, “You?”

“Not really,” he answers a little too quickly.

His brown eyes scan yours, for what exactly, you’re a little too hungover to realise. But the longer he stares at you, the worse you begin to feel. A certain dread spreads through your insides, causing your stomach to drop. What’s happening right now? Actually, what happened in the late hours of last night that’s causing this sudden rift between you and the rockstar.

“What’s going on, Eddie?”

The tone of your voice is so quiet, you’re unsure he’s even heard you. But then a sigh escapes his lips. He briefly glances towards the back door, out towards the pool, before settling his gaze back on your frame.

“I think we made a mistake,” he says a little too bluntly. “I-I don’t think we should have labelled this so soon, and ehm… This is nothing on you, sweetheart. I’m just not the relationship type.”

Dumbfounded, is a little too plain to explain the feeling that you’re experiencing at this very moment. Betrayed would be a better word, but that would mean Eddie is after saying those things. That he’s really after shattering your entire world in the space of a few mere seconds. Betrayed would mean your gut instinct, the one you have ignored ever since you’ve met the Corroded Coffin frontman, was always correct: he was no good.

Used, is how you begin to feel as Eddie continues to list reasons for why he can’t actually be your boyfriend and how you’re better off simply being friends with benefits, or whatever it is the two of you had been over the last few months. Used fuels the anger inside of you because, to you, deceit is worse than cheating. And he seems so nonchalant about it, which only adds to the fire.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Eddie stops mid another lame excuse and for the first time this morning, he reaches for your hands, fingers gently grazing against your skin, which only adds to the pain you’re beginning to endure. 

“Sweetheart…”

“No, no.”

You retreat, unwilling to let the rockstar hold you since he’s after breaking your heart like it was worth nothing — Jesus H. Christ, this is some sick and twisted deja vu.

Instead, you cross your arms across your chest like a shield while taking a step away from the man you realised now you definitely loved, yet one that clearly didn’t love you.

“I-I guess I’m just confused as to what’s changed since last night—”

“I’m not the relationship type,” Eddie cuts in, repeating what he’s already said, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything towards you. I like you, sweetheart. A lot.”

“Eddie, come on,” you scoff, tears threatening to breach through the confines of their home, “Do you realise how ridiculous you sound right now? If you feel something towards me, I-I don’t get how being called my boyfriend and being exclusive with me is the worst thing on the planet.”

When he doesn’t immediately reply, you continue.

“Unless that’s it. You don’t want to be exclusive because the thought of keeping your dick in your pants when I’m not around is too difficult, or having other people throw themselves at you and not immediately act on it is something Eddie Munson simply cannot do.”

“That’s not it,” the rockstar interjects.

“Then fucking enlighten me, Eddie, because you’re making no fucking sense right now!”

Again, he doesn’t say anything. And it’s precisely because he’s not showing any willingness to be honest with you right this moment, after endless prior conversations about how that’s the one thing he will always be, you decide for your own sanity that this isn’t a relationship you can fight for.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

Three words you’ve spoken to him before, only this time they hold a lot more weight. This time, they signal an end to something that was only after getting a proper beginning. The end of America’s favourite popstar and the Corroded Coffin frontman — a headline that broke on Page Six the very next morning.

Eddie watches you leave. Frozen in his spot as you rush back to the bedroom the two of you have shared the last few months. And his heart aches because unbeknown to you, this is not what he wanted to happen.

Unbeknown to you, this is not how he actually feels. He doesn’t want to end things with you so soon after they’ve begun. He wants you. He wants to be your boyfriend, if not more.

He just can’t.

Last night’s party was the main catalyst behind the rockstar’s actions this morning. The attendance of a certain someone that wasn’t actually invited was a shock to Eddie’s drunken system, and the reason behind why he simply can’t tell you anything, especially the truth.

(Not right now anyway.)

-

Chrissy Cunningham.

The preppy blonde was the only person Eddie loved before meeting you. 

Despite not ever being anything more than friends, at least on a physical level, for the longest time, Chrissy was Eddie’s only supporter. The only person to show him kindness and shower him with care he undoubtedly deserved.

Chrissy encouraged Eddie to follow his dreams, pursue a career in music, because out of everyone in Hawkins, she truly believed in his talent.

Then she died.

Suddenly, Eddie was not only left with a hole in his heart, but he also found himself at the centre of a murder investigation. Despite being declared innocent, her death nothing but a freak accident, the scars on the rockstar’s body remind him of the events of March ‘86 to this very day.

He told you a little about what happened, just failed to mention Chrissy. Not for any particular reason, he just doesn’t talk about her as a rule — unwilling to reopen the wounds he so desperately tried to heal over the years.

And because he doesn’t talk about Chrissy, or mention her name and what she meant to him, Eddie never expected her to be brought up.

Especially not a Hollywood party of all places.

Eddie first spotted your grandmother mid-performance of the band’s single with you. She approached him shortly after, when you excused yourself to take some shots with Holly, leaving the frontman alone.

“Even I cannot deny that it’s a good song,” she states simply, as Eddie eyes her suspiciously.

“With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think you were on the guest list.”

She scoffs. “Just like my lovely granddaughter, I can get myself on every single list I want, and even though I don’t necessarily want to be here, I do have something to tell you.”

Eddie cocks a brow, “Oh yeah?”

“Hawkins is a lovely little town,” she says, not missing a beat. “It’s quaint. Reminds me of a place I spent hiding my pregnancy all those moons ago, but that’s a story for another time. Or not. Depends how well you listen to me right now.”

“What do you want?”

“Does my granddaughter know about Chrissy Cunningham?”

Eddie’s face falls the second Chrissy’s name escapes your grandmothers painted lips, though he doesn’t get a chance to actually reply to the question, because she’s quick to continue with her agenda.

“I suppose not. Your uncle Wayne was really quite open to tell me about her though, about what she meant to you.”

She pauses, tilting her head to one side.

“I am sorry for your loss, Edward.”

Another brief pause.

“Yet I can’t help the curiosity, why didn’t you tell my baby about this girl if she supposedly played such a big part in you pursuing your dreams?”

“Don’t do this—”

“Do what, Edward? I’m just trying to learn more about the boy my naive granddaughter is willing to risk her entire career for. Again, your uncle Wayne was very helpful in this department, considering you practically shunned me from the dinner I organised for this exact reason.”

“Listen—”

“No,” your grandmother interrupts, “We both know you’re not good enough for my sweet angel and this entire Chrissy situation you are trying really hard to hide from everyone, only proves my point,” she snaps and Eddie’s feeling grateful that the place is a little too crowded and a little too noisy for anyone to hear what’s happening at this very moment.

“Edward, if you have nothing to hide, if you’re really innocent and played no part in the poor girl's death, why can’t the world know? Feel free to answer me, I’m just trying to get some insight into who my granddaughter has chosen to date.”

Eddie swallows his breath, unsure of what to say because it’s these types of conversations he’s been trying to avoid by not bringing up Chrissy.

Ever.

He didn’t do anything to the girl he loved. He is one hundred percent innocent, and the courts proved his side of the story. Yet, he’s been ridiculed and questioned left, right, and centre.

Only Max and Wayne know that the final reason as to why he’s decided to leave Hawkins behind for good, was to get away from the rumours and the people that didn’t believe him. And as he rushed to chase his dreams, he swore he’d never bring this up. Swore to never mention Chrissy’s name to anyone, or the fact that she’s been the inspiration behind numerous Corroded Coffin singles.

In a way, it was freeing. In Los Angeles, Chrissy Cunnigham was nothing but a figment of Eddie’s imagination.

Until this very moment.

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I know,” your Nana states, “But it wouldn’t take a lot to make people in Hollywood believe that you did and then your image is ruined, your career starts to decline, and the only other person that’s affected besides you and your bandmates, is the person you claim to feel something for. My granddaughter.”

Eddie’s heart sinks. He glances behind your grandmother’s shoulder to where you’re standing at the bar with Holly, laughing at something your friend has said seconds prior.

He’s happy with you. He’s happy to be known as your boyfriend.

And it’s because of that happiness, he knows he cannot ruin your life by involving you in something that happened before he was even famous.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” the rockstar mumbles in a defeated tone.

“She’s going to hurt either way,” your grandmother says, “But if you end things with her on your own, I promise to keep Chrissy’s name out of the press, so you’re only breaking my granddaughter's heart and not simultaneously ending her career.”

The metalhead hangs his head low, closing his eyes momentarily to try and gather his tipsy thoughts. His lack of rebuttal is enough for your grandmother to claim her victory. She places a hand on the rockstar’s shoulder and squeezes once, faking remorse.

“And Eddie,” she continues, “I wouldn’t tell her about this conversation, and I also wouldn’t be so brave to tell her about Chrissy yourself, because with a snap of my finger, the whole world will know. Then you gotta ask yourself, what’s more important? Your happiness, her happiness, or the careers you both worked extremely hard for.”

She lets her hand fall and walks out of the party with her head held high. Unseen by you and unnoticed by everyone else here, almost like a ghost. Like the conversion never happened. 

But the ache in Eddie’s chest is proof enough. He knows what occurred, just like he knows what he unfortunately needs to do — which is break your fucking heart.

thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!

celebrity skin. masterlist

& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @astheni-a , @bebe07011

[kumakooo]

Another pose about my baby Beary!

Beary always helps everyone around the neighborhood even though she’s supposed to be on vacation to relax (Whisky and her manager scolded her about that lol) (but pls believe this is her way of relaxing)

In her early morning running, she greets Eddie and will walk with Eddie while he doing his job cuz she is afraid he will get lonely then she goes to help Howdy prepare his store and help him restock

She loves to help Sally practice her acting, and the same goes for Barnaby but sometimes practicing with Barnaby is go wrong Hahaha! (something like the pie on her face Bwahahahaa) and she enjoys talking about butterflies with Frank very much

Beary can do a lot of things but one thing she can not do is cook (if everything she cooks is not poisonous It’s bioweapon)so sometimes she goes to Poppy’s house and asked (beg?) Poppy to teach her how to cook properly

Julie likes to come to Whisky’s house to hang out with Beary in Beary’s dressing room. Beary and Julie always have a great time! Get a makeover doing makeup (wear high-heels and pretend to be miss universe), Julie loves to try on every clothes that Beary has (sometimes Sally joined them too! It will be a GIRL TIME!)

Beary has a pet name, Mash

Here is a quick Beary’s dressing room sketch that I did (yeah I got too lazy to finish *sobbing*)

[londonfog-chan]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Rite Here, Rite Now Part 2

I listened to Square Hammer at least 57 times this week trying to figure out how to describe it in like two sentences pls send help.

Part 1 , Part 2 (You are here)

***

If someone told you that you’d be sitting in a stranger’s garage, white knuckling your linen skirt while your crush was playing - on his own actual guitar - a stupid song you wrote for him, you’d have called that person a liar and bitten them for playing with your emotions.

You were in hell. This garage was hell. Not Eddie though. He was pure heaven, like having the real honest to god Eddie Van Halen rocking out next to you (a crush you’d harbored since 1981 when he married your favorite daytime television actress. Eddie Munson resembled Van Halen perfectly in your mind and you tried your damnedest to look cute enough to be his Bertinelli). Despite the fact that Corroded Coffin was positively butchering your melody and holding you hostage to replay the same bars over and over again, you tried to remain positive and focus on the fact that you had made Eddie smile with something you’d made for him.

It seemed that he was obsessed with your piss poor excuse of a song. He was enthusiastically playing along to it within minutes of hearing the first few notes. You got to see him shred on his guitar, and Eddie had even proudly told you what kind of guitar it was when you asked: a 1984 BC Rich Warlock, his “black beauty”, and you still had no idea what BC Rich meant but the full name had the word “warlock” in it and that sounded so fucking wicked. You liked warlocks. And you liked that Eddie had a warlock.

There wasn’t anything he could do wrong. Ever since you came to Hawkins, Eddie had been your dream boy. He treated you like a person, someone worthy of kindness despite the fact you wore baggy clothes and a sullen expression all the time. Everyone else said hateful, ignorant shit about you. It wasn’t easy being the new kid in town, and you did this same song and dance often moving from place to place. Never quite fitting in. Skirting on the outside of groups, always the lone wolf, until the day your world changed when you came to school with your Sony Walkman headphones blasting Anthrax and a very handsome stranger stopped you in the hall by your locker to talk thrash metal.

Said handsome stranger was still torturing you with the wrong kind of sound you’d had in mind for “Square Hammer”. Admittedly you weren’t a thrash metal aficionado. Your tastes were more fantastical, glam and glitz and big theatrics were what you liked best about music, especially when it came to metal. The more flashy aspects fascinated you because they were everything you didn’t have it in you to be. You were the antithesis of flashy. Square Hammer was your poor attempt at breaking into Eddie’s world, try as you might to listen to bands like Megadeth and Sepultura, you couldn’t help but to imagine more grandiose sounds for the vision you had for his song. Metal to you was like reading Poe or Stoker. Dark and mysterious, alien to you, that you couldn’t help but envision something similar for Corroded Coffin.

“Is something the matter sweetheart?”

You felt warmth on your hand. A veiny hand with a mood ring enveloped yours, and you looked up to see concern written all over Eddie’s face as his big sad eyes stared down into your soul.

“Huh!?” You exclaimed. “Oh yeah… I’m fine…”

You tried to put a false smile on your face to hide the fact that you were being eaten up with the ick at the unpolished sound. But Eddie saw right through you.

“Not with your hands looking like you’re ready to rip your skirt up.” he said, standing close to you, “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just… I don’t want to sound like a cunt…” you mumbled.

“Hey… you won’t sound like a cunt.” Eddie said, “We’re musicians. If something is going wrong with the vision you have to tell us so we can make it better. We're a team, that includes you. Your input is valuable, and we want to hear it.”

You grimaced. His gentle words weren’t very reassuring. Especially not when you were hiding your mean perfectionist thoughts and trying but failing to be this image of a cute, cuddly creature that Eddie would fawn over. But you knew: he wouldn’t relent and let you stay quiet. He’d get the truth out one way or another, or you would just blurt it out in a shitty way.

“Okay… Well, it’s just that every time we start I know the intent is to let the Casio speak up for itself, and then everyone else just jumps in…” you began.

Eddie nodded, encouraging you to continue as the guys came over. They crowded you and they keyboard, staring at you as they listened intently.

“... I hate it. It’s making the song way too jarring. For the vision I had for this, you’d want to warm everyone up a bit, not scare the shit out of them with every guitar and percussion line dog piling on at once. Dougie’s bass line is also way off, too choppy and it doesn’t get to exist and unfurl. And the worst part is that the Casio is way too weak in the intro. If you want it to have a voice it’s going to need back up really badly during that first fifteen seconds to allow the listener to really lean into the first verse. I get that you want to pack a punch and beat the shit out of some eardrums, but do it gradually, otherwise it just sounds like a bunch of sloppy noise.”

You were just blabbering at that point, trying to convey poorly what you had envisioned and how you imagined the whole ensemble would sound in your head. Not once did you dare to look up and see what expressions the boys were making as you continued to dress down their rendition. Eventually, you got so tired of hearing your own voice you began to quiet down. That was it, you thought you fucked everything up, and that they would all tell you to get the hell out of Gareth’s garage and never come back.

But to your surprise, the boys were actually all deep in thought. Listening intently to your criticism, and from the looks of things plotting. Hands on chins. Strategizing as if they were looking at an invisible chessboard. It was similar to how the group operated during a particularly intense one-shot, evaluating the miniatures as they were laid out on the map, quietly strategizing each player’s next move and brains working overtime to visualize every possible outcome.

“What if we add a bit of a light duet to the beginning with the Casio?” Eddie asked you suddenly, “Like if I follow along with you just low enough to give you that extra oomph, but really allow you to let the keys shine.”

“Um… I think maybe it could work.” You began.

“Y’know Ed, I think even a slide at the beginning could work with both the Warlock and the keys.” Interjected Dougie, then to you he said, “I kind of get what you mean, by itself the keyboard sounds too fucking lighthearted, you want to really let the intro get a chance to warm everyone up before diving right the hell into it.”

“Honestly yeah, as it stands, ‘Square Hammer’ is almost psychedelic kitsch.” Gareth said, his leg nervously striking the bass pedal and making it boom along time to his leg shaking, “Not what comes to mind when we consider the direction we want to go. But I feel like working more metal riffs, maybe let that bass purr a little and the Warlock work her magic, we could salvage it from being total shit.”

“It’s not that bad to be considered kitsch.” Jeff interjected. “I think it has potential to be at least our one hard rock track if we can come together to add that metal magic-…”

You were shocked. Completely flabbergasted as the boys continued to talk amongst themselves. They weren’t acting like giant man babies about your criticism, and instead were meeting it back with critique of their own. As if they wanted to engage with what you created, regardless of if they all liked it or not. While the consensus seemed that you were outmatched four to one as to how you wanted to proceed with ‘Square Hammer’, it didn’t bother you that they were obstinate in keeping their vision. In fact, you began to get excited, looking at your Casio keys with newfound vigor and passion that you had not felt in many years.

It was exciting to collaborate with Eddie’s passion project. The prospect of helping him to create something wonderful was filling you with an excitement that made your heart soar. You felt part of the collective. Welcomed. Accepted even as Eddie then turned and smiled at you.

“Alright folks, let’s try one more time and see if we can’t bring this together. And you sweetheart, I can’t stress this enough- let’s keep those ideas coming. Don’t be afraid to share with the rest of the class!”

“I’m afraid if you give me enough leeway, the cunty thoughts will really start coming out…” you grimaced.

Eddie laughed, loudly and obnoxiously, as though you were the funniest person on earth.

“Sweetheart, this is the most we’ve ever come together to sound unified. At this point we’re counting on your cunty ideas to make something presentable.”

You gave a laugh, a determined nod, and then you all began the arduous process again. To anyone else it would have seemed to simple to voice your opinions, but for you, often afraid to let your passions for perfection show, it was a big step and you were proud of yourself for speaking up. Once the awkwardness of letting out your thoughts went away, you started to become intensely interested in getting this song to the next level. You brought up percussions on your Casio to show Gareth what you had in mind for drum support during the intro. Eddie worked out the right slide technique with Dougie for a sultry purr of the bass at the beginning that had chills running down your spine when you heard it for the first time. He let one note hang on until the full ensemble of the band built up to the crescendo, and that simple act of gradual additions helped elevate the sound of the music to an entirely new plane of existence.

The new sound for your song was snappy, unified, and it paved the way for Eddie and Jeff to make magic with their dual combination of rhythm and riff. The difference was incomparable to the humble beginnings of your song. By the time everyone was comfortable with the work they had done, Gareth’s mother was already descending the stairs to the garage from the house to tell you all to go home, as practice was cutting it close to the prompt time that the neighbors could legally report you all for noise ordinance violations.

It was amazing. You were almost disappointed when you packed up your Casio with Eddie’s help. Dougie, Jeff and Gareth approached you one by one to thank you for your contributions, for taking time to come, and for writing them such a wonderful song. They didn’t linger to shower you in praise, but they each seemed to have a glint in their eyes as Eddie stayed by your car with you.

“Sweetheart, you were incredible today!” Eddie praised, “The guys are over the moon with you, thank you so much for your help and for your song.”

“… I didn’t think you guys would like it when I first came up with it…” you said, “I know the sound isn’t exactly traditional heavy metal… But it felt like the song was missing something every time I tried to keep it confined to one style. I wanted more avant-garde, and I immediately hated it. I wanted to make something that you would like.”

“Give yourself some credit. You are one hell of a musician.” Eddie said, leaning into your space as you looked away nervously. “You have your own visions, willingness to experiment, and one hell of an ear for notes. That’s not something just anybody can do. I loved what you did with “Square Hammer”, it’s fresh and edgy and the guys absolutely loved working through the kinks.”

You couldn’t help but smile, rubbing your shoe into the gravel of Gareth’s driveway.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked, then continued anyway, “I almost pussied out. I didn’t want to show up today with garbage so I considered staying home. But when I thought of you, how disappointed you’d be if I didn’t show, I realized I’d be betraying you. I didn’t want to do that. So I had to nut up and show anyway.”

You looked from the corner of your eye: Eddie was positively beaming. The glow of the streetlight illuminated his dark brown eyes into a soft cognac color, his hair surrounded by a golden halo glow. He looked like an angel when he smiled at you like that.

“I’m glad you didn’t puss out.” He said softly. “You brought a bitchin’ performance, and I know I speak for all of Corroded Coffin when I say we were honored to have you here with us. That melody you made? Damned fine divine intervention sweetheart. And that’s coming from the number one metalhead in Hawkins.”

His face was inches from yours, and you couldn’t look away nervously. You didn’t want to. Something about the way he looked at you, so pure and sweet, it had you drawn in. So close that your noses were touching and you found you didn’t mind it one bit. Your heart didn’t race, in fact it felt so warm your eyes became half lidded in anticipation of closing your lids and meeting lips.

“Eddie… Thank you…” you whispered. “That means a lot to me… Thank you for everything… Thank you for inviting me over and for asking me for help, for inviting me into your world. This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

“You’re always welcome here…” Eddie whispered back, lips just centimeters from yours as he moved closer, encircling his arms around your waist as you welcomed his touch. “You’ve got a fire in you that’s unlike anyone else I’ve ever met before… And I’m so damned grateful I have the privilege of knowing you.”

Both of you stayed that way for a long, hungry time, until you met together in a soft kiss. His lips were a little chapped, but you didn’t care. He was so warm, encircling you protectively and pouring everything he had into the kiss, it was better than you could have ever conceived of. Being there with him in the silence of the coming night, you felt so safe. Protected. As though there was no where else on earth you would rather be.

You carried that high with you, all the way home to your bedroom where you crawled into bed with your trapper keeper and a pen, intending to write Eddie yet another song. Only this one would be different. It would speak from the heart, tell him how you really felt, and hopefully expand your bright future as a couple when the morning came.

[wroteclassicaly]

eddie finding out he has a thing for seeing you do sexual things w his guitar hits different. like???? "give sweetheart a kiss, baby. love seeing my girls making out" pls. pls.

Pleaaaase, this man would go absolutely haywire when you even talk to the instrument.

Side note: I know there’s a few fics where the reader gets dirty with Eddie’s guitar, so I tried to keep this as different as possible, but there’s only so much you can do with a guitar, and I’ve not seen any like this scenario. Lmao. :P

Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, NSFW, and more!

~*~

It was just a joke—at first. But when you’d boldly plucked Eddie’s most prized possession off the mirror where ‘she’ hung, your boyfriend wasn’t laughing any longer. It was endearing the first few times he told you, “Babe, be careful. She’s irreplaceable, okay?”

“Edward,” You chastised him, sliding the leather strap securely over your chest, your manicured nails stroking her crisp strings. They must be new, you thought? “Anymore emphasis on this inanimate object, then you can emphasize this ass—“ You broke spinning slightly so that he could see the fabric of your jeans straining over your bottom. “—walking straight out the door.”

His doe eyes had widened rather comedically, his ring covered hand waving through the air. “Okay, m’ sorry. But can you just… put her back, please? It’s nothin’ personal, sweetheart—“

“Alright, Munson. You know what? I’ve had enough of this crap. Consider her my girl for the night, because you’ve just lost us both.”

“Baby…”

“Eddie…”

~*~

Thinking back on the short couple of hours that first occurred, it’s a funny thing. Eddie’s whining for his sweetheart’s safe return had ceased upon your threatening to leave his trailer, and ask him to see if ‘she’ could suck him off for the next two weeks.

“You might make her sing, but I can make you scream.” You’d purred.

Deciding you were his favorite lady was an easy choice for Eddie, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t… have some fun with you both. After all, you had stripped down to your birthday suit and reclined back in his room’s newest addition—the beat up old lazy boy. His guitar strap rests across your breasts, her glossy body laying a top your chest. His own personal pinup girl. You start it, really.

Your fingers are strumming aimlessly and watching how his maple irises have obliterated, currently at the mercy of a sinful, midnight sea of blown pupils. You aren’t realizing what you’re doing until Eddie is matching you, movement for movement, his hand in his jeans, tugging his cock out and letting a glob of spit pour off the end of his tongue, using those defined digits to spread it down his shaft. Your breath hitches, awaiting his next words, because he’s swallowing, those plush lips pursing, and you know that he’s got something to say. While you wait, your fingers spread open your cunt, one sliding up and down the slick seam, spreading the sticky wetness around your clit. Eddie chokes on his words, sentence coming out choppy and fragmented.

“F-fuck, princess. My two favorite babes. Just stark naked in my room.”

“Mhm. I’m number one though, Eds. Remember that.” You present him with a middle finger, then push it into your cunt, curling into the squelch.

He croons on a line of obscenities and slouches where he reclines, thumb swiping across the leaking head of his dick. There’s a hesitation and then he’s asking you to do a little favor for him, one you’re not the least bit surprised of.

“Baby, you wanna give my sweetheart a little kiss? Right there at the top? She’s a so lonely.”

“Insatiable dungeon man.” You mutter, but shift her weight to kiss a path along the crimson neck of the guitar, waiting yourself into a moments’ pause, deciding not long after. Watching with a steeled gaze, your tongue’s tip hits the body and you’re licking a straight line directly up the instrument, simultaneously pressing a second finger into yourself.

Eddie literally gasp, his abdomen muscles flexing, fist working harder, the tendons in jugular visible as his orgasm closes in on him. “M’ gonna cum, fuck!”

“Don’t you dare, Munson!” You’re edging your ass off the chair until you can push yourself into a wobbly position, making your way to his bedside. “Get the fuck up and get behind me!”

He scrambles without question, flinging his remaining clothing off and pressing himself into your backside, his throbbing cock pressed against the flesh of your ass. You rock over the friction, shoving your fingers back for him to immediately suckle inside his mouth, moaning like a pathetic little bitch around the taste of your digits. His chin presses atop your shoulder, hair tickling your neck, voice long gone when he speaks. “What do you want me to do?”

“You play,” you say, motioning to the guitar, jutting it with a bump of your knee, then with your newly spit covered fingers, you drag them back between your thighs, “and I’ll play.”

He noses in your the curvature of where your neck meets your shoulder, widening his legs into a spread. Bringing you flush to his ink splattered skin, the hair on his chest and that happy trail stimulating your entire back, his nipples hard and moving over you with every shift as he wraps his arms around your frame, steadying her neck and beginning to strum a few chords of something he’s been working on for himself. The vibrating rhythm and how he’s already getting so into it with sturdy working hands, his rings catching the light as his fingers strum rapidly. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and picks the flesh up before releasing it. “Don’t stop touching yourself, sweetheart.”

“Thought she was?” You sass him, your fingers easily gliding into your pussy without any resistance.

“Be that as it may, I can’t fucking destroy her like I plan on doing to you.” He tilts to the instrument and bumps your hand, causing your fingers to go deeper as he hits a particularly good rift. You don’t know guitar speak much, but you can recognize Eddie’s thorough quality—and it always leaves you salivating.

“Please tell me you’re going to use the handcuffs tonight?” You rub yourself at a faster pump into his cock, feeling it slick up your ass.

“Oh, princess. You have no idea what’s comin’ to you.”

~*~

[rrat-king]

I'm with you on the Loser Club/ Bad Kids special interest crossover. PLEASE share your who is who thoughts!!

thank you for asking so much i am so annoying about this topic cuz i love them both so much. ok ok ok i can't like, perfectly 1/1 them but these are the dynamics that they trend towards in my head so i present:

bad kids as the loser club

this is so not the obvious answer but riz is very bill coded in my head in the way of doing what is necessary and being the most adamant about stopping the BBEG(i also see the seven as the kids going missing and pennys disappearance drives him in the show already and would only grow worse if they knew that kids were dying). he also clearly has similarities to ben/mike (depending on movie/book) when it comes to the research aspects

fabian is hard because he isn't as loser coded as the rest of them but he kinda woks in the form of movie ben and mike as like, new kid or outsider coming into a small town. he also fits the same niche as stan does in my head in being a lot of talk and tease but still being more fearful and wary than the rest of the group even if he doesnt want to show it

kristen is richie. i will live and die on this hill. foot in mouth, gay idiot, kristen is richie. i wish i could talk about it more but i am like, too passionate about this to articulate this properly. blorbo y blorbo

fig is bev coded in the form of being seen as a town pariah type, probs being very ostracized through the shit that happens with her parents, and just like, rumors move fast in a small town and gossip move faster so i could easily see her being mislabeled as slut and fully just running with the outcast thing.

gorgug is very mike coded to me, big heart, easily targeted, though he also really reminds me of book ben, with all his construction being translated easily into artificing, especially in the fact that book ben is described as lonely but so used to it he doesn't even think to be bothered by it and idk thats very gorgug to me.

adaine kinda sits between the corners of eddie and stan for me, very scared but still cutting, able to do what she needs to and be an asshole about it all the while but still at the same time just so so afraid. also she is bev coded cuz she kills her father so theres that.

-

ahh ok i could talk about this forever and i am currelty working into turing this idea into fic but pls pls ask me more about this if you like it too cuz its such a specific niche but i love it so much.

[honestlydarkprincess]

accidental sexting fic

prev snippets/me talking about it

and i just wrote this so pls if it sucks look away

Tonight he bored and lonely, having just dropped Chris off for another sleepover. Christ, his kid was popular. When he was a kid he wasn’t going to sleepovers every single weekend. Eddie was glad though that Christopher was having a different, less lonely experience than Eddie had had at his age.

Eddie had tried to give Buck a call, see if he wanted to come over and watch the game, but Buck hadn’t answered. He was probably busy with Natalia, it was Friday night after all. Eddie knew that he was making assumptions, but he couldn’t help it. Buck hadn’t said that he and Natalia were officially dating yet when the team tried to pry information out of him he was unusually quiet about it. Eddie wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake until Buck told him the truth. He knew it would hurt to hear that yeah, Buck was dating Natalia, but at least then Eddie would know.

ask me about my wips

[american-dream-novel]

EDDIE CLEARWATER.

twenty-six. he/they. a garbage man, wanted criminal (?), & an untalented gay!

VISAGE.

5'7''. Midsize with muscular arms. His hands are perhaps the most "typically" masculine aspect to himself. Long, black braids down his back. Their skin is a warm, tawny brown, and his eyes are an umber. His lashes are notoriously thick. His typical outfit is a pair of acid-wash jeans, pointy-toed boots, a tanktop or his binder, and a large hoodie, the sleeves of which he cuts slits into for his thumbs to slip through. In terms of body modifications, he has a septum piercing that he got in freshman year of college and often wears flipped-up, a habit he picked up when he spent time in in-patient. No specific visual reference for him at this time, but pls if you have any suggestions, DM me or send in an ask!

PERSONA.

goes with the flow but in a way that is a result of him disassociating from himself for years

these days comes across as shy, quiet, almost sullen. Tends to stare intently at people and objects rather than speak or interact with the world. There is something deeply interior about Eddie and how they engage in the world. To them, it's hard to tell these days if they're experiencing a prolonged depressive episode or if this is just what life is like... changes in medication don't seem to help, so it seems to be the latter.

Still clearly someone with ADHD: impulsive decision making, object impermanence, difficulty sticking to one task at a time, difficulty concentrating, etc. They used to be more clearly hyperactive, but that has shifted in their adulthood.

back in the day, it was a different story, and maybe it still could be. He was a sarcastic kid who was full of energy. A bright young person. Birdie had even once called him badass. Judi liked to call him a goofball.

Tries hard to be purposeful with their actions and their words; they overthink a lot of social interactions, and they tend to talk slower these days.

Creative, loyal in a way that most people can only say they are, lovelorn, observant, gentle, a bit of a pushover, insecure, analytical, very in their head.

HISTORY. tw: mention of murder, child abuse, religious trauma

born to a single mother in Silver Springs, Michigan. Eddie lived with his mom and his aunt in Sunny Trails Trailer Park. His aunt would eventually marry his uncle when he was 7. His mother was murdered in the same year. Eddie's mother's case would remain unsolved due to lack of forensic evidence and any real leads.

His aunt and uncle raised Eddie as an Evangelical, as that was the religious doctrine his uncle followed prior to marrying his aunt, who identified as agnostic / nondenominational Christian prior to meeting him. Something something religious trauma and identity suppression and the use of religion as justification for abuse something something...

As Eddie would grow older, his choice in friends would become more suspect and he had to hide more and more of himself. For these reasons, he stopped being friends with Judi once she came out.

Art, specifically sculpture, becomes his outlet. He is accepted to the College for Creative Studies with several scholarships. It is the furthest from home he's ever gone. In the middle of his sophomore year, he develops symptoms of manic-depression and ends up in an in-patient program.

He drops out and comes home to the trailer, working towards some sort of baseline with his mental health condition. Somehow his aunt and uncle exit the picture... currently playing with the idea of them just getting a vacation home even further up north and living there full-time. Almost like even his uncle has given up on "saving" him.

WHERE IS HE NOW?: Working as a garbage man, quietly out as trans/mostly still in the closet, deeply lonely, and feeling a bit reckless, in need of a change. So when his coworker proposes they go two towns over and rob a grocery store... he just does it!

METAPHORICALLY... why is he a cannibal? Eddie's compulsion is perhaps the least interesting on paper — he eats those he loves. Central to Eddie is his all-consuming love, his desire to be seen and heard and accepted even at a cost to himself. His cannibalism is a manifestations of the many barriers that prevent him from achieving that level of love... and also speaks to the question of if that type of love is good for him. Is love a consumption of the highest order? Should it be? I think Eddie sees love also as something he is not an autonomous actor in — it's something he wants desperately, chases after with his heart bleeding down his sleeve, but it is the other person that chooses to accept that love. His cannibalism is also a manifestation of how out-of-control he feels in love, like he has no choice, but also is a reminder that to some degree, he does have a choice. He's the one choosing to love people, and love causes him to WELP unleash untold horrors and consume them literally. How does he love without it destroying him? He doesn't know, and we start off with him very much isolated because of that.

AESTHETICS ° STYLE

[captain-hen]

pls in detail tell me ur fave 911 character and why (sorry to make u choose <3)

eddie diaz. i know, i know—i've already talked to death how much i love him already. but there's just. really. something about the way he's written, you know? i really appreciate how they made him seem put together while introducing him, and then slowly revealed over the course of the season, and then the next, how not put together he was. the themes of parenthood, of grief, of unlearning the toxic ideals he was taught and generational trauma...it's really fascinating. and at the core of it all, he's so good, so gentle and so tender. even though he's been prone to fucking up and making mistakes and being self-destructive, he's genuinely been trying so hard to become better, to not be like his father, to make sure that his son doesn't turn out like either of them. and the fact that he's come so far, in season 6, to have open and honest conversations about what he's been through, is so heartwarming. and yet, healing isn't linear, and he's still grieving and he's still desperately lonely. it just makes for something that's really compelling to watch, you know? i don't need my favorite characters to necessarily be morally good—i need them to be compelling and fascinating. and eddie really is.

send me 911 asks!

[roy-kents]

seven(ish) sentence sunday

oop i've been tagged by @henswilsons @gayhoediaz @capseycartwright @trippedandfell + a billion and one other people for various different tags over the past week or so! here's some of my 5+1 eddie fic as a special treat for you all

I don't want you to be alone.

The words bounce around his head as he sits with them in the dead of night, nursing a beer in the corner of his couch. Is he alone? Eddie doesn't think he's felt lonely in a long time. Sure, some nights he wishes he had company, someone to hold or be held by, someone to talk to after Chris goes to bed. But he knows he has people to talk to. He has Bobby and Hen and Chimney and Linda and Buck. And between coffee dates with Linda and dinner at Bobby's once a week and seeing Hen and Chimney at work every other day, he never really gets a chance to feel lonely. And of course, there's the Buck of it all. Buck and his (Bobby's) famous lasagne. Buck and his apartment. Buck and his genuine brew beer. Buck—

Buck's kind of everything, Eddie's beginning to realise, and he doesn't really know what to do with that.

i'm honestly not sure who's done this yet so uhhhh @buddiefication @usercowboy @hattalove @thatbuddie @clusterbuck and anyone else who feels like sharing pls feel free!!

[therosebunpost]

Okay I dunno if anybody has done this before, but if they haven’t, I wanna offer the idea that’s been bouncing around in my head:

MDI please, 18+! (Pls have an age range somewhere in your blog or else I will block you)

A ChipandDales AU with Eddie, Steve and Reader! I listened a bit to the podcast dedicated to the story, and there’s this one bit I remember where they were talent scouting. So maybe both Steve and Eddie catch wind of it. Eddie, wanting to get the hell out of Hawkins, accepts immediately. Steve is a little hesitant at first, but the pay is really good and he is known for his looks, so he ends up applying too.

Maybe there’s some tension because Eddie is like “obviously they’re gonna take King Steve over me, fuck man.” But! They accept them both and it’s a swirl of being flown to the location and into preparation for the shows.

For Steve, there’s this particular act that I can see working for him that was talked about on the podcast. Tt’s this Frankenstein’s monster story about ‘The Perfect Man’. Basically taking pieces of different dudes and mixing them together to create the perfect guy, only for him to be destroyed in the end because the one thing he’s missing is a Heart. The last song used when the guy is created is The Kid Is Hot Tonite by Loverboy. I’m thinking this is a AU where Steve doesn’t exactly change his ways, and is still King Steve even in Season 4, so there could be this underlying story about him finding his ‘heart’.

Eddie probably takes The Freak label and runs with it, using his love of theatrics, and music, and skill at playing the guitar to build a routine for himself that’s centered around that. I imagine for him, it takes a while before the owners decide to let him do the routine, and it ends up being a Big Hit. Pulling in even more people from different backgrounds and even getting his music promoted in the process. Still, while he adores the stage, he never really feels accepted and is lonely despite the fact that people are clambering to be with him.

In comes Reader! I’m not entirely sure who they would be, tbh. Maybe someone who just wandered in for a night, or maybe they got hired as a dancer, or works in the costume department. Maybe they were having a birthday there, or something scandalous like a bachelor/-ette party. Regardless, they meet the guys somehow and the three start getting along splendidly, even if Eddie and Steve have a tendency to bicker over them.

[author-gremlin]

can u do a platonic steve x robin? pls

~shy anon

"Smuggel a Kitty Cat"

Platonic Steve & Robin Summary: Robin and Steve are talking about,smuggling a cat into steve's apartment. As Both are High on some weed.

Disclaimer I do not own the Charaters from Stranger things, or claim them as mine.

Proofread by @lunatic71 ,Smily[twt] and borderlineRacoon[ao3] !English is not my first lauguage!

GIF by 08s-m

gif by : @08s-m

warning: use and talk of marijuana, trauma, doing something illegal, Dont do crimes! let me know if i missed something

[Hello Shy-anon I hope you will like this one shot? I just wrote an idea i had while on the bus. Also thanks to Ravi, wich look over and made it to read better ]

Steve was happy. For some time he tried to save enough money to move, find his own place, and have freedom. Maybe it was so he didn't have to see his parents anymore or the looks on both of their faces. It was lonely sometimes, but better than before, Robin and the kids would crash his place every now and then and just spend time with him or wait for him, which made his days better. The one thing that would make his home complete for him was a pet. He wanted a cat for some time but never got one because of his parents. Now he could get one, if only pets were allowed in his building.

It was a Saturday and the stress got Robin and Steve good, this past week was not the best for either one of them. The 4th of July was in 2 weeks, meaning both got reminded of what happened a year ago, so they agreed on buying weed from Eddie and staying in. Both knew the comfort of some blankets and movies in the background while being high. The joint was placed in a glass and Robin was on her back laying on the floor. Steve was too, just his head on her stomach. Looking at the TV, as he saw a cat in the movie. "Rob, you know, I always wanted a cat." His voice sounded a little off, maybe he spoke too slowly, Robin turned her gaze from the TV to him, "Really? I thought they were forbidden here?" She was confused, didn't he complain about how he couldn't have a pet last week? Or when was it? Her brain seemed to mix up the information too much so she let it rest for some time. "I mean we could always smuggle one in." Her gaze turned back to the TV. Steve looked at her, "Yeah and when the landlord comes I'll just hide it." The words came from Steve, but he nodded at them all the same, it seemed to be a good idea. "Let's smuggle a cat in here!" A grin was placed on Steve's face, as the other turned to him again "But how? Like how do we get the cat here? And you'll need a lot of stuff for a cat too" Robin's voice got charged with worries, she knew Steve would take good care of a pet, but  she's also afraid he is too busy or doesn't have enough money.  Steve was distracted, looking at the ceiling of his home, he had money and the basics would cost about 100 bucks “I think I will manage it, like I need basic stuff and we can take a cat from the local shelter, or so” A smile was on his face, a cat waiting for him every day. He would need to potty train them and maybe let them outside after some time but he can manage it. His mind went all over the place, he stopped listening to Robin's worried rant on the idea, maybe they turned into some theory. Steve drags his body up to stand and looks at Robin. “Come on, let's smuggle a kitty cat, partner in crime!” Robin took the hand he extended to her and dragged herself up with his help. “Yeah, plan smuggle kitty cat for Stevie.” A lazy grin was now placed at her face as she was helping find the things both needed to go out. 

After some hours the high was off, now on a clear mind Steve looked around. He was at his apartment, Robin on the sofa, sleeping soundless, a blanket draped over her and something white. Worries hit Steve as he stands up, a little too fast as he got dizzy and tried to gain the stability back. The fur ball noticed this and stretched itself, it was a cat with fluffy white and orange fur looking in Steve's direction as it meowed at him. 

“We smuggled a cat!” he looked around, trying to find out if they got the essentials. As he was entering the kitching Steve realised  he needed to get some more stuff for his new pet. And plan how to hide a cat from his landlord from now on. “Yeah, and what's your name buddy?” he was asking the animal which just jumped at the counter, Steve shooed him off the second he got on it. “What? Whose name Steve?” Came from a sleepy Robin who woke up because of the noise and looked at the cat. “Did we just really get you a cat?” She looked at her best friend who just nodded as his anwer. 

“Do you have any idea for a name Robs?” Steve didn't have one, and as both were high the name seemed to be forgotten. They called him fluffy as he was screaming in the transport box. “Maybe Hector or Mr. Mittes?” She looks at him with a shrug. “Hector sounds good though, let's call him Hector for now." 

After almost a year Hector was discovered by the landlord, the cat was screaming again not wanting to be in the transportbox. The landlord was giving his okey, he wasn't allergic to cats. He did scold Steve, “Boy you could ask and I would've told you, next time please tell me, okay?” And then he was out of the room and Hector happily napping on his spot not in the hated transportbox. Steve still found it hard to believe. He told Robin later who just smiled “We should do this more often, and Hector is a sassy gentleman.“ She said with a grin to him “I mean we smuggled a  cat into your apartment, high, and they found out about it only a year later!” Steve nodded at her words “Yeah and I can keep him, so now off to buy a cat tree he will never use and play with the box” 

Later that day Steve was confused with the cat tree, or actually at how to assemble it. He eventually got help from Jonathan and Nancy, who just shook her head at him, while  Jonathan seemed quite shocked 'cause they kept him hidden for so long. Meanwhile Hector was laying in the carton, looking like the small sassy gentleman he was.