#rock star Eddie

[trashcanniballecter]

Love rock star Eddie just being obsessed with his totally normal boyfriend/husband Steve. He has asked Steve for his autograph on multiple occasions despite the fact Steve is a teacher and is in no way famous and the fact that they have been together since high school

[estrellami-1]

Quite Miss Home

Had an idea. Wrote 2.3k words in a couple of hours. Pure fluff based on the James Arthur song. ❤️

“Helloooooo, Chicago!” Eddie yells into the mic, reveling in the roar he gets back from the audience.

It’s been ten years since it all; since the end of the world as he knew it and the beginning of something so much better. Corroded Coffin had taken off quickly, after the “earthquakes;” something about rising from the ashes like a phoenix, if Eddie had to guess, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, just enjoy what he’s given, and damn is he enjoying it.

“How are you?” He asks, grinning when the audience cheers again. “Alright, alright. Man, I’ll tell you, it’s fuckin’ awesome being here. But can I tell you a secret?” The audience roars again, and he grins as he takes his guitar off, hoisting it up. “Who’s this?”

“Sweetheart!” The crowd yells back.

“That’s right!” He quietly thanks the stagehand who darts up to grab it from him. “But it’s not my only sweetheart. In fact, my real sweetheart is at home. And this tour is so awesome, but I’m kinda starting to miss my sweetheart.”

“Aww,” the crowd says, and he grins softly at them.

“I know,” he says. “This next song is for my sweetheart. They’re at home because they get migraines, and tours aren’t very conducive to not getting migraines, so we both decided it would be better if they stayed home. So this next song isn’t Corroded Coffin’s normal sound. In fact-” he gestures at the stage behind him- “if you’ll notice, the rest of the boys aren’t up here anymore. This is an Eddie Munson original, and I want to thank them, from the bottom of my heart, for letting me be the dramatic sap I am, and letting me sing this song, on national television, for my sweetheart.” The stagehand comes up again, this time with an acoustic, and again Eddie thanks him. “So, sweetheart,” he says, facing the cameras, “this one’s for you.”

“I'm in the kitchen while you smoke outside. You're careful not to let the smoke inside. I always tell you it's poison, but I know it helps you take the edge off the day.”

Eddie knows exactly where Steve’s gonna be when he gets home from where he works part-time as a bartender. In through the front door, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter, straight through to the porch where Steve’s smoking.

“Y’know those things are poison,” he jokes, stealing it straight from Steve’s mouth and taking a drag before giving it back to him.

“I never want kids,” Steve says in answer. He’s a kindergarten teacher, so he comes home in one of two moods: he has the worst baby fever, or he never wants to see another child again.

“Yeah? What happened today?” Eddie asks, settling in close. He’s hungry, and was vaguely considering a stir fry, but instead he tucks in close as Steve takes another drag, preparing himself.

“Okay, so get this.”

“We get a drink before it's closing time, the one on High Street with the blinking sign. All these memories feel poignant. I won't be there to see the snow melt away.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, seeing someone settle at the bar in his periphery. “What can I get you?”

Then he actually turns to face the person, and-

Oh.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Steve grins, leaning over the counter. “And maybe… something else? A little later?”

A thrill of heat rushes through Eddie, but he rolls his eyes with a grin and pushes Steve back by a palm to his forehead. “Keep it in your pants,” he admonishes, “I’m on the clock for the next four hours. Someone didn’t tell me they were gonna drop in, and I took my break twenty minutes ago.”

Steve hums. “Y’know, a dull knife could be very dangerous,” he says. “I certainly hope the one you’re using to cut limes is sharp.”

Oh.

Eddie grins, always on board, and leans over the counter. “Steve Harrington,” he purrs, delighting in the flush racing up his cheeks and down his neck. “What exactly are you insinuating?”

Steve sits there for a beat, drains his whiskey, and hops off the stool with a dangerous smirk. “Careful on your way out. It started snowing.”

“Oh, yeah, I been gone on business. I gotta make some money. I really feel the distance.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Steve murmurs, clinging to Eddie like a koala. They’re still in bed, and Eddie doesn’t have to leave for another five hours. He’s gonna spend all the time he can in bed with Steve.

“I know, baby,” Eddie whispers back. “Tours are so long.”

“A month,” Steve agrees. “And then another three, after Indy.”

“But just think,” Eddie murmurs. “You’re still working, right? And those kids love you, and no matter what you say, I know you love them. And this tour is gonna be really good for us. We could get Wayne into a house, and help Hop with his payments-”

“He won’t accept the help.”

“No, but Joyce will,” Eddie grins. Steve laughs softly into his chest, then sighs and kisses a tattoo.

“I just wish I could be with you. I wish my head worked right.”

“Baby,” Eddie says firmly, “I love you. Regardless of if you can or can’t come with me. If you’re gonna be miserable the entire time—and we both know you would be, don’t even try to deny it—I’d be miserable, too.”

“I know,” Steve sighs.

“But hey. We’ve got time right now. And I’m not letting you move from this very spot until I’m gonna be late.”

Steve chuckles. “I’ll drag you out myself, Eds, much as I don’t want it I know you need to go.”

“I know,” Eddie says softly, turning so they’re both on their sides, facing each other. “But I don’t have to go right now. And I’m gonna spend as much time as I can right now with you.”

“I know.”

“No, baby,” Eddie says, eyes wide, “you don’t get it. I won’t even let you pee alone today.”

“So just like normal, then,” Steve grins.

Eddie squawks.

“And I quite miss home. And I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor, and the dirt drives you crazy. Yeah, I quite miss home, 'cause it feels like poetry. When the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms, and we're watching the TV. Yeah, I quite miss home. Yeah, I quite miss home.”

“Hey, Eds,” Steve calls as soon as Eddie steps foot inside. “Shoes off at the door, I just swept and I swear to God, if you track dirt into the house-”

Eddie chuckles, toeing his shoes off before walking further into the house. “I know, baby, it wreaks havoc on your bare feet to feel it. I get a free pass from that ‘cause I wear socks like a normal person.”

“Literally when have you ever been normal,” Steve says, “that’s not normal, you and your fuckin’ ice cube toes in the middle of the goddamn night on my calves-”

Eddie snickers. “‘S not my fault you’re a furnace, babe.”

“I will maintain that it is your fault until we can prove otherwise, actually.”

Eddie is in love with this man. “What the fuck does that mean?” He asks, laughing, wandering down the hallway and into their room, where Steve’s folding laundry. “Fuck, I love you.”

Steve grins and accepts a kiss. “I love you too.”

“I smell you cooking from the living room, and then I tell you that I love your food. I know it doesn't come easy, but you know it reminds me where I'm from.”

“Baby,” Eddie groans when he walks in. “Are you making the pork?”

“I’m trying,” Steve grumbles, frowning at the pan. “‘S not working. It’s not getting crispy like it should.”

Eddie walks closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and nuzzling the side of his head. “Looks amazing,” he murmurs. “And smells even better.”

Steve sighs. “I just wish it was easier for me.”

“You don’t have to do this, baby.”

“But I know you love it.”

“I mean, yeah. But I love anything you cook, Steve. Or anything you call in. It’s the effort, y’know? Even when you don’t have the energy for anything but calling in pizza.”

Steve smiles. “You’re a sap, y’know that?”

Eddie chuckles, kissing Steve’s neck. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been down bad for you for a while, baby.”

“Yeah?” Steve tilts his head to allow Eddie better access. “How long?”

Eddie hums, moving down Steve’s neck, worrying his collarbone. “Probably since the demobat, Big Boy.”

Steve moans as Eddie sucks a mark high on his neck, just beneath his ear. “Yeah?” He asks, high and breathy.

Eddie turns the heat off. “Yeah.” A little bite to Steve’s earlobe as his hand creeps around to the front of Steve’s jeans. “Lemme show you?”

Steve pants. “Dinner-”

“Can wait,” Eddie growls. “I want you tonight, baby.”

“Whoa, I'm in another city. I got nobody with me. And it just really hit me.”

“Hey, baby,” someone croons. Eddie thinks he recognizes her from the last stop on the tour.

“Um… hi?”

She giggles. “So coy. You don’t have to play like that with me, baby.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “I’m not your baby.”

“Well, no,” she admits. “But you could be. Or I could be yours, if you’re more into being a Daddy.” She runs teasing fingers up Eddie’s arm.

He jerks his arm away. “Look, I’m sure you’re nice and all, but I’m really not looking-”

“Not yet you’re not,” she says.

“I don’t even know what that means- look, lady, I don’t want anything, okay?”

“Oh, come on, now-”

“I said no,” he says, harsher than he maybe should have, for the way she steps backs in shock. “Please leave,” he continues, gentler. “Or I’ll call security. And I don’t want to have to do that.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You could’ve had a great lay.”

“I have a great lay,” he shoots back. “And I’m not willing to sacrifice it for a meaningless one-night-stand.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sure you’re a great lady. But I’ve got my other half at home.”

“Your other half?” Steve interrupts over the phone, delight evident in his voice. “Christ, Eds, you’re a sap, I miss you so fuckin’ much.”

“I know, baby, I miss you too, now I was in the middle of a story.”

“That I quite miss home, and I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor, and the dirt drives you crazy. Yeah, I quite miss home, 'cause it feels like poetry when the rain falls down on the window, while you're in my arms, and we're watching the TV.”

“Baby,” Eddie yells inside, “It’s raining lynxes and wolves!”

Steve laughs from the laundry room. “Why can’t you just say cats and dogs?”

“Because,” he stresses, “it’s not. It’s raining so hard, babe, it’s perfect couch-cuddling weather, can we watch a movie? Please?”

Steve smiles. “Dinner’s in the oven keeping warm. Labyrinth is in the player already.”

Eddie stills, staring at Steve, for a solid thirty seconds. “Fuck, I love you,” he murmurs. Steve grins and steals a kiss.

“Go get the food,” he says. “I’ll be there in just a minute, just gotta finishing moving this stuff from the washer to the dryer.”

He does, and Steve does, and soon the dirty dishes are abandoned on the coffee table and their feet are tucked up on the couch. Steve’s leaning on Eddie and Eddie’s hand is under his shirt, not for anything suggestive, simply just to feel.

He kisses Steve’s head with a content sigh, and Steve tilts his head back to look at him. “What’s up?”

“Y’know this is one of the things I miss the most when I’m touring?”

Steve smiles. “Just sitting watching a movie?”

“Well, anything with you, actually. But yeah. No expectations, just the movie, and the rain, and just. Us.”

Steve smiles and kisses his jaw. “This is one of the things I miss most when you’re on tour, too.”

“Yeah, I quite miss home. Yeah, I quite miss home. And I quite miss home. Yeah, I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door 'cause you just swept the floor and the dirt drives you crazy. Oh, I just miss home, no, no, 'cause it feels like poetry, as the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms and we're watching the TV. Oh, I miss home, yeah, I quite miss home, no. Oh, I quite miss home. Yeah, yeah, I quite miss home.”

The last strum reverberates through the silent auditorium. Then, an anguished groan. “What the fuck, why are you perfect?”

Eddie laughs along with the rest of the crowd. “That’s quite the compliment, but no, my sweetheart will be the first to tell you I’m anything but perfect.”

Three and a half weeks later, Steve slams into him as he’s walking into the house. “Oh,” he says, delighted. “Hi, baby.”

“Fuck you,” Steve says, “fuck you and your song, I swear to God, Eds-” he tugs on Eddie’s shirt, pulling him away from the door, and Eddie chuckles.

“Baby, my shoes, the floors-”

“Fuck your shoes,” Steve growls. “Fuck the floors. If I’m not naked in bed in the next thirty seconds-”

Eddie grins and picks him up. “Say no more,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear, taking purposeful strides toward the bedroom.

As he kicks the door shut, he has one thought: This is my favorite part of coming home.

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Also tagging @finntheehumaneater and @gloomysoup because I figure you might like it ❤️

[thorniest-rose]

i’ve been kinda stuck on the idea of rockstar eddie pulling a rob zombie and putting steve in all of his music videos/stage performances/eventually b-horror movies. he writes his own house of 1000 corpses with steve as the equivalent of baby firefly, complete with the tiny cut off shorts and nerve wracking laugh to be the perfect little murder bimbo for his boyfriend’s directorial debut.

oh my god oh my god oh my god I just want you to know how OBSESSED I've been with this since you sent it in, especially as I'm planning my own rock star Eddie fic where he's a bit of a narcissistic asshole. I can just imagine Eddie putting Steve in all his music videos like that, like I LOVE the Rob Zombie inspiration!! Like Steve's his muse but he heavily objectifies him too, so he always makes him appear as a stripper or a groupie or a sex worker he picks up on the street. And in one of his music videos he fucks Steve and it's never confirmed that it's unsimulated sex but everyone knows it is, and that Eddie had fucked Steve on set in front of the entire crew. And then omg Eddie directing a horror film and casting Steve?? And Steve being the hot bimbo who gets his clothes ripped off and then brutally killed? Like Eddie doesn't even have the decency to cast Steve as the final girl, of COURSE he just plays the slut who gets killed... and afterwards when they're doing press and Steve's standing next to Eddie, with Eddie's tattooed hand on his ass, he's asked how he feels about his role and if it feels offensive considering he's Eddie's husband, but Steve just smiles sweetly and says, "I'd do anything for Daddy."

[longclawislightbringer]

Chapter One: Unworthy

Rating: T

Relationships: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson

Summary: College Freshman Chrissy Cunningham’s best friend, Eddie, is a rockstar. So what if she’s in love with him, and he’s writing gorgeous metal love songs for some cool chick in LA? She’ll still be his number one fan, supporting from the sidelines, even if that means breaking her own heart.

On the night before the band’s first show opening for Metallica—at which Chrissy plans to surprise them—her roommate shows her an interview in the latest issue of Rolling Stone that changes everything.

Hello lovely readers! This is my first foray into Hellcheer, although if you are an author you may have seen me lurking in your comments section. I also kind of jump around fandoms depending on where my muse takes me, so you may have seen me somewhere else before. I’ve been obsessed with Hellcheer since I watched the first episode of Season 4 last year, and had the idea for this last summer. Unfortunately, I’m the world’s slowest writer. Like George R.R. Martin levels of slow. It also doesn’t help that I’m a bit of a perfectionist. I’m trying to let go of my perfectionism and just be happy to get my writing out in the world. This is a short little story, only two chapters. The next part is already written so it should be posted by next week. I’d just like to take a moment now to thank my beta, ry, for looking over this for me. Ry is super awesome and you can find her at ryleighjosephine on AO3 or at @dustinswill on Tumblr. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks for reading. :)

read on AO3

Chrissy tapped her foot to the beat of “Uptown Girl” as she grabbed a clean index card from the perfect stack at the edge of her desk. Dancing in her chair, she turned up the volume on her Walkman as the song reached the chorus. Softly humming, Chrissy wrote out “mitochondria” in big, blocky letters with her favorite rollerball pen. She bobbed her head as she waited for the ink to dry, checking Professor Miller’s study sheet to make sure she remembered the correct definition. Once she finished her list of vocab terms, she could start working on her poster for the concert tomorrow.

“As long as anyone with hot blood can,” Chrissy belted out without a care for any of the other girls still left on her floor on a Friday night. Even if her roommate, Stacey, was home, she wouldn’t care anyway. “And now she’s looking for a downtown man. That’s what I am!”

Although she would tease Chrissy for listening to Billy Joel.

When the pink ink had dried, she flipped the card over. As she wrote down the function of the mitochondria, she heard Professor Miller in her head, repeating, “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

Placing the finished flashcard on her stack, she snatched another blank card as Billy Joel’s vocals faded into the searing electric guitar of Corroded Coffin’s new single. Her heart skipped a beat as Eddie’s fingers danced across the strings. She stilled, placing her pen on the table before she broke it.

“Starlit eyes, cherry gloss lips. You are perfect,” Eddie sang on the track, voice raspy. “And I am unworthy of you.” Chrissy clenched her fists. It was Eddie’s only line in the song before Jeff took over lead vocals. Chrissy could listen to him sing for hours, though.

She fiddled with the cassette case, running her fingers over the label “Chrissy’s Mix” in Eddie’s chicken scratch as she glanced at the photo of them together at prom last year tacked to her bulletin board. Arms circling her waist, Eddie stared down at her. The pink rose corsage on her wrist matched his boutonniere, and his tie matched her dress—Eddie insisted, even if it wasn’t an actual date.

When he sat down at their booth in the diner to give it to her one day while he was visiting Hawkins before she left for college, his leg had bounced up and down like he had drunk too much coffee. He dropped the tape in between them, the liner notes facing up.

“What’s this?” Chrissy asked, pulling it to her side of the table.

“It’s a mixtape,” Eddie said.

“I know that,” Chrissy smirked. “But what’s it for?”

Eddie wiped his hand on his leg. “It’s got some of our new songs on it. The demos, at least.”

“No way!” She exclaimed, picking it off the table to scan the notes. Three of the songs listed Corroded Coffin as the artist.

“I want you to tell me what you think of them. No holding back.”

“Of course.” Chrissy winked. “I wouldn’t dare think of lying to you. What’s the rest?”

“Just a bunch of your favorite songs. And mine. I thought they all kind of fit together.” Eddie scratched the back of his neck and flashed her a shy smile.

“Cool.” Grinning, Chrissy pulled her Walkman from her backpack.

“Don’t listen to it now!” Eddie nearly leaped across the table. “Wait until I’m gone.”

“Alright,” Chrissy smirked. “I’ll wait.”

At home that night, Chrissy shoved the tape into her Walkman and eagerly awaited the first new song. She grinned from ear to ear as the first base notes ripped through her, followed by Eddie’s dazzling guitar work.

And then that line.

“You are perfect, and I am unworthy of you.”

Her stomach dropped. A love song. Corroded Coffin had never released a love song before. Tightness bloomed across her chest as her stomach twisted itself in knots. She twisted her ring (Eddie’s favorite that he’d given to her right after graduation) and bit her lip as the song continued. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes when she listened to the other new songs—also love songs.

“Did you write all of these songs, Eddie?” she quavered, her voice small, on their scheduled weekly call.

“Yeah,” he answered. The phone crackled. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

His voice hitched before he continued, “What did you think of them?”

She swallowed back her tears, her rage at the subject of the songs, and replied, “They’re beautiful, Eddie.”

The cassette case clattered to the desk, breaking her from her reverie.

A tear rolled down her cheek as the song crested into the melancholy guitar solo. She wiped it away. With one final crescendo, the chorus began for the last time.

Chrissy picked up her pen again. If she ever found the girl who made Eddie feel so—

The door to her dorm room banged open.

“Hey, Chrissy,” her roommate Stacey barged in, letting the door slam shut behind her. She flopped on the bed across from Chrissy with a sigh, her long black braids fanning beneath her like a halo.

Chrissy paused her Walkman as “Take a Chance on Me” started and removed her headphones. “How was your date?”

“Another dud, as usual,” Stacey groaned. “I don’t know what it is about me that seems to attract the worst types of men. “ She rolled onto her stomach and rummaged through her purse. “He didn’t even have the manners to give me a decent good night kiss. Just slobbered all over me.” Shivering, she took out her lipstick for the night, a bright berry red, and placed it back on the shelf next to her desk. “Such is my lot in life.” She looked over at Chrissy. “What about you, Cunningham? Are you still hung up on that guy who calls you every week and wrote multiple songs for another woman that he put on your mixtape?”

A flush crept over Chrissy’s face. “He just wanted my honest opinion.”

“Girl, if that man can’t see that you are head over heels for him, he’s as blind as a bat.” Stacey pulled some wadded-up tissues from her purse and tossed them in the garbage. She grabbed a fresh one from the box on her nightstand and wiped her lipstick off, smearing it all over her dark skin.

“It’s not like that,” Chrissy protested, driving her pen perhaps a little too hard into the index card as she wrote the following definition. “We’re just friends.” Stacey folded the tissue, removed the rest of the lipstick from her face and dropped it in the trash.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Stacey quipped, pulling the new issue of Rolling Stone from her bag. “I can’t believe you’re studying on a Friday night.”

“I have to study today,” Chrissy explained as she tossed the card to the side. “We’re going to the Metallica concert tomorrow. I’ve got cheer practice Sunday afternoon, and my club meets Sunday nights.”

Chrissy scribbled out another word from her vocab list on a fresh card.

“Right,” Stacey rolled onto her stomach and unfolded the magazine. “I forgot you have your nerd club.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “I still think you would like it. You could pretend to be one of those barbarians from those Conan movies you’re always going on about.”

“Speaking of the concert tomorrow,” Stacey flipped the page of the magazine, “one of the opening bands has an interview in Rolling Stone.”

“That’s cool,” Chrissy remarked without much thought. She froze, pen hovering above the desk, as she recalled that Eddie had mentioned that the band had done an interview with a big magazine during their Thursday phone call. She shook her head. It probably was the other opener—they were much more famous than Corroded Coffin. “Let me know if there’s anything interesting.”

“Will do,” Stacey nodded and turned her attention to the glossy pages on the bed in front of her. Comfortable silence blanketed the room, the only sound the scritch of pen on paper and the flipping of magazine pages until one of their noisy neighbors arrived back home. The slamming door next door and ensuing clatter, as the girl stumbled through the room, jolted Chrissy from her work. She shook her head and grabbed another index card from the pile.

“That’s so sweet!” Stacey cooed, stroking the magazine page.

“What’s sweet?” Chrissy asked without missing a beat.

“The guitarist from that band I mentioned earlier,” Stacey popped her bubblegum. “He writes their songs, and get this—they’re all about the same girl.”

“Hmm,” Chrissy sneered, driving the pen into the index card with a little more force than was necessary. “I’m sure she loves having such a wonderful boyfriend who writes her amazing love songs.”

“They’re not together,” Stacey corrects her, flipping the page.

Chrissy stills. “What do you mean they’re not together?”

“They’re apparently just friends even though he’s been in love with her since middle school. They performed in a talent show together, and he’s been stuck on her ever since.”

Her heart leaped into her throat.

“She gets all of their demo recordings before the public,” Stacey continued, eyes widening as she took in the photograph on the opposite page, “so she just must want to stay friends because if I was her and I had a friend that looked like that who wrote me beautiful love songs, I’d climb him like a tree and maybe—“

Stacey rambled on, but Chrissy couldn’t hear her over the hammering of her own heart, beating against her ribs like a wild bird against the bars of a cage.

“—you know, I never pictured rock stars being into cheerleaders,”

Time stops.

Chrissy’s pen clattered to the floor as she whipped around.

“—but what do I know. I mean, you’re a cheerleader, and you like metal,” Stacey blathered.

“Stacey,” Chrissy stammered, “which band are you talking about?”

“What?” Stacey finally noticed her. “Corroded Coffin, why?”

“Can I see that article?” Chrissy choked, holding back the deluge of tears.

“Sure,” Stacey quirked a brow and handed the magazine over.

Chrissy flipped the magazine open to find Eddie Munson staring up at her from the glossy page flanked by Gareth and the rest of the band. Gasping, she dropped the magazine onto her desk.

“I am an idiot,” she murmured, and a tear slipped out before she could stop it. It rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the magazine.

“Hey,” Stacey bolted upright. “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’m so happy,” Chrissy hiccuped as the waterfall she’d held back for months came crashing down.

Stacey furrowed her brows until she alighted on the graduation and prom photos tacked to Chrissy’s bulletin board. She jumped to her feet, her gaze darting back and forth between the photos and the magazine spread.

“Oh my god!” Stacey exclaimed. “You’re her. You’re the girl from the article.”

“Yep,” Chrissy nodded, wiping her tears with a tissue.

“Which means that the Eddie that calls you every week is a literal rock star who’s been in love with you for years?”

“Apparently,” Chrissy shrugged. She slumped over the desk. “I should have just asked him out months ago.”

“Wow,” Stacey collapsed back on her bed. “That is a lot to process. How in the world did I not put it together sooner? You told me he was in a band. And you made sure we were going to this show so I could meet him.”

“I wanted to surprise him on opening night of his first big tour…” Chrissy said.

”I just thought your Eddie must be a colossal CC fan.” Stacey mused. “To think you’ve know them this whole time… Wait a minute.” She bolted upright. “How did you not know all those songs were about you?”

Chrissy shrugged. “I convinced myself he met some cool metal chick in LA.” She picked at the hem of her shirt. “I was going to ask who she was at the show tomorrow.”

“This is too funny,” Stacey laughed.

“I’m glad you find my emotional turmoil amusing.”

“What are you going to do when you see him?” Stacey asked.

Chrissy turned to the blank poster and art supplies waiting on her bed and grinned.

“I’m going to get my man.”

[dynamic-power]

Steve calls in to the radio show because he's pretty sure Dustin has mentioned Corroded Coffin before - something about them getting their start in Hawkins, of all places - and no one is more shocked than him when he actually wins the tickets. Four seats on the floor, right in front of the stage, and backstage passes for after the concert. Dustin loses his shit when Steve calls him that night and immediately decides that Steve needs to come. Steve has to admit he's intrigued. Dustin mentions Eddie Munson, and Steve vaguely remembers curly hair and speeches in the cafeteria.

He's not prepared for tattoos and rings and piercings or the way the man struts shirtless around the stage like he knows he's hot shit. Every word he says or sings drips sex appeal, and from the moment Eddie catches Steve's eye, does a double take, and fucking winks, Steve is a goner.

Eddie, in that moment, recognizes Steve immediately. How could he not, with the signature hair and perfect face and pretty eyes? He makes it his mission to show off as much as possible. To show perfect Steve Harrington how much better his life has gotten; that the loser is selling out stadiums.

He siezes the opportunity when Steve ends up backstage, flirting shamelessly and even slipping his room number into Steve's back pocket. Showing Steve up is great, but maybe getting sex out of it, too? Even better.

What Eddie isn't prepared for is the way Steve works into Eddie's life like he's always belonged there. An offer for another night when Eddie is in town next turns into late night phone calls and surprise visits to Hawkins and weekends away whenever Steve can afford it. Eddie doesn't expect to end up actually falling for Steve Harrington.

[kitchen-spoon]

Chef Steve dating rockstar Eddie. When Eddie is home from tour writing Steve makes him lunch every day. Eddie records it, gushing over the food and his boyfriend.

Eddie: “today it was rainy and cold so I requested homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

Steve comes in the frame, hair long and brushed up and back. He has little circular glasses he pushes up before he speaks. The movement shows off his hairy forearms, on display as the sleeves of his green and white stripped button up are pushed up to his elbows.

Steve: “This is blistered garlic and basil tomato soup with roasted garlic spread over fresh sour dough toast as an open face grilled cheese with provolone cheese.”

Eddie smiles as Steve explains the dish and then thanks him, tipping his head back for a kiss. He takes the roast and dips it in the soup, bringing it up to carefully take a bite. He moans as his tongue gets a first taste of the soup.

Eddie after he swallows: “oh Steve that is wonderful baby. This is just fantastic.”

He reached out and pulls Steve over, giving his hand a kiss then pulling him down for a real kiss.

Steve accepts the praise easily, smiling against Eddies lips. He stands behind Eddie and smiles proudly as Eddie finishes off the rest of the food. He watches so fondly his eyes are basically cartoon hearts popping out of his face. And Eddie cant stop complimenting and praising Steve and his food.

The video ends with them sharing one last kiss as Steve takes Eddies empty plate away.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

It’s dark. The window is still open, but the chillier air is kind of nice on Eddie’s flushed skin.

The clean bedding is nice too; Eddie tries to remember the last time he appreciated something as nice as clean sheets and draws a blank.

Probably when he still lived with Wayne. Probably before they made it big. Probably before the partying started.

Eddie picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. He presses it.

Wayne doesn’t pick up. Eddie’s not surprised, not really.

He tries Chris; she doesn’t answer either.

Likewise Gareth.

He doesn't bother calling Jeff.

There’s no one else in his phone; Chrissy took it all away when Eddie couldn’t differentiate between a friend a dealer or a booty call.

Like the worst Marie Kondo ever, Chrissy had held up the hundreds of friends Eddie had in his phone, one by one, ‘does this spark joy?’

No. Sometimes sucked his dick, though.

Eddie has money though. He twirls his phone on his chest, flipping it from long edge to short. There’s always somewhere open. Flip. Flip. Flip.

Not like anyone's answering him right now anyway. They’ve just left him here. With fucking Steve. It’s just one time anyway, he wouldn’t get away with it more than once. Chrissy would put him on proper lock down if she found out. Probably shove him back in the clinic.

So...just once.

One last go. And then he’d quit for sure. He hasn’t touched it for months, so he’s pretty much proved he can do it, anyway.

Eddie gets dressed. Finds cash balled up in random places.

Eddie stands in the doorway. Look up at the stars and then across the lawn at the security gates. He hasn’t had so much as a cigarette in nearly half a year. This is fine.

“Where you going, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs. Fucking busted. Still, “no where you need to worry about.”

“Uh hu.”

“Look, I’m not on house arrest okay? I can go out, I’m a grown fucking man.”

“You totally are. You want to go out, you go for it. No skin off my nose.”

Eddie whirls, shocked, “what the fuck? Aren’t you supposed to try and stop me from doing dumb shit?”

Steve raises the eyebrow, “so you admit it’s dumb?” He looks sleep rumpled, wearing sweats and a white tee shirt.

Walked right into that one. “You’re dumb.”

The face again. The totally schooled features that are utterly professional and give absolutely nothing away and yet...somehow...he’s laughing at Eddie. Eddie can feel it.

“So you go out,” Steve saunters over, stands next to Eddie, bare toes curling over the doorstep, “you score or drink or do whatever it is you’re aiming to do. Then what?”

“Then what,” Eddie mimics, all bitchy, “I’ll come home, and I’ll sober up, and it won’t change a fucking thing,” Eddie bites out.

“You think? You’ve had sober spells before, is that how it’s gone in the past?”

Eddie takes a deep breathe, because no, no that is not how it’s fucking gone in the past, “this time is different.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, completely fucking nonchalant, “how so?”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to punch someone so bad in all his life. Imagines it viscerally, Steve's fucking head cracking on the door frame while he slumps to the floor in a bloody heap.

Eddie does not do that, obviously.

“Look, I’ll come home, we don’t do anything about it, you still get paid, sound good?”

“I get paid either way,” Steve shrugs one shoulder, because he’s a cunt. “This is how a lot of addicts die, did you know that?”

“What?” Eddie asks, startled by the left turn.

“Yeah, get out of rehab, think their tolerance is still the same, get back on it…” he doesn’t bother to finish.

“That won’t happen to me.”

“Oh yeah, right. Of course. Because you’re Eddie Munson, sorry, sorry, forgot a second there.”

Eddie takes two thumping angry steps into the yard and just...just fucking screams at the sky. Just...roars at nothing. This is shit. It’s so shit. Everything is shit. And Eddie nearly fucking died last time and there’s no escaping that fact. There’s no help. There’s no point to any of this. There’s just pain and fucking misery and something clawing at Eddie’s insides trying to get out.

He roars until he’s hoarse. Until he can’t any more. Until his chin is wet with spit and he feels week and rung out.

He sits on his ass on the cold, dewy lawn.

Steve is still standing in the doorway, he doesn’t look like he’s moved at all. If he’s at all bothered by Eddie’s little meltdown, he isn’t showing it.

“Why did you want to go?” Steve asks finally, "did something change?"

Eddie shrugs, he’s got nothing, not really. No real reason past just wanting to get fucked up. Because it feels good. Because he likes it.

“Okay, what’s worth staying for?”

Eddie makes a dismissive ‘pfffft’, made croaky by his fucked out voice.

“They always say you need to do these things for yourself,” Eddie glares at Steve, because that's some dumb shit right there. Always had it in therapy though. Self worth. Mindfulness. Living in the moment and being proud of what you’ve already achieved and every journey starts with a single step and all that other bull shit they try and feed you. “I know. I agree. When you...feel like you’re nothing, you’re not worth any effort. It’s the hardest time. So pick someone else. Who can you do it for?”

“They don’t care,” Eddie croaks, “they didn’t answer,” he pulls his phone out, flips it onto the grass.

“Who?”

“Chris. Wayne.”

“Okay, give me a good reason why Wayne didn’t answer? That’s your uncle, right?”

“Yeah he...he could be at work,” Eddie admits quietly. Eddie’s given Wayne money. Well, practically forced it on him. Set him up with a nice place; or at least as nice as he could talk Wayne into. Wayne doesn’t believe in free loading though. Eddie’s convinced him to do less hours, but he still works nights two or three times a week. Claims it’s ninety percent of his social life, or some shit like that.

“Okay, and Chris?”

Eddie shrugs, embarrassment over his outburst making him petulant now.

“Eddie, what time is it where Chris is, right now?”

Eddie sighs up at the stars. It’s the middle of the fucking night, “late. Early. I guess.”

“Okay. So they’re not ignoring you, they’re just living their lives like normal human beings. Come on, get up, your ass is gonna be wet.”

“And do what?” Eddie snaps, “what’s the fucking point.” It’s not a question.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

“It was a tough time, you know? Like, life sucks hard sometimes. Music helps. My favorite is The Wilds, you know? You heard that one?” The interviewer mumbles something indistinguishable, “it’s kind of...like the bit about the shining sea, you know? How like, it’s so beautiful, but it’s fucking hard to sail on. Or like how the mountains are so beautiful, but if you go up there alone, you’re gonna’ die, right? So I think...like how insignificant, and meaningless my life is, in like, the grand scheme of things, but like...that makes what you do even more important, right? Like, it means more, when you choose to be...I dunno,” the kid with a million piercings shrugs, “like just be good to each other, you know?”

“That’s not even remotely what that song is about,” Eddie mumbles at the laptop monitor.

Behind him, Steve snorts a laugh, “well that kid thinks it is.”

Another kid, more makeup than the whole of Kiss slathered on her face, “I just think it has meaning, you know?” The interviewer mumbles something again, “oh my favorite?” A lip bitten in thought, she looks at the sky for inspiration, it’s sunset, Eddie figures. Lots of similarly dressed kids in the background. Takes him a second to realize this was filmed outside of a gig, or something like that. “It’s hard to pick, but if I gotta’, it’s definitely Double Down. Those lyrics are just...Eddie Munson is just...he’s a fucking genius, you know?” She frowns, “but also really fucking dumb soemtimes, I hope he’s okay.”

“I didn’t even write that one. Jeff wrote most of that. On napkins, I think. I just...worked it together.”

Another kid, saying how important Corroded Coffin are; how they helped this kid through hard times. Honestly it’s a difficult watch, Eddie has no fucking clue where Steve even found this, and when Eddie’s phone rings he jumps on it, glad of an excuse to slap the screen of the laptop closed.

“Hi, Eddie! You called, sorry it’s early I got up to go for a run-”

“No. No, it’s fine, I...I shouldn’t have called you so late. Early. You were probably sleeping.”

“That’s okay, of course it’s okay, it’s nice you called me,” she snickers, “you never call me.”

That’s true, and Eddie feels bad. It’s always Chrissy chasing after Eddie. Trying to keep a lid on him...trying to keep him safe. He was always the one dodging her. “Yeah, sorry…” Eddie gets up so he can walk away from Steve, tail between his legs he slinks into the hall, he vows, “I’ll try and do better.”

“Good, how are you feeling? Hows your rut?”

Eddie is not fucking admitting that he just had a breakdown and nearly fucked it all up in the middle of the night. No fucking way is he admitting that, “yeah...yeah, just...couldn’t sleep, you know? I guess the rut...still going. Feels weird.”

Eddie can hear Chris moving around, figures she has him on speaker or something, “uh hu, that’s because you haven’t cycled a proper rut in like, four years honey, these things take time to settle. Is Steve doing okay? You’re not being a cunt to him are you?”

“Well I’ve only thought about punching him,” something jogs in Eddie’s mind, “Chrissy, what happened to the cleaning lady?”

“Oh...we did talk about it honey but you weren't really...taking it in, I don’t think-”

“I was fucked up.”

“Yeah...but she…”

“Just say it.”

“The...you know, the vomit. You were constantly trashing the place. She was worried she was...well she was mostly scared she was going to walk in one day and find your body.”

“Oh.” Eddie slumps down on the bottom step, “that sucks. I liked her.”

“Don’t worry, her final pay was incredible. She got a really impressive bunch of flowers.”

“Oh...well. Thank you. For sorting that.” Eddie’s eyes feel wet. His lip wobbles a little, but he holds it in. He’s got no right to guilt about that, not now. “The place looks okay though, I think Steve’s been cleaning some.”

“Yeah, probably, he seems like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, but the first tear breaks free and he knows he can’t hide it much longer, “go on your run.”

“Okay, speak later?”

“Yeah, course.”

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s so great to hear you sounding more like yourself, I missed you so much.”

Eddie hangs up, draws his knees up to his chest, the material of his sweats already darkened with tears.

Part Four

[xoxoladyaz]

Eddie Munson, frontman and lead guitarist to the four-time Grammy award-winning metal band Corroded Coffin, is notorious for his incredibly complex and hard to replicate guitar solos. Naturally, when the creators of "Guitar Hero" announce their collaboration with Corroded Coffin in their next game, fans are eager to see him easily win the game.

It turns out that he's actually terrible at Guitar Hero, though, and it becomes a huge meme.

(Especially when his normie husband Steve, fed up with Eddie's days of whining while live-streaming on Twitch, picks up the guitar, scores a 96% on expert mode and walks out of the room without another word.)

[dinkeydina]

worked on the designs of spicy six for my Night School steddie AU! 👀

here’s them separately!

[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

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

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

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

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

Eddie stared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um. No I guess not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

[trashcanniballecter]

Eddie is a world famous rockstar so of course there are rumors and theories about him. They are almost all completely ridiculous. Very few, like how he used to be a drug dealer, are actually true. There is one theory that Eddie and everyone who knows him find absolutely hilarious. The theory that Eddie is a Nepo baby. The only son of an extremely rich and prominent family in Indiana. Sure that particular Couple is fairly secretive and the name of their son isn't publicly available. But Eddie is from their home town and he shares their last name! And it's not a common last name at all! They must be his parents and they must have some strong connections in the music world. How else could Eddie Harrington and his band have blown up so fast?

[solarmorrigan]

Wait hold on I'm having a thought

We have rock star Eddie whose dreams take off and who starts going on tour, and we have Steve who misses him while he's away and would love to tag along, except -

He'd grown up watching his father go on business trips (and "business trips") and watching his mother eventually start traveling with him because she didn't trust him

He'd watched his father start to resent his mother and call her overbearing and jealous and controlling, and he doesn't want the same thing to happen between him and Eddie. He doesn't want Eddie to think that he doesn't trust him, or to seem like he's hovering and trying to keep Eddie on some kind of short leash

It takes time for him to realize that Eddie wants him to take an interest in that part of his life. He wants Steve along on his tours, if Steve wants to come, because he loves him and he misses him while he's away, too

It takes time for him to realize that his parents' model of marriage doesn't have to be his own, and with every song Eddie dedicates to "someone special in the audience," with every party he keeps glued to Steve's side through, with every secret smile he aims backstage during a performance, Steve's worries that Eddie is only humoring him (or, worse, harboring some secret resentment) melt away

He isn't a weight around Eddie's neck and he isn't merely tolerated - he's welcomed, and wanted, and loved

[thorniest-rose]

rob zombie/rockstar eddie anon again! I’m so glad you liked the idea because I think it fits in the certain gross metalhead specific brand of dirtbag that eddie is. also this is a bit of a dump of metal/b horror lore, but the rough draft cut of house of 1000 had an extra 40 minutes of b-roll that the studio cut for being too violent and sexual. almost all of that footage was filmed after production just by rob in his basement with his friends, and it included his girlfriend’s character using a skeleton to get off and a whole kidnapped cheerleader subplot. like. I’m not saying eddie would try to sneak his homemade hardcore porn into a major studio motion picture, but that’s also exactly what I’m saying.

also the idea of a steve harrington version of the American Made Music To Strip By album art driving every metalhead in the world just a little bit off the deep end is too good

Oh my GOD but no honestly I love all of this?? I didn't know any of this but it's SO interesting. Just imagining Eddie and his crew in the basement of his mansion filming Steve getting fucked?? Maybe he's playing the cheerleader who's been kidnapped?? Oh my god and then the studio are like "Eddie we can't release this, it's porn and looks like a snuff film" so Eddie just puts it on the internet instead but maybe only for an hour or something and the film becomes this fabled thing and people argue all the time over whether it's real or not. While Steve just continues being Eddie's muse and put in all his music videos and covers of his albums.

Also ugh thank you so much for describing Eddie as a dirtbag??? I see him portrayed as so delicate and fey a lot (which is fine of course if that's what people like) but in my head he's a gremlin and a creep and a complete dirtbag so THANK YOU for agreeing with me!!!

[libraryofgage]

Stardew Valley AU where Eddie is a "burnt out at 27" former rock star who impulse buys a farm in Hawkins Valley for a change and finds he actually really enjoys fixing the place up and getting ridiculously wealthy on cauliflower

Steve is a local who had dreams of being a pro football player but they just...never went anywhere and he somehow ended up local carpenter instead because he likes seeing the appreciation on people's faces when he finishes a job for them

And obviously Eddie needs help fixing up the house, he doesn't know what he's doing there, and Steve spends the whole time talking about the locals until Eddie feels like he's also known them for years and not, like, a week

Anyway Eddie keeps finding increasingly ridiculous jobs around the farm that just can't be done without Steve's help and at some point they kiss about it

[dreamsteddie]

The Cost of Love

Written for the @stmarchmm day 14 prompt “second chance romance” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rock Star Eddie Munson, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington, Cw: Buying Someone in the Name of Love, Not as Creepy as it Sounds - Also on Ao3

Bat divider -@popmilky

The thing about being an Omega that sucks is that you very rarely get to make decisions for yourself.

Somewhere along the line, society decided that Omegas were too weak, too reliant on their packs, to make their own future.

For a lot of things, it was up to the luck of the draw whether or not an Omega got to choose anything or themselves. If they were born into a kind, loving pack who cared about their well being, then chances were high they could live their life in relative peace. If they weren’t well, their only chance at freedom was to find a good Alpha and try to convince them to take you on. 

Otherwise, you would live the rest of your life under someone else’s thumb.

Steve had that, once. An Alpha who saw him, who never tried to stifle him, who held him close but never down. They had two wonderful years together. They’d met in Steve’s junior year, fresh off a rejection, all alone. Packless. Eddie had scooped him up, taken him under his wing, and they’d almost instantly fallen in love.

They were inseparable.

Until they weren’t.

Because no matter how dedicated, how in love they both were, Steve was still under the legal guardianship of his parents. He thought they were being sneaky. Thought by the time they found out, it would be too late. But someone caught them, saw them sitting just a little too close at the diner or sharing candy in the darkness of the movie theater and called his parents. That’s all it took.

One day, he was falling asleep in the arms of the Alpha he was planning to mate as soon as he was 18, the next he was being locked in his all but abandoned bedroom on his weekly trip to switch out his clothes. His parents wasted no time in shipping him off, finding a ‘suitable’ Alpha to set him straight and make him a good Omega.

It felt like he was being torn apart.

The only saving grace was that this Alpha had no interest in mating him, he was only interested in an attractive, young Omega to hang off his arm after his last mate passed. It made Steve sick just to think about it, the Omega that came before him, how easily she had been forgotten and replaced. It didn’t really matter, though. None of it mastered. At the end of the day, even if he wasn’t mated, he was legally bound to his position. His parents had sold his future away for their own gain. 

He wonders, every day, if Eddie thinks of him. He wonders if he knows what happened, or he’s out there thinking that Steve just up and left him. On his worst days, he wonders if Eddie found himself a new mate.

Those days, he doesn’t bother to get out of bed, and his Alpha knows better than to try by now.

This has been his life for six years, and these days, he can almost pretend he’s ok. One month in, his Alpha put him on rejection blockers, tired of his new toy constantly scenting like rotten, sad Omega. They helped, made the ever-present ache in his chest feel distant. Made him feel distant.

Today was another party. Some gala or fundraiser or whatever that required him to put on a dress and hold on to his Alpha’s arm. Steve hated them, hated that Eddie wasn’t the one he was holding on to, that he wasn’t the first one to pick out a pretty dress for him to wear, but by now he was used to it.

All the signs and gift bags told him today was a music charity event. Something for underprivileged children who deserved a creative outlet. The thought of it made his chest squeeze painfully, even through the blockers. It was exactly the kind of thing Eddie would have loved.

He’s thinking so hard about him that for a moment, he thinks he sees him out there in the crowd of actual VIPs. He catches sight of dark curly hair and a lanky frame and he feels his heart leap, but he quickly shoves it down. There’s no way Eddie would be here at an event like this. He turns away, tuning in to the conversation his Alpha is having with another benefactor. 

They're getting ready to move into the dining room when things change. All these events are the same. Drop off your coat, mingle in the foyer, eat an overpriced meal, listen to a speech, applaud for the entertainment, mingle again, go home, and rest your aching feet.

But this time is different, because one moment he’s getting ready to finally sit down and give his feet a rest from these heels, and the next there’s a gentle hand around his wrist.

And a voice he’d know anywhere.

“Steve?”

And a face he could never forget how to love.

“Eddie?”

He can feel his Alpha tighten his hold on him, trying to pull him into the next room. Steve doesn’t care, he digs his heels in and makes him stop. He’s not leaving Eddie behind. Not now, not again. He can see the other Alpha, his real Alpha, look him up and down. Steve wonders if he looks different, he tries not to look in the mirror too long these days.

“Can I help you, sir?” His Alpha asks, posturing like he’d have any chance if Eddie decided to challenge him. At 53, his Alpha is getting a little pudgy in the middle and, more importantly, has given up on the gym in the last two years. Eddie looks mad enough to take on a bear. His eyes don’t leave Steve, but he can feel his hand tighten where he hasn’t let go of Steve’s wrist.

Eddie doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at Steve, the scent of pissed off Alpha starting to fill the space around them. It should probably make Steve cower, but it just makes him feel safe. Complete in a way he hasn’t been in six years. Eddie’s gaze travels, taking in his face before trailing down and getting stuck on his untouched mating gland. Steve watches as the Alpha’s nostrils flare wide, finally turning to Steve’s Alpha, lifting up to his full height to posture back. People are probably watching them, but Steve doesn’t care.

“How much?” Eddie asks, which, what?

“Excuse me?” His Alpha asks, clearly confused.

“How much, to buy your marriage contract?” Eddie says, clearly losing patience. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, not even the blockers could stop the feeling of molten hope rising in his chest. He wants to say something, to beg his Alpha to let him go, but he holds his breath instead. Doesn’t want to risk drawing too much attention to himself.

Steve’s Alpha laughs, that stupid rich-person laugh that always makes the Omega grind his teeth. “I really don’t think that’s appropriate, son. And anyway, I wouldn’t let this one go for anything less than a million, which I highly doubt is within your price range.” He gives Steve a tug as he says this, drawing him in and lifting a hand to his face to stroke his cheek. It’s a move that Steve hasn’t flinched at in years, but with Eddie watching, he can’t help but tilt his head away in shame. “Such a pretty face shouldn’t be wasted,” his Alpha finishes.

Eddie’s hand is gripping him hard enough to bruise. Steve kind of hopes it does. His Alpha was right; the Eddie Steve knew could never afford that price, and even if he could, Eddie had always been surprisingly frugal. He wouldn’t waste it all to buy an Omega he hasn’t seen since they were teens.

“One and a half million.”

“What?” This time, it’s Steve who speaks. And oh, there’s that look. That look Eddie used to give him every morning, every time they kissed goodnight, every time they scented. Eddie still loves him, even after all this time. He still wants Steve.

“Now young man, I really don’t think you should make jokes like that. You clearly don’t belong here,” his Alpha says, referring to Eddie’s dirty docs and ripped jeans. He probably thinks he’s one of those underprivileged youths.

Eddie drags his eyes away again, baring his fangs mean and smug. “You really don’t give a shit about who you donate to, do ya buddy?” He says, leaning in to leverage his superior height. “This is my god damn charity dip shit. Lead singer and founding member of Corroded Coffin, at your service.”

Oh. Steve thinks. Of course.

Because Steve had always known, even if he could never really say he understood it, that Eddie was talented. Extremely talented. Of course he’d gone out and made a name for himself. He’s probably been out there gaining fans and winning awards while Steve lived under his rock, kept away from the real world. Shielding himself from the light of day.

He couldn’t be prouder.

Something must bloom in his scent because Eddie is turning that look back at him with that look again. “I can cut you the check right here, right now. I’ll walk you to the bank right now if that’s what you want, but I’m not leaving here without Steve.” It’s the assurness in his voice, the finality to his declaration that wakes Steve up fully.

He’s allowed himself to become a passenger in his own life, floating between the days when he could have been running. Maybe trying to escape, even if the law was against him. Meanwhile, Eddie has been out there, presumably, loving him through the last six, miserable years.

He can’t let this opportunity pass him by. He won’t.

People are definitely staring now, stopping to stare at the person they’re all here to support making a scene, but Steve doesn’t let that scare him. He rips his arm out of his Alpha’s grip, turning his back to Eddie, taking solace in the warmth of his shadow, letting it fuel him. “You can keep my dowry,” he says, facing his Alpha. This small man who owns him. Steve used to think of himself as strong, large for an Omega and defiant to society's expectations for him to be dainty and sweet and empty. “I’ll sign it over to you, but I’m going with Eddie.” He can feel Eddie’s hand on his upper arm, letting him know he’s there with him.

His Alpha, his hopefully soon to be former Alpha, is giving him an appraising look. Not the one he gave him that day he picked him up from his childhood home, like he was a lamb ripe for the slaughter. This look is like the ones he’s seen on the days his Alpha brought him into the office to show him off, like he's weighing the pros and cons of a major deal. It means he’s taking them seriously. “One and a half? Plus the full dowry? Are you willing to put that in writing?”

Steve can feel Eddie’s heart beating where he’s pressed himself flush with Steve’s back, his scent blooming sugary spice with his excitement. Eddie catches him waving his arm behind him, making some kind of gesture to someone in the crowd. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers right now.” A pretty blond draws up to Eddie’s side and if it wasn’t for the way Eddie has wrapped his arms around his waist, Steve might feel worried about him whispering in her ear.

There’s a serious look on her face, which is quickly overtaken by wide eyes and a sharp gasp, her eyes turning toward the Omega. “Steve? Your Omega?” And oh, that makes Steve want to purr, the fact that this lady has heard of him. The idea that Eddie has been talking about him all these years.

Her face firms, her position as a high-profile lawyer evident in her stance. “Sir, if you’ll follow me, I can get those papers drafted right away. Would you prefer a check or a direct wire transfer?” Her smile is sweet but leaves no room for argument. This is really happening

Holly shit this is happening.

Not in his wildest dreams did Steve ever think he would be free. He’d resigned himself to keeping his memories of life with Eddie at the forefront of his brain and staying on the rejection blockers for the rest of his life.

Now, it’s looking like he won’t have to content himself with memories anymore. Maybe he can have the real thing. He’s almost afraid to breathe, afraid to turn around, like the whole thing will be an elaborate dream. Like any pressure from his expanding chest will make the arms around his waist turn into a fine vapor.

“Hey, let’s get you out of here, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers in his ear, picking up on his distress.

Steve should probably say no. Should probably let Eddie go in there and be a part of his own charity event and get a grip. Maybe step out for some fresh air. But he doesn't. He lets himself turn to face his Alpha, his real Alpha, his only Alpha, and take a breath.

“Take me home Alpha. We have a lot to catch up on.”

[katyawriteswhump]

love and other catastrophes at the omega cafe (1/8 and index post, fic now complete 🐈‍⬛)

So I posted about this idea before here, (and was overwhelmed by the response—thank you!) but basically a cat café opened near me and inspired this:

Summary: Steve is a runaway Omega who gets a job at an Omega café, where he’s basically paid to curl up and purr in Alphas’ laps. It’s legal, and he earns a living, rents his own place. He’s getting along fine for a packless Omega. Then Alpha rockstar Eddie Munson turns up for an hour of ‘kitty’ petting, and shatters Steve’s fragile little world…

Rating: E; No major warnings, sexual content, omega-verse; Tags: omega steve, alpha eddie, a/b/o dynamics, fluff and angst; (It won't get tooooo angsty, I promise, and I should probably write a shorter version, but this seemed to want to get bedded in for some plot, so...) read on A03 and thank you @lexirosewrites for being so patient with my weird belated questions about what do with my idea!

Chapter 1 (below) Chapter 2 Chapter 3.1 Chapter 3.2 Chapter 4.1 Chapter 4.2 Chapter 5.1 Chapter 5.2 Chapter 6.1 Chapter 6.2 Chapter 7.1 Chapter 7.2 Chapter 8.1 Chapter 8.2 and THE END

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

Chapter 1

Steve clocked in with Carol at the coffee counter and cosied up on a beanbag waiting for the first customer to arrive. He couldn’t stop yawning and struggled to keep his eyes open.

He didn’t usually work the Monday morning graveyard shift at ‘Kitties’—otherwise known as the Omega Café. Carol usually put him on the weekends, which were their busiest times. Plenty of Alphas—and sometimes Betas—were free then, to pass an hour with a cute Omega purring in their lap.

For a cost, naturally.

Steve, though, had called in sick yesterday and needed to make up his lost earnings. He’d been in heat. So, three days of cold sweats, congealed slick, and crippling cramps. At least the blockers he used for this job curbed his desperation to be fucked. All the same, a dull gnawing pain in his pelvis persisted, he’d barely slept and…

…Ugh, this beanbag was, if anything, too inviting and soft.

He’d gotten his most comfy, stretchy shorts on, his most butter-soft collar, and an only-slightly-cropped-at-the-midriff vest. His feet were bare, which was fortunate. Right now, only his icicle toes were keeping him awake. He was tempted to grab one of the many fluffy blankets scattered around the café, pull it up over him and snooze.

He was torn between asking Carol for a double espresso or napping—to be fair, it was unlikely anybody would join them till noon—when the bell on the door tinkled.

So much for a peaceful snooze.

Fortunately, rather than a hungover Alpha, Robin burst in. On spotting Steve, her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. She hurried up to the counter and presented Carol with her Apple-Pay. “Flat white with an extra shot, and an hour of kitty cuddles, please.”

“Sure.” The payment bleeped through, and Carol turned to grind the coffee beans. She never bothered with great customer service for Steve’s best friend. That said, customer service wasn’t Carol’s strength at the best of times. Steve liked that about her. For an Omega, she was a bitey feral, and she sure had their boss, Tommy, under her claw.

Robin sat down at a table, pulled a cushion onto her lap. Steve shuffled over on his knees and laid his head on the cushion:

“Jesus, Robin,” he whispered, as she started to pet his hair. It was usual practice for Omegas to wait till the customer spoke first, but this was, well, Robin. “You don’t have to pay to see me, you know that?”

“Apparently, I do, Dingus! I’ve been going out of my mind! Why didn’t you return my, like, billion texts?”

“Shit. Sorry.” Her fretful pettings only made him feel more guilty. “I’m out of data, and you know how shit Wi-Fi is in Sunshine Village. Plus, I had really bad cramps this month—I could barely crawl out of bed this morning.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. God, I’m sorry, too.” She slowed her strokes, as they both relaxed a little. “I worry about you all the time, living there. Working here. I wish I could take you home with me. Damn, I should rent somewhere you’re actually allowed to live.”

“No way. I’m fine, Robin. Seriously, I’ve landed on my feet. I like having my own little home. The heating is working in my block this week, and this is a pretty cushy gig.”

Steve didn’t even say that for the benefit of Carol, who’d just dumped Robin’s coffee on the table, slopping half of it into the saucer.

Steve had arrived in the city four months ago, down to his last few dollars. He’d soon realized that acceptable Omega jobs—teaching assistant, nanny, seamstress, junior positions in retail and catering—would all require handing over too much information about himself. He’d also swiftly discovered that Sunshine Village, the district he’d heard about where single Omegas could live unmolested, was little better than a slum.

He’d been caught between the terrifying choices of fleeing back home, starving, or sex work. Then he’d stumbled across this place.

If Tommy had checked the fake name Steve gave, he hadn’t cared. Steve got paid in cash after each shift and earned enough to rent a small place in the Village. Which, despite its shabbiness, turned out to be full of friendly, supportive Omegas.

It all meant he didn’t have to worry about Robin being evicted from her pleasant ‘beta’ neighbourhood for harbouring an unregistered Omega.

Robin chatted on, while sipping the remnants of her coffee and petting Steve idly. While she complained about how unfair the world was for Omegas—they’d met when Steve had turned up at an Omega soup-kitchen she volunteered at—her speech also underlined his point.

His life could be a shitload worse.

This morning, he was being paid for his best friend to give him much-needed bodily contact in a no-strings-attached fashion. While he didn’t have to force fake purrs for her, like he did for the majority of customers, soft sleepy purring happened anyhow.

After Robin left for work, the café was empty again. Carol made them both hot chocolate then turned her attention to doing her nails. Steve breakfasted on an out-of-date lemon muffin, which was still nice and gooey in the middle, then slipped out to the washroom for the second time since Robin left. He needed to re-check his hair.

He was reapplying his eyeliner, when he heard the bell tinkle again.

So much for the ‘graveyard’ shift. He pinched his pale cheeks, bracing himself to face whoever wanted to cuddle him next.

A high-pitched squeal from Carol pierced Steve’s hearing—one that was probably only audible to other Omegas.

And the scent snatched his breath.

The Omega café was flushed with scent-neutralising air fresheners, for obvious reasons. Whoever this Alpha was, his musk was potent enough to punch straight through. It nearly floored Steve with low notes of leather and woodsmoke, and high notes of… Christ, Steve didn’t know what that was.

Plums? Fine Californian wine?

It set his mouth watering, for all of a split second.

Carol! Was she okay?

He rushed from the washroom and peeped from behind a thick velour curtain.

Carol was fine. She was taking payment from an Alpha with long, slightly-frizzy retro hair, a jean jacket—who the fuck wore those?—and dark soulful eyes.

Steve’s heart rate spiked.

The Alpha was pretty damn good-looking, and young too, maybe only a year or so older than Steve.

He was also faintly familiar.

Did Steve know him from back home? Would he recognise Steve?

“So, how does this work?” asked the newcomer. His drawling accent sent a shiver down Steve’s spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His voice was as sexy as the rest of him… and that definitely wasn’t a North County accent. Steve relaxed slightly, ogling the guy who was literally setting both his and Carol’s legs wobbling.

“You pay up front for an hour of kitty cuddles,” she said. “You have to order a minimum of one drink, and all new customers must read and sign our rules and disclaimers.”

“Ma’am, it’s Monday morning.” The Alpha sounded wearily amused, gesturing to the three-page fine-print document she shoved across the counter. “Do I really have to read all this?”

“How about I summarize for you.” Yup, Carol was being helpful and polite. Either someone kidnapped the real Carol, or this Alpha really was special. “You’re not about to go into rut, I take it? Because if you are, Sir, I’m really, really sorry—we can’t take that risk here, or we could get shut down.”

The Alpha shook his head. While Carol reeled off a few pertinent points—“no scenting, obviously. No kissing,”—his gaze snapped onto where Steve skulked, half-hidden behind the drapes.

Steve jumped back out of sight.

“Soooo,” said the Alpha, when Carol finally stopped talking. “To summarise—I can stroke the pussies, but I can’t stroke the pussies?”

Carol giggled. Though they’d all heard that joke, and every variation on it, at least a billion times.

“Pretty much,” she said. “We’re absolutely NOT a brothel. And don’t expect cat-ears and whiskers and all that jazz. Thursday is usually full-costume night, and… erm, right now, we only have one kitty, and he seems to have strayed. Boy kitty okay with you?”

“Yes, thank you, Ma’am,” said the Alpha.

“Cool. I’ll go coax him out with a saucer of milk or something.”

She found Steve backed up against the dingy back-corridor wall, knees basically jello. “Get out there! Christ, you do realize who that is?”

Steve shook his head, throat too tight to speak. He honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him. Alphas moseyed in and out of this place every day. He was usually able to keep himself together.

“It’s Eddie Munson! Lead singer of Corroded Coffin? Super-hot and super-famous bad-boy Alpha rockstar? Jeeees, you really did live in a box till you got here, didn’t you? Look, get out there—before I tell him boy kitty is off the menu, grab my skimpiest bikini, and burrow into that scorching lap myself.”

She nudged him through the curtain. Eddie Munson had already settled onto one of the cafe’s roomiest couches, arms splayed along the back.

Legs splayed too.

Eddie glanced up and those gorgeous eyes raked Steve, head-to-toe, stripping him so bare he might as well have forgotten his shorts. The Alpha’s grin spread slowly, revealing glinting incisors, and creasing up into the sexiest dimples Steve had ever seen.

Steve wasn’t sure how he made it across the room. Somehow, he did, shuffling the final few feet on his knees.

“Hello, Kitty,” said Eddie. Possibly taking pity, he closed his legs. He shoved his thighs forward so Steve could easily lay his head in them.

Steve did so, facing out across the café. His heart skittered like a little prey animal’s. It was only then that he realized Eddie hadn’t placed a cushion on his thighs. Well, if Carol hadn’t highlighted that part of the rules, Steve was hardly in a position to do it now.

Eddie didn’t mess around. Strong fingers plowed straight into the springy mass of Steve’s hair. “What’s your name, Honey?”

“Uh… St-steve?”

Who fucking stammers answering his own name?

“Hi, Steve. I’m Eddie.” He leaned a little closer, hot breath joining those strong fingers to send Steve even deeper into fluster. “How do you put up with the stink in here? I mean, I get it. All those Alpha-Omega scents battering each other would make this place a real fleshpot. Shame, though. I bet you smell real sweet. I mean, I think I get a whiff of you, even now.”

“You get used to it,” squeaked Steve, cutting that line of conversation off pronto.

“You get used to the diabolical plinky-plonky piano music too, Steve?”

“Honestly, I don’t even hear it anymore.”

To be fair, Steve didn’t hate the perpetual loop of movie theme-tune classics for exactly that reason. Even the smoochiest love songs—like the instrumental version of “Everything I do, I do it for you,” currently playing—didn’t mess with his emotions in the way music so often did.

Eddie snorted a dry chuckle, leaning back against the cushions again. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You’re right, Steve,” drawled Eddie, massaging deliciously into Steve’s scalp, “it’s pretty easy not to hear it. You have got the cutest purr.”

Steve’s eyes flew wide. He hadn’t even realized he was purring yet! Yeah, he could fake purr, but he’d been too befuddled to get to that. Now, he shook with loud rattling purrs that he could barely control.

Omegas purred when they were happy and relaxed, and also when distressed, to comfort themselves. He’d been reduced to that over the weekend. These purrs, though, grew couch-quakingly loud and felt different from anyway he’d purred before.

“You okay there, Honey?” Thank heavens Eddie was nice, though that made Steve’s weirdness all the more inexplicable. Eddie ran the back of coolish fingers down Steve’s burning cheek.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Steve. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His hormones must still be doing weird things after his chemically fucked-up heat.

He probably should’ve called in sick today too.

“Don’t apologise,” Eddie said. “Look, it’s freakin’ Monday morning. I’m the weirdo Alpha checking this place out. You’re just doing your job, and you’re mighty fine at it, I’m sure.” The words washed through Steve, their brutal truth leaving an awkward residue. “Listen, I’m just gonna sip my coffee and chill. You reckon you can chill too, little kitty?”

“Yes, Alpha,” murmured Steve. The preening growl that jostled from Eddie was enough to make Steve desperate to obey.

He didn’t usually call anybody Alpha on the job. It wasn’t strictly against the rules, but unless a client demanded it—and only the real a-holes did—the kitties avoided it.

Eddie, though, had dragged it from Steve before he could think about it, much like those purrs.

And much like how, a minute or so of petting later, Steve found himself purring effortlessly, and totally relaxed. He wasn’t even stressed by the fact that his cheek rested dangerously close to Eddie’s Alpha dick. Which appeared to be ballooning slightly beneath his thick pair of sweatpants.

This was exactly why the cushions were compulsory. Though Steve barely had time to worry.

“Steve,” said Eddie, fingering around the edge of Steve’s collar in a fashion that literally made Steve’s eyes cross with yumminess. “Are there any rules against you getting in my lap for proper cuddles?”

“No. Absolutely not.” There really wasn’t, though of course, it only worked with the larger Alphas. There’d been no way Steve could’ve fitted into a Beta like Robin’s lap, for example, without some level of squishing. Eddie was, to be fair, not the largest Alpha around, but he was certainly large enough.

After some not-too-awkward manoeuvring—and guided by Eddie’s hand in the small of his back—Steve soon found himself sitting across Eddie’s lap. Eddie scooped him close, and his arms curled around Eddie’s neck.

He stared point-blank into the fathomless depths of Eddie’s dark eyes. Nope. Too much. He dipped his gaze, then squeaked. Now, he fixed on Eddie’s jawline and throat, dusted with scruff, and which drew him like, well, catnip.

Steve inhaled oaky-smoky plums and… Holy crap, what even was that? He was in serious danger of burying his face there and violating the no-scenting rule himself.

Once again, Eddie sensed his discomfort and guided Steve’s head down onto his shoulder, holding him there. “Hey, any chance of another coffee,” Eddie called to Carol. “Extra-large mocha with marshmallows, please, Ma’am? Think I might be settling here for a while.”

After that, Eddie appeared to go out of his way to make Steve even more comfortable. Perhaps noting Steve’s squirmings over getting too close to his scent gland, he slid a thin throw cushion beneath Steve’s cheek. He then settled them both back against the comfiest, most enveloping part of the sofa. He pulled one of those fluffy blankets up over them both. Soon, a floaty weariness, bone-deep but pleasant, overcame Steve.

Even his ovaries had stopped bugging him. God, this was nice. He really got paid for this? Damn, he’d fallen on his feet and Eddie smelled divine. He couldn’t help but daydream about that huge Alpha dick nestled stupid-close to his pussy, with only two layers of fabric between them. He was too sleepy to get too excited, tho’. He soon floated on the surface of a calm ocean, safe and serene…

When Steve began waking up, a honeyed glow saturated his head and heart and previously aching pelvis. He couldn’t remember his dreams, but they must’ve been good ones. He felt complete and happy and… he flicked his eyes open. Oh shit! The cafe buzzed with conversation. Several other kitties had come on shift and were snuggling with Alphas.

He’d fallen asleep on a customer’s lap.

Steve’s focus snapped onto the clock behind the counter, where Carol and her assistant, Chrissy, who also did kitty duties, were rushing around making lunches.

1.57 pm.

He’d been asleep on the job for nearly three hours.

Asleep in the lap of…

“Hey there,” drawled Eddie, “somebody’s a sleepy kitty.”

Steve daren’t look up. Was Eddie pissed? He didn’t sound it.

Steve opened his mouth. Shut it again, dabbing the corner. His head had slipped off the pillow and rested against Eddie’s chest. The Alpha’s booming heartbeat mingled with an amused chuckle.

Steve wasn’t laughing: “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I drooled on your t-shirt!”

“I know.” Eddie’s low rumbling sigh was one of the most contented sounds Steve had ever heard. “You gonna charge extra for that, Honey?”

Chapter 2 on tumblr On A03

🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛ I have got quite a bit of this fic drafted, so hopefully more soon. If you’re enjoying, please let me know, or like and reblog... it means a lot to know somebody would like to read more *purrs hopefully* and thank you soooo much for reading this far 💚