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deathbecomesthem · 2 months

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Good Neighbors

Artwork by the one, the only, the @dr-aculaaa - There's a sweet treat of another piece of artwork at the end of this fic.

*I'm a shit for neglecting to mention that @jo-harrington commissioned the artwork for me, and encouraged this fic every step of the way.

Super Perv!Eddie x Older!Fem!Reader | 5.4K

A/N: This is a reupload from Chesty based on a random request. Many people were involved in the creation of this beast. I have a love/hate relationship with this scumbag.

*There is no actual sexual contact between this reader and Eddie. He has some elaborate fantasies about her. He crosses lines, and it's uncomfy. I consider this a bit out of character.

Contains: Stalker behavior, crossing of privacy boundaries, a pipe bomb, male masturbation, and cum eating. (and food play)

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Eddie Munson, sweetheart of Forest Hill Trailer Park, is sitting at the picnic table that sits between your trailers. It is 6:30 am. Before you moved into the park, Eddie Munson didn’t wake up before 8:45 am. It’s different now. He’s the kind of guy that gets up with the sun, coffee mug, Camels, and battered paperback in hand, to sit in the crisp spring morning air. To see you.

Eddie is a sweetheart. That has always been true about him, but it’s only been the last few years that it’s an accepted fact within his community. He’s had his fair share of problems, he’s been in and out of legal trouble. He’s made some questionable choices as far as making money goes, but he’s a good man. Always has been. Even Eddie thinks he might be a good man.

Eddie has been walking Mrs. Olson’s terrier every morning and afternoon since she had her shoulder replaced two weeks ago. He does brake jobs for the cost of parts and a six pack for anyone that asks. He even got some lumber and rope to put up a couple of swings around the park for the kids. He has a respectable job down at Danny’s Garage. He’s not just a mechanic, he’s a supervisor now. He’s reliable. He might be a little late in the mornings, but he never misses work, the customers love him, and the guys love that he still has a hookup and can supply cheap herb whenever they ask for it.

This morning Eddie has his book, The Talisman - open to page 243. Eddie’s had this book open to page 243 every morning this week. Eddie’s not progressing in the story. He’s not getting lost in the worlds that King and Straub have described in those pages that are already yellowing from exposure to tobacco smoke. He’s waiting behind the pages. He’s anticipating. He’s holding his prop, his reason for being here. The book is, of course, a ruse - and you are the intended target.

This Monday morning, you’re dressed in your usual jogging outfit for these chilly late spring mornings. OSU sweatshirt and matching gray sweatpants. Eddie silently prays to Mother Nature for the true warmth of summer. He wants the heat of the sun to coax you out of those warm clothes and into a pair of jogging shorts. A tank top that shows the lines of a sports bra. Maybe even just a sports bra on really hot days.

Eddie is already sporting an erection just thinking about the possibilities, which makes getting up and walking over to greet you at the foot of your front steps a bad idea. He’s wearing his work coveralls with a white tank top and shorts underneath. It gets hot in the garage, even when it’s not full mid-summer heat. He knows for a fact that his unfortunate boner will be on full display against the poly/cotton blend fabric.

You were hoping to run into Eddie this morning. Such a nice young man, and so helpful to you since the first day you arrived in Hawkins. Your arm was still in the sling at the time, and he made a fuss about making sure you didn’t lift anything heavier than your purse. He spent the better part of the day carrying boxes into your new home with his sweet smile spread across his full lips. A handsome guy, it was no surprise when a pretty girl pulled up that evening and headed to his trailer. You don’t know what happened to her, but after a couple of weeks in the park, she stopped coming by. A shame, Eddie deserves a good woman. You tell him all the time, if you were 20 years younger, you’d snatch him up.

You’ve got a few things you’d like him to do around your trailer when he has the time. Rick, your current boyfriend, isn’t the type to do manual labor. He’s also a good man, a respectable lawyer at that. He’s kind. It’s ok that he can’t put in a garbage disposal. It’s ok that he doesn’t know how to fix your leaky sink. He’s offered to pay a plumber, but Eddie seems to genuinely care about you. You like that, it feels right to be in a community like this after living in hell for so long. It makes you feel safe knowing that the Munsons are right next door, keeping an eye on things.

“Good morning, Eddie!” You have a niggling feeling that Eddie had been looking in the direction of your trailer just before you looked up to see if he was in his usual spot. He always has the brightest smile for you, even in the early hours of the day. Today is no exception. What a nice surprise to find out the sweet young man next door is also an early bird, up with the sun every day. It’s not what you would have expected from a leather wearing, motorcycle wearing, tattooed metalhead. You were happy to put aside your preconceived notions for him.

“Howdy, neighbor!” As usual, he’s got a Camel lit and perched between his ringed fingers. Funny that he wears them to the garage every day knowing that he’ll have to take them off before he starts work, but he has them prettily adorned on his fingers every time you see him.

“I’m so so glad I caught you,” Eddie preened a little at your smile and kind words. He loves it when you stop for a chat. It’s the reason he gets up at these ungodly hours, he knows it’s a chance to see you. To talk to you. To catch a whiff of your scent. “I’m wondering if I could have you do some handyman work around my place again. I’m happy to pay for it –“

“We’ve talked about this before,” Eddie’s hand is up in the air as soon as you utter the word “pay”, stopping your train of thought before it can really start to pick up steam.

“Well,” you let out a deep sigh to show your faux annoyance, “there’s a pie and roast beef dinner with your name on it, at least. You’ve got my key. I’ll leave a note with what needs to be done along with some cash for any parts you might need. Thank you, I should probably know how to do most of this stuff myself, but I’m useless.”

“Pretty ladies don’t need to know how to snake a drain, we’ve been over this. If Rick doesn’t have the time, your good friend Eddie does. What are neighbors for?” His smile, as always, reassures you. He really doesn’t mind helping the middle-aged lady next door with silly little tasks. And he always leaves your place immaculate, cleaner than when he came to do the work.

“God, what would I do without you? You’re such a sweet boy, Eddie.” Eddie’s erection presses hard against his thigh at your praise, and aches painfully when you give his forearm a little squeeze. “If I were about 20 years younger…” the sentiment hangs in the air as you turn and begin your trail jog, leaving Eddie sitting alone with only his uncomfortable boner to keep him company.

You say it every time he’s sweet to you. If I were about 20 years younger, and Eddie wants nothing more than to tell you that he doesn’t want that. He wants you now. But that’s not going to happen with your clean cut, age-appropriate boyfriend in the picture. A boyfriend that takes you to nice dinners once a week. A boyfriend that drives an expensive car. A boyfriend that will probably pull you out of your post-divorce poverty and put you up in his cute suburban home with a white picket fence.

Eddie watched you return from your jog from the front window of his trailer. It was already getting too warm, and you had taken off your sweatshirt, exposing a wide armed talk top with a sports bra underneath. Sweat was trickling down your neck. He couldn’t see it from this distance, but he knew there would be beads of it kissing your soft skin. He thought about what it would be like for his tongue to catch that saltiness. Let his tongue slide across your collarbone. He could almost taste you, from the imagining alone. Smell you.

Eddie wonders if you do it on purpose. He wonders if you bend down with your ample behind pointed in the direction of his front window hoping he’ll see it. He likes to imagine that you do. He likes to imagine that you know what you do to him, that the game is something you’re playing together. He thinks about putting his face in the cradle of your neck while he pulls down those gray sweatpants. He thinks about dropping down to spread your ass for him. He thinks about letting his tongue taste you while you’re still glistening with sweat. It would be so good. Yes. He thinks about this while he watches you. He thinks about this while he tugs at his aching cock. He fists at himself furiously while you arch your back and let the sun shine down on your face. He’s been hard since you came out of your trailer this morning, and he’s been patiently waiting for your return to relieve himself. He has a pair of your panties under his nose, a pair you were sure your dryer ate at some point. Your scent is faint, but still present. It’s not until after you’ve climbed the steps to your trailer that he wraps those cotton panties around his length and releases himself with a groan.

Eddie tucks himself away and immediately checks his coveralls for any possible stray cum stains. Regret and disgust begin to creep into his mind before he can fully push them back, but he knows it doesn’t matter. He’ll still be a few minutes late for work because he needs to know which outfit you’ve decided to wear today. Will it be the dockers with the wide black belt paired with one of your short-sleeved sweaters? Or maybe the dress you bought last week that you’re worried about being a little too casual for the office?

Eddie doesn’t know this stuff about you because you and he have girl chats over cups of coffee in the afternoon. He knows this stuff about you because he’s observant. He listens. Your trailers are close together, after all, and when the windows are open, he can sometimes pick up bits of conversations. Some of them are between you and Ricky, some of them are one sided phone conversations with your friends. It’s not creepy. He can’t help it. He’s making sure. He’s keeping an eye out. You deserve to be safe and happy, and he’s going to do his goddamned best to make sure that happens. He would never pry.

The first time he saw you, your pain cried out to him. Your broken arm was still healing, and there were still faint yellowing bruises scattered across your pretty face. Eddie knew exactly what happened before he ever had the evidence. It took a few weeks, but he put the pieces together, and found out about him, the ex. He found out where he worked. An insurance agent with his own office. Well – he had an office in downtown Dayton, Ohio. Stand-up guy, except for the part where he beats his wife.

Eddie had only meant to scare him a little. He threw the pipe bomb into the dumpster and drove away. He didn’t check to make sure there was nothing flammable inside, because there are rules about that kind of thing. It’s not really his fault what happened, plus no one was in the building anyway. He expected to cause a little confusing mess, but the entire place ended as kindling. Eddie still thinks the guy got off easy.

Of course, he recognizes now that it was too far. How would he be able to make sure you’re doing ok if he’s stuck behind bars? What he wanted to do was strangle the ex with his bare hands and watch the light of life blow out of his eyes. But it’s better to stay where he is, to keep an eye out. Plus, Rick is a really good guy. So far.

Eddie,

Thank you, a million times over. You’re such a sweetheart for doing this for me. I made a pie last night, have a slice (or two) if you want and there’s beer in the fridge. I’ll be back around 4, and I’m making your favorite for your dinner payment.

xoxoxo,

your favorite neighbor

The note hangs on the metal door of your trailer, you’d left early. You’re working a double at the diner, and it’s Eddie’s day off. Convenient for him. He can work uninterrupted. He can have the place to himself. His cock is hard just thinking about being in your space with your things. He hopes there’s some laundry left in the hamper just inside your bedroom door. He hopes you went jogging this morning, that maybe your sweatband would be sitting on your vanity.

Your living room is tidy, it’s always tidy. A People magazine, a TV Guide, an ashtray, and a lilac scented candle sit on the coffee table at the center of the room when he enters. You don’t smoke, but Ricky does, and she never minds if you do when you’re in her place. You even asked Eddie the other night if he’d want to share a joint with her sometime when you caught a whiff of the weed smoke coming from his porch. He brought some weed today just in case you were serious.

Eddie makes his way to the kitchen where his first, and easiest, task of the day is located. It’s all plumbing problems, and he told you it would take all day. But, no, It’ll actually be a couple of hours. Tops. Plenty of time for other things. The reality is Eddie could come into your place any time, but he’d never do it uninvited. That would be intrusive. He respects your privacy and would never want to cross a line.

Eddie tosses his jacket on your empty recliner and gets to work sorting through his tools. His first stop is the kitchen where he promised he’d put in a new garbage disposal. The kitchen is tidy, just like every other part of your trailer. It’s your place, all yours, and you treasure it. Eddie notices a coffee mug with a red lipstick kiss on the rim and an empty bowl with a spoon sitting next to the sink. Breakfast dishes, no doubt.

There’s a bit of Raisin Bran residue in the spoon sitting in the white porcelain bowl. Without a thought in his head, he takes the spoon and shoves it into his mouth. Eddie runs his tongue against the cool metal, lapping up the last of the milk and cereal. His eyes are closed in concentration, reaching for any lingering taste of you left within the dirty utensil. It’s a fight against his brain when lays the spoon back to rest in its former position and turns his attention to the coffee mug. A kiss left just for him, he lets his tongue run across the ghost of your lips, tasting your lipstick. He’s already hard just being here with the hints of you that were left behind this morning.

No more, he promises himself, not until you’re done. The next few hours are spent with wrenches, screwdrivers, and caulk. Garbage disposal – done and functioning. You’ll be able to grind chicken bones with that baby. Eddie puts in a new faucet in the bathroom and notices that the showerhead is still dripping. He noticed it the last time he was in your place. He came prepared. He bought a massaging, detachable head and puts it in for you as a surprise. You deserve it. The last thing on the official list is replacing the parts inside of your toilet tank. It just needs a new flapper valve, but Eddie’s doing the whole work. Easy fix. He could show you, but then you wouldn’t need him next time. He could show Rick, but Rick’s not interested in manual labor. Rick can afford to pay a plumber to come and do the work that would take a total of 20 minutes to complete with a basic knowledge of how a toilet tank functions. That’s below Rick.

Taking care of you would never be below Eddie. He would do anything to make sure you have everything you need to be happy. He bought that shower head for you because Robin had mentioned how much she loved hers. When Steve told him why she loved hers, Eddie knew he had to get you one. He ran his fingers against the nozzle head after the installation was finished. He stroked it, imagining you standing under it, the water running down your skin.

Eddie’s next movements are without thought behind them. The need guides him. He undresses completely, leaving a pile of clothes sitting on the toilet seat. He steps into the shower, your shower, and turns the water to warm. His hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, and he decides to let it loose. He has time. You won’t be back for hours, his hair will be dry by then. Every bottle in this shower smells of you. So, he lathers. He lets the suds of your honey body wash clean off the sweat and dirt of the day. The pink bottles of Salon Selectives are what he uses to massage his scalp. He works the shampoo into his skin, he wants the scent to last for at least a couple of days. He wants to think of you when catches the scent from his own head.

Eddie luxuriates under the warm trickle of water. He lets himself think of you. He reaches into his mind to remember the way your touch feels against his skin when you squeeze his arm. He lets the lingering scent of your lost panties re-enter his nasal cavity. He thinks about the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you give him one of your big smiles. He thinks about all of this, letting his cock grow. He tugs at himself, just a little bit, to really let himself start to feel something.

He has a ferocious erection when he steps out of the shower and reaches for your silky bathrobe. It hangs on a plastic hook on the inside of your bathroom door. It’s white, and he lets himself think about how you look wearing it as he slips it over his damp skin. It’s so soft, as soft as you are. He’s being directed by his cock now, his brain is more than empty. It does not exist. His chores are done, and he hours before you’ll be home.

Your room. The untidiest room in the house, but still neat. He sets his pile of clothes on your dresser. That’s where he spots your tube of lipstick and your perfume bottle. Kismet. He takes the tube of Avon Apricot Freeze and delicately applies it to his lips. It’s the shade you’re wearing today, he recognizes it from your coffee mug. Eddie is careful when he handles the triangle shaped bottle of Claibourne perfume. He brings it to his nose and inhales deeply. It’s you, yes, but it’s lacking something. He spritzes it against his neck where he knows he’ll be able to smell it while he enjoys himself.

His next stop is the hamper that sits beside your dresser. He knows what he’ll find there, he watched you on your run this morning. The underwear sits atop a week’s worth of dirty laundry. A quick sniff tells him that, yes, you wore them while the sweat clung to your body. His erection twitches against the silky robe while he takes a deep breath. His eyes roll back in his head, and he knows it’s time to let himself feel the full height of his pleasure.

What the perfume is lacking can be found on your pillowcase. Your fuller scent lingers there. Your worn underwear sits against his tongue and lips while he lays his chest down on your soft mattress, a pillow folded under his hips to create a fold that will hold his cock. Your scent, your taste, the softness of your robe – he is lost in you. With his eyes closed, he can almost imagine you’re here with him. He can almost imagine the way your heat would feel wrapped around his cock.

It's so good. So perfect in your place. He’s teased himself for hours thinking about this moment, and his body moves with furious intent in your bed. He’s listening to you say his name inside his mind, over and over while his cock rubs against the pillow under him. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Yes, it’s what you would say if he had you here. If he plunged himself deeper and deeper inside of you. If he wrapped his mouth around your nipple instead of around this piece of fabric. Eddie, Eddie, please. I want you so much. You’re such a good boy.

Eddie’s orgasm hits him like a truck. His hips leap with no rhythm. They are searching while his cum is expelled from him with more force than he’s ever experienced before. More pleasure than he ever felt with Sandra, the girl that left him when she said he was spending too much time worrying about the old lady next door. His bucking hips slow after what feels like an eternity of ecstasy. A never ending stream of seed, while the sweat on his back is making the silk fabric of the robe stick to his skin. He allows himself a moment. A beat to lay in his post orgasm haze. Bliss unrivaled by any other feeling he’s ever had in his entire existence. Laying there with the ghost scent of you in your bed. In your home.

When you pull into the trailer park, it’s half past 4. You’re ready for a shower. It’s getting sticky out, and your hot flashes have started increasing. 45 years old, and your body has decided to become a mystery to you. You vaguely remember that Eddie might still be at your place, and resign yourself to the idea that the shower might have to wait until after you feed him. It’s worth it, though. He deserves at least a home cooked meal and the six pack you have in the trunk of your car.

You open the door to your place to find it in exactly the same condition you left it in. It needs dusting, but it’ll have to wait. As you walk through the kitchen, you notice the breakfast dishes sitting in the drying rack and smile. He really is an angel. There’s a note on the counter.

Howdy neighbor,

I have to run out to do a few errands. I’ll be back around 6. I hope you enjoy the surprise I left for you in the bathroom.

Eddie

Everything is clean. It’s like no one was ever here. You look around and spot it, a new shower head. He didn’t just fix the constant dripping, he replaced the whole thing. Angel. It feels incredible when you step into it. The massage feature is a gift you hadn’t expected. The warm water washes away the day from your body, and you silently praise Eddie’s handiwork while you let the honey scented body wash foam between your fingers.

Your bathrobe isn’t in its place, which is odd, but you must have left it in your room. You grab a towel from the shelf above the toilet and wrap it around your body. Sweatpants and a sweater are a comfort to your tired muscles. You finally register the sound that’s been in the background since you got home. Your dryer is running. He even did a load of laundry for you. You’re going to have to make him his own pie this weekend.

It was so warm and soft, a quick and tender embrace. It was friendly, innocent. Eddie relished it. He let himself focus on the feeling of your arms around his waist, the way your hair brushed against his face, the clean scent of soap from your post work shower. He reached and searched in those couple of seconds, determined to take as much from the moment as possible. To let it fuel his need.

He took that moment, that embrace, with him as he left your trailer along with the Dutch apple pie you made for him. It was still warm from the oven as you placed it in his hands. Those weren’t the only things Eddie took with him. The metal was burning a hole in his pocket while you hugged him goodnight. He fought against his body while his arousal kicked up at your touch, and he promised himself - soon.

It’s beautiful. Eddie almost feels bad about cutting into it. The apple syrup bubbled up around the brown sugar crumble crust during baking and there are pieces of crystallized sugar sprinkled about the top. He’s thinking about you cutting the apples, he’s thinking about your fingers working the pie crust. Sprinkling sugar and cinnamon.

Eddie’s hard. It’s not only the memory of your warmth against him, or the cinnamon and sugar scent invading his nostrils, but also the soft silk panties he’s wearing. Like the other things he’s taken, he’ll return them back of course, but how could he resist when they were out in the open like that? Freshly worn and resting atop today’s work clothes inside your bathroom. He had only meant to wash his hands before dinner, but instead he took off his boxers and replaced them with your pretty underwear. Underwear that had so recently held your heat against them. He needed it.

Eddie knows what he plans to do despite the fact that he is not consciously acknowledging it. It’s as if he loses control of his bodily movements at times like these. The empty trailer, Wayne’s gone for the week on a fishing trip, is an open invitation for the experience he has mapped out in his mind. He sets the scene, taking his time. His body is still tired from earlier, but the temptation of the still warm apple pie is impossible to resist.

Eddie pulls a knife out of the drawer, cool metal against the warm skin of his fingers, and he cuts a slice of the crumbling dessert. He leaves it in the pan and immediately walks to his bedroom. His window is still open, the curtains blow in the breeze of the summer evening. It smells like rain will come before too long. The lights are always low in his room, but he opts for turning them off completely before he undresses. Just in case.

Your bedroom window is directly across from his own, and when the evenings are cool it’s possible to hear things. Soft music sometimes wafts through Eddie’s open window. He’s hoping to hear some of the sweet noises he occasionally hears on nights like these. Not the sounds of love making when Rick visits, but the sounds of quiet pleasure when it’s just your own car parked in front of your home. Eddie likes to think that maybe sometimes you can hear him, and hopes that it helps you along when your fingers are deep inside yourself. Maybe you even think of his ringed fingers during those times.

A man can dream.

Eddie reaches into the back pocket of his jeans before he lays them on the chair in the corner of his room where the rest of his clothes are resting. His nipples are already peaked with excitement. The small pieces of gold jewelry sit in the palm of his hand while a flash of disgust threatens to ruin his plans. He finds the strength to push it back. Let it sit way back in his mind until after. After he can let those feelings of shame come out to play, but not until after he’s had his fun.

Eddie’s cock is pressed against the silk fabric of your underwear, and the cool air of the room combined with the arousal the head is already leaking, it feels like a gentle kiss. There’s a twitch, an answer to that thought, and Eddie turns his focus back to the clip on earrings he smuggled out of your trailer. They are not the kind designed to gently cling to the lobes of your ears. No. These are the kind that are designed to pinch, an aggressive assurance that they won’t be lost at some point during the day. When Eddie attaches the first one to his left nipple, it’s an immediate and intense pain that only kicks up his arousal. His cock jumps with each zing of pain and pleasure, and he has a distant concern that he’ll come just from the feeling alone. With deep breaths, he manages to calm himself before doing it all over again with the right nipple.

Eddie’s back is sweating, and his cock feels weighed down with the cum he’s holding back. It won’t take much coaxing for him to erupt. He can feel an orgasm creeping behind his eyes, in his throat, deep in his guts. From an outsider’s perspective, he would look absurd. Even more so as he rests his ass, still covered by soft panties, on the large terry cloth towel he has laid down on his sheets in preparation. It’s going to be messy, and he’s happy that he has the forethought to prepare. He’ll be very tired when it’s over.

Eddie lays his head on his pillow, pulling his curls over so that he can lay on his side. His nose can smell the shampoo he used earlier. Your shampoo. It’s so lovely, and it helps Eddie imagine that it’s your hair that his nose is pressed into. His nipples are still shooting zings of painful pleasure as Eddie uses one hand to scoop out the piece of sliced pie from the tin, and the other to release his aching cock from the prison of your silky panties. The first bite of pie is almost a religious experience for him. The apples are still slightly crispy, but the juices have mixed in with the sugar and streusel topping.

Eddie had not planned what he did next, it was a natural instinct. His need took over his movements again. Instead of wrapping his hand around his aching cock, he slid his palm under the pie tin and pressed the pastry against himself. The tip of his cock is immediately surrounded by the warm, sticky filling. It feels incredible, and he’s shocked to realize it feels surprisingly like a mouth.

All at once, he’s groaning around the pie at his mouth while his cock pushes itself through the mess of apples, sugar, and streusel. His body is crying out, the pleasure soaring through him. His taste buds are dancing, his nipples are screaming, his hips are thrusting his cock into that open mouth. Brown sugar coats his thatch of pubic hair, raining down from his gluttonous self pleasure. In no time, he spills himself into the pie dish, his cum and the pie filling creating a combination of flavors that would make Betty Crocker roll over in her grave. The piece of unfinished pie has somehow ended up mashed in Eddie's wild curls. He’s sticky from the sweat and sugary confection.

After the bliss wanes, Eddie first removes the earrings, allowing his nipples to rest. The vibrating pleasure immediately ceases, and he can breathe normally. The come down is a crash as he envisions this moment captured in a still image.

Eddie Munson, in his bed, ass being hugged by a pair of silk underwear, covered in streusel and apple pie filling. It’s with a sigh that almost sounds like a groan that Eddie scoops out a handful from the pie tin and brings it to his mouth. He licks the mess from between his fingers, the sweetest pie he’s ever tasted, and the faintest hint of himself mixed within.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #chesty fic #perv!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader

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amberswords · 11 months

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🗡 Have a sweet little commission i just finished for @succubus-shipping !!! I always have so much fun drawing Rohan <3

#eddie does commissions #eddie draws #jjba #rohan kishibe #jjba x oc #jjba x you #diu #diamond is unbreakable #jojo's bizarre adventure #self-shipping #art

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libraryofgage · 6 months

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PJO Steddie Part Three

Part One | Part Two

I hope y'all are ready for some backstory in this bitch hfdjsk

Anyway, we learn some more godly parents, but one remains a mystery for now.

Also, if you like my writing, maybe consider commissioning me! I have, like, student loans hitting harder than I'd like, so I've opened commissions on ko-fi. You can read more about prices and such in this post.

Anyway, hope you have fun reading! And, as always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

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Getting to Athens, Tennessee, had required a mix of bus rides, a single divine taxi ride, and a pair of knock-off winged shoes that Eddie should probably put out of their misery before they get him killed. Getting back to camp, thankfully, only requires the van Steve and the kids use to get around.

Said van, at first glance, looks like a hunk of junk. It seems to have stepped right out of the 80s, its paint is faded and scratched with dents in more than a few spots, and the wheels look about two tiny potholes from popping. As they get closer, Steve pulls a key ring from his pocket, and Eddie notices that it's a physical key and not one of the wireless fobs.

When they get inside, though, the whole van is transformed. The seats are made of the softest leather Eddie has ever felt, there are seven in the back for all the kids to be comfortable without arguing about space, and the sheer number of cup holders is enough to bring Eddie near tears. "This is fucking metal," Eddie says, practically melting into the passenger seat as the kids buckle up in the back and Steve starts the van.

"I got it after we outgrew my BMW," Steve says, shrugging as he checks on the kids and Eddie before pulling out of the parking lot.

"Steve says it's a surprise gift from our father," El pipes up from the back.

"Yeah," Dustin says, his voice excited as he leans forward and pokes his head between Steve and Eddie, "Cuz he doesn't know he bought it!"

Steve snorts and pushes down the bill of Dustin's cap as he heads towards the highway.

"So, is Zeus your dad, too?" Eddie asks, twisting around to look at El.

"No. Steve and I share a human father," El explains.

Even without looking, Steve can feel Eddie's confusion. "I try not to think about how I came into being," he says. "Just know our father seems to be a bit of a slut for Greek mythological figures."

"Wait," Eddie says, waving his hand, "does that mean Zeus was, like, a woman? Is Zeus your mother?"

"No clue. Like I said, I prefer not to think about it," Steve says again, shooting Eddie a look.

And Eddie drops it despite his growing questions. When a gorgeous boy tells you to stop asking about the impossibility of his birth, you shut up and listen.

A while later, as Steve is about to drive over the Tennessee state line and the kids doze off in the back, Eddie glances at Steve and shifts in his seat. His leg starts to bounce, his fingers drumming against his knee, as he tries to figure out which question to ask first. Eventually, he ends up blurting out, "So how did you manage to not die?"

Steve blinks and snorts, stifling the rest of his laughter so he doesn't wake the kids. He glances at Eddie, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Well, how much of the story do you want to hear?" he asks.

"All of it." Eddie wants to know everything about Steve. How has he kept all these kids alive and for how long? When did they start traveling the country like this? When did he learn about his heritage? What does he like? What does he hate? Does he believe in fated love and love at first sight?

Okay, that last one can probably wait a little longer. Like, two more days, at least.

Steve hums softly, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel as though he's trying to decide where to start. "I didn't know about Zeus until I was eleven," he finally says. "I only learned then because my dad couldn't figure out any other explanation for how lightning struck on clear days whenever I was angry at other kids."

"Didn't you have to deal with monsters?" Eddie asks.

"Yes. And no." Steve frowns, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know how in all those stories Zeus will change his form to get with all those women? Like, he'll become whatever he needs to get what he wants."

"I'm familiar, yeah."

"It's a little like that, but I don't change my form. I guess I change my vibe? I can make monsters think I'm the son of a lesser deity. It got even easier when El came along because monsters don't target her."

"Why not?" Eddie asks, perking up some. If El has somehow figured out how to make herself invisible to monsters, maybe other campers can learn, too.

Steve grimaces, and Eddie immediately pushes back the urge to push for more information when he says, "It's...complicated. Let's not get into it right now."

"Okay," Eddie says, flashing Steve what he hopes is a reassuring smile when Steve glances at him. "When did you meet El, then?"

"Five years ago now, when I was fifteen. El's mother showed up, dropped her off with me, threatened me with death if she ever got hurt, and then left. El was, like, just eleven at the time, and our dad was no help. He just shrugged it off and gave me a bigger allowance to care for her."

"Was he not around?"

"No. He...travels. We haven't spoken to him in four years. He hasn't tried speaking to us, either. Despite me literally being Zeus's kid, he can't exactly show me off or anything. And El...well, he can't take her to any functions, either."

Eddie nods, pushing down the urge to ask why. But Steve said he doesn't want to talk about it, so Eddie instead asks, "And what about the rest?"

Steve hums, merging into another lane. "Well, El and I stayed in place for about a year. Then we saw some weird snake monster dragging Will around like a road snack. We saved him, but I almost died. It was my first fight, you know? But I lived, obviously, and El and I agreed to take Will back to his hometown. School was one break anyway, so we just did a road trip in my BMW. We ran into Dustin and Mike along the way. Dustin had made these, like, mechanical wings, and Mike was goading him on to give them a try. We got to the cliff right as Dustin jumped off."

"Wait," Eddie says, holding his hand up to pause Steve's story. "Are you telling me the kid just...decided to recreate Icarus?" he asks.

"Yeah, pretty much. He thought he could actually succeed since he's so much smarter," Steve explains, getting an amused grin as he thinks of it. "Anyway, didn't work, obviously. Dustin fell but managed to catch himself on the cliffside, Mike was yelling his head off but not actually doing anything, and El just took off running toward them. Which meant I had to run toward them, too. So, Will is trying to calm Mike down, El is practically dangling herself over the cliff, and Dustin is lamenting the loss of his wings."

"How'd you rescue him?"

"I just climbed down myself," Steve says, shrugging like it's no big deal. "I had him get on my back and climbed up, chewed both kids out for doing something so dangerous, and then asked if they needed a ride home, which is how I found out they'd run away and were just wandering."

"Half-bloods running away is pretty common," Eddie says, sinking down in his seat as he watches the trees rush by in the darkness. "A lot of us don't feel understood by our human families, or we don't want to endanger them when monsters track us down."

Steve nods, gripping the steering wheel a little harder. "Yeah, that's what Dustin and Mike said, too. I couldn't just leave them alone, so I invited them to come with us. Mike and Will get along really well, and Dustin is a little shit, and it's good for El to have friends her own age, so it all worked out."

"That still leaves out three whole kiddos," Eddie says.

"Well, Lucas and Erica we met in Will's hometown. Their dad and Will's mom had found each other and, like, bonded over having demigod kids. When we brought Will back, we met Lucas and Erica at this, like, barbeque thing to celebrate him being safe. And their parents ended up suggesting that we continue the road trip so the kids could be around others like them before school started again."

"Usually," Eddie says, fiddling with one of his rings, "parents go two ways. They either get really obsessed with keeping their kids safe to the point they're never let out of the house, or they completely ignore and reject the godly influence. But it sounds like their parents weren't doing either of those."

"Having each other helped. There was someone they could turn to when they felt doubt or just wanted to complain. When you're isolated, though, you just do whatever you think will keep you going, even if it might hurt the people you care about."

"You put that...really well."

"I've had a lotta time to think about it," Steve admits, frowning slightly before sighing and continuing with the story. "Anyway, we met Max and her brother a few towns over. It's...not a great story, actually. Her brother was a dick, like, massively horrible. He had a lot of problems and took way too much after his godly father in terms of anger. We ended up fighting because of how he treated Max and it didn't end great, but Max joined us and that's when I realized we needed a new car because the kids were piled on top of each other in the back. We got this conversion van in the next town with my dad's credit card, and we've been traveling ever since."

It's a lot to take in, and Eddie can tell there's a lot that Steve is leaving unsaid, but he doesn't call him out for it. "Okay, so, the whole not dying thing?" he asks.

Steve snorts. "Well, when you're chaperoning a gaggle of demigods, you get good at fighting off monsters. We've also had some...help along the way from a few goddesses, though."

Eddie perks up, looking at Steve like he's an alien. "You got help from goddesses? Which ones?"

"Sometimes, I'll pray to Hestia and she'll direct us to a motel with vacancies that'll be safe for the night. Or, uh, Demeter. I'll pray to her and fruit will grow on some trees or something. Hecate treated us to lunch once, said she found us amusing, and thanked me for the entertainment. Nike, Lucas, Max, and I have all played basketball together. I mean, she smoked us, no question, but she's part of the reason this van can run a few more miles without any gas. Hera helped once, sorta."

"Hera helped you? Hera? The goddess notoriously known for hating children of Zeus? That Hera?"

"Yeah, kinda surprised me, too. But, I mean, she's also the goddess of motherhood or something, right? And all she really ever wants is Zeus to be faithful. I don't think it's too much to ask, and I can't imagine the bullshit she goes through because of him. Anyway, we were getting attacked by this hydra, and I was really struggling to protect the kids. I mean, those heads were practically tearing me apart. And then she just, like, walks up and flicks her hand and the thing is gone. She told me to do better and then, like, disappeared. Not the weirdest thing that's happened, but it's up there."

And Eddie is starting to understand how they're not dead. It's just Steve. Like the prophecy was just Steve. Somehow, he's managed to get himself into the good graces of several goddesses and get their help. It's not entirely unheard of to get a god's favor, but having so many just be genuinely interested in you is unthinkable.

Eddie gets it, though. Steve fascinates him. He's like a magnet that Eddie doesn't want to fight. "So, uh, the kids," Eddie says, trying to keep his mind from lingering on Steve and just how incredible he is, "Who are their parents?"

"Lucas and Erica are kids of Aphrodite."

"Oh, does she like you, too?" Eddie asks.

Steve frowns, looking like he's just been reminded of something sour and gross. "No, we're not on good terms," he says, his voice a little frosty, and Eddie's mouth is suddenly dry.

"Good to know," he manages, his voice a little strained.

"Anyway, Dustin is a child of Athena. Max's mom is Nemesis. Will's dad is Morpheus, and Mike's dad is Plutus. Which has worked out well for us, actually. He keeps finding money on the street whenever we really need it."

"What about El?"

"El's mother...is complicated. We don't really talk about her," Steve says, his words soft and pleading, and Eddie immediately zips his mouth shut, winking conspiratorially at Steve when he glances over.

Then he unzips his mouth and says, "You know, you're pretty metal, Stevie."

Steve laughs, quickly slapping a hand over his mouth and glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure the kids are still sleeping. When he sees that they are, he relaxes a little. "I've never been called metal before," he says, glancing at Eddie.

"Well, that's a shame. I'll be sure to tell you whenever you're being particularly metal, big boy."

"Big boy?" Steve asks, amusement clear in his voice, and Eddie suddenly worries that Steve doesn't actually like the nickname but it trying to play it off.

Unfortunately, the problem is that Eddie has never been one to filter himself. So when Steve calls him out for the nickname and he panics, Eddie's knee-jerk reaction is to say, "Oh, would you prefer something else? How about pretty boy? Sweetheart? Gorgeous? Handsome?"

Even though it's dark out, Eddie can still see the blush that spreads across Steve's cheeks, the way his fingers tighten on the wheel until his knuckles turn white. He's getting flustered, and Eddie feels himself getting flustered, too, at the idea that it's because of him. He suddenly wants to see what else he can say or do to make that blush spread, and he wants to know just how far it spreads beneath the collar of Steve's shirt.

"Just, uh, whatever you prefer, I guess," Steve mumbles, keeping his eyes resolutely focused on the road and missing Eddie's surprised expression. He does, however, sneak a glance just in time to see the surprise morph into an unbridled grin.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," Eddie says, leaning back in his seat and looking forward to spending the rest of this road trip discovering what makes his Stevie tick.

----

Tag List! There is still room, I think lol

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos

#steddie #steddie fic #semi divine steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #percy jackson au #the party #my writing

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apomaro-mellow · 7 months

Note

allo friend! i have an writing thought for you: steddie au -> artist!steve who draws random strangers that inspire him for tiktok or something similar and draws musician!eddie, not knowing who he is, just drawing him and adding him to the long list of people he’s drawn.

The video started as it normally did, with a close up of Steve's face as he exclaimed, "Drawing random strangers because everyone is beautiful and deserves to be immortalized!" And then cut to a view of his sketchbook in his lap as the video sped up to show him drawing a person.

He never showed the real life person, only their image captured through his hands. Of course, thanks to the virality of some of them, on occasion, people would find out that they'd been drawn and would stitch their reactions to it.

Steve held up the finished drawing of a man sitting on a park bench with a rottweiler, leashed and sitting at his side. The man was smiling down while his dog had his head in his lap, giving him the biggest eyes as he got scratches behind his ear.

"I love drawing dogs, they're just the sweetest. And some breeds like rotties get a bad rep. Anyway, join me next time for more random strangers!"

tacklepizza: "random stranger" draws Eddie Goddam Munson

9epper8utterfly: is he playin or nah? i cant tell with this guy

idiot-cinnamon: imagine people watching and Beyonce walks by like

Steve looked at the comments on his latest video and was definitely confused. He'd never heard of Eddie Munson. It was times like this, he really felt his age on the app. He considered asking who it was or just googling it to save himself the embarrassment, but he didn't even have to do that. Before long, Dustin sent him a tiktok. And the first thing he saw was the man he had drawn.

Oh god, he was reacting to it.

There was something slightly embarrassing about hearing his own voice in someone else's video.

"I got tagged, I can't tell you how many times in this damn thing, so it better be good. I appreciate and support the arts, so let's see what this guy's got. Just a paper and a pencil, you know there's beauty in simplicity. Oh there's a little doggy. You know Cocoa and I went out earlier and she-wait, was someone else walking my dog? Wait?" He leaned in until the video only showed his eyes and the top of his head as he looked as close as he could.

"Wait, shit", he started to laugh. "Holy shit that's me! Me and my baby, oh doesn't she look precious", he cooed.

Steve felt his heart flutter. It was always good when people complimented his art but...coming from this man...this beautiful man...

"That looks fucking amazing dude, and to do it on the fly? And I know I didn't stand still. Okay, I needa get in touch with this dude. It might be for some album art or maybe me and Cocoa will finally get that family portrait, but I gotta get some of his art. Does he do commissions?"

Steve did in fact do commissions. And it took less than a day for him to get a DM from one Eddie Munson, inquiring about his services.

#social media aus can be so interesting #apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie

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finniestoncrane · 12 days

Text

Almost There

Capullo!Riddler x Fem!Reader, word count: 4k commission: eddie desperately trying to get someone to like him, but failing a bit miserably before he starts succeeding, as he was always bound to 💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: whiny/desperate eddie, teensy bit of angst

With a sigh of resignation, Eddie looked out of his window on to the streets of Gotham below. People, like ants, below the feet of a God they didn’t even know they worshipped yet. But he could take very little joy in that usually comforting fact, as he knew there was one ant of great subordination who refused to bend to his will. And that was despite knowing everything he could offer them in exchange for their undying and unquestioning devotion.

No amount of anything he had would fix this situation. This was him now. He was stuck. Edward Nygma. Stuck. Stuck on a puzzle, on a question, on a task, for which there seemed to be no possible outcome for. Or at least, not one that he deemed reasonable, not one that he would be happy with. Which, after all, in the mind of the Riddler, was not the correct answer at all.

The phone he clutched in his hand was quickly tossed onto the nearest surface. It was just a hopeless distraction at this point. A symbol of futility. Of his seeming failure.

Eddie’s fingers were getting tangled in his fringe. The greasy strands of his usually neatly swept back shock of red hair were getting caught as he twisted and pulled at them. Teasing at them nervously, he paced around his pre-furnished, and entirely impersonal, apartment. Looking at the extravagant wall clock he sighed and groaned, letting it form a soft growl as he ripped a few extra strands of his hair out in his closed and trembling fists. He was thankful for the thick, soundproof walls in this building. It meant he could talk, or groan, or yell, to himself as loudly as he wanted without fear of anyone hearing his plans. Or his pathetic whining.

“How long does it take someone to answer a text? Is she really that stupid? And if she’s that dull and so incapable of typing a message out, do I really want to be associated with her?”

His self-serving insults regarding your intelligence only helped to make him feel worse about himself. You were perfect. Beautiful, but in a way he’d never really seen before. Interesting, more so than any other woman he’d bothered giving the time of day or willingly chose to get to know. And you weren’t stupid. In fact, you seemed scarily competent and able to hold your own against him. Which he hated.

Another thirty seconds of anxious pacing, as he wondered what could possibly keep someone busy for this long. It wasn’t as if you could have anything important to do. Or anything more important than responding to his message. You weren’t him, after all. He was the busy one, the important one, the mastermind genius that had barely had time to focus on anything but himself. What could possibly be distracting you?

With a finger raised almost comically in the air, one floating light bulb short of looking like a caricature, Eddie shouted out.

“Unless! Unless… she’s really not as stupid as I thought. And… all this… is a clever ploy! Oh! Oh-ho-ho! That is… well, that’s frankly almost brilliant. I hate to admit it, but credit where credit is due, I suppose.”

He picked up his phone from where he had tossed it, laying on the polished marble surface of the sideboard he hated so much but refused to give up, as he’d been assured by the realtor that it was something a woman would appreciate. And of course “a handsome bachelor such as himself would definitely be looking to entice a woman”. He was glad that realtor was dead.

Gripping the soft velvet on the back of the sofa, he leapt over it, landing with a thud with his legs up on the cushions, head leaning back on the soft pillows as his red hair spread messily behind him. And he held his phone steadily in his hands, trying hard to exude confidence, even falsified, just to give himself something to cling to.

Behind him, the large, floor to ceiling windows gave view of the sunset, which was slowly stealing the remaining light from Gotham and sinking it once again into complete, dangerous darkness. And as that beautiful sight disappeared, wasted entirely on Eddie, he typed a quick message out, one that he felt sounded casual, despite it being agonised over in his hyperactive mind.

“Hey, you get my text? Maybe you missed it. Maybe you missed it on purpose. I’m on to you, baby ;)”

He paused for a moment, reading over the words on the screen with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Hm… maybe not baby… at least not yet.”

Deleting the final word, he read the text again. And then again. And then once more, before he decided to delete the whole thing. Throwing his phone to the floor with an exasperated grunt, he realised that you might have been watching his little ellipses, the telling dots that screamed “HERE COMES EDDIE! TYPING ANOTHER MESSAGE! LOOK HOW DESPERATE HE IS!”

Up until recently, everything had been going exactly his way. He’d scammed his bosses, embezzled expertly from the company that owed him everything and had until that point given him nothing, and bought himself a luxurious and ridiculous apartment that he had wild dreams of turning into a bachelor pad, with endless parties that revitalised every night with new guests and new drinks and new experiences. Money hadn’t quite been enough to buy him the necessary friends or women, however. Although, when he thought about it, technically his money had bought him the company of several pleasant enough women. But it felt like an offence to him that he had to pay for their services, to beg, essentially, for their affections, and then had to add on an extra few if he wanted to have them pretend to listen to him as he talked to them. By his calculations, women should have been falling for him. They should have been paying him for the opportunity to be talked at. He was Edward Nygma! He was intelligent, he was handsome, and now, he was wealthy.

Realistically, there was an obvious solution here. And an easy one at that. He could go out, flash some cash, and find the first suitably pretty girl who reacted positively to his shtick or his flaunted wealth and take her home. But that routine had gotten old, it felt like those cheap sudoku puzzle books you could buy at the corner store. Easy, too easy. Though he might be loathe to admit that to anyone, given that he felt it was part of his reputation, his lore, his borderline misogynistic use of woman as a status symbol as an essential aspect of his character by this point. In his illusions of grandeur, and his misinformed concept that everyone knew who he was, he felt like everyone knew that about him, this staple of his personality, especially the girls at the clubs he frequented when his loneliness became intolerable. What Eddie wanted in a woman reflected his desires for the entirety of Gotham, and eventually the world. He wanted immediate adoration with nothing in return. An endless willingness to please him. And key, above all: subservience. Complete and utter subservience.

So why was he all of the sudden chasing someone who refused to give him the time of day? Who couldn’t even reply to a text with due diligence? He mused out loud, pondering this interesting conundrum, before he spoke his assumed answer.

“The… challenge? Maybe?”

As he spoke the answer to his empty apartment, he realised the confusion within him. One part of him knew the answer, the other too stubborn to learn it or accept it. He supposed it was the right answer though. It made sense, after all. Everything had been too easy lately. Very little ever posed a threat or a challenge to him anymore. And life had, unfortunately, become boring. Perhaps the fact that his plans and dreams were falling into his lap made him question whether or not he was actually achieving anything. This one act, going against the grain, against everything that he was, and wanted, to his core, felt like the first time he had actually engage his brain in something. And that was good practice, because sure enough, when his greater plans were in motion, he would have to be well-versed in thinking on his feet. Especially if he wanted to outwit the GCPD and his future, pointy-eared nemesis.

And of course, besides all of that, he was Edward Nygma. There wasn’t a puzzle he couldn’t solve, no challenge he couldn’t eventually meet. The last thing he was going to do was let some ungrateful woman get him down. No way. Even if it took all of his determination and might, and every ounce of his brain power, which as previously concluded was not really up to much else at the moment, he would have you.

With a renewed, and somewhat misplaced, sense of confidence in his abilities, something he found hard to admit had even been diminished in the first place by your ridiculous behaviour, Eddie typed a simple message. Admiring it before sending it as though it were a piece of minimalistic art. A masterpiece. One to be looked on by the ages.

“Hey.”

That was enough. And quite frankly, it was all you deserved right now after your negligence and rude behaviour. He would let you come running to him. Let you get intrigued by his casual interest. You could – no – you would come to him. As he sat, grinning smugly at his self-congratulatory pride, his phone pinged. The small chime was enough to make him jump, his heart thumping as it missed a beat, a strange sense of arousal that surged through him at the mere suggestion of you paying a tiny iota of attention to him. And as he picked up his phone, he muttered to himself.

“A response already! See, Nygma, you know what you’re doing.”

Looking at the screen of his phone, his grin was immediately forced down by the immense emotional gravity into a large, comical frown, his brows scowling as he read the brief message you had decided to grace him with.

“What do you want?”

Seething, and through gritted teeth, Edward hissed into the empty apartment.

“Oh, you little…”

He managed o stop himself before he said something even he might have regretted. But still, enraged by your lack of interesting and your crude wording, Eddie felt his fingers tense around his phone painfully. Any more pressure, or strength in his slender body, and he may have cracked the device in half. Relaxing his digits, he typed a quick message in response, pleased with himself, but still deeply upset with yours. If that’s how you wanted to play it, then you could get ready to be met with a formidable opponent.

“Sorry, might be the wrong number. I have two girls’ numbers in my phone right now without names yet… which one are you?”

That would show you. False competition for his attention might engage you better. If you thought there was even the most slender, most remote chance, that you might not get to be with him, then it might encourage you to a little bit more receptive. Or at least, slightly more polite. But your response, coming incredibly quick, only served to snuff out that idea.

“I’m the one you should delete and block.”

“Fuck!”

Eddie tossed the phone once more, letting it land with a thud on the soft carpet on the floor as he rolled over on the sofa, burying his head in the cushions and letting out a variety of grunts and groans, though mostly mewling and pathetic whimpers. After a suitable amount of time spent feeling sorry for himself, and trying to convince his own ego that the backfiring of that particular approach was down to your difficult personality, he rolled back over. Staring blankly at the ceiling, he tugged nervously at his hair again as he tried to reason with the silence.

“Come on, Nygma. Solve the puzzle. She’s a Rubik’s cube, and you need to get your fingers all over her, twist her the right way until she makes sense.”

With an exasperated sigh, he reached to the floor and picked up his phone. There was a chance, he thought, that being himself might, for the first time ever, work when dealing with a woman. After all, it was foolish to keep trying the same methods and approaches, madness to think it might yield different results. Something completely different, something out of left field. A shock factor. It might just be the thing to loosen you up.

“Perhaps…”

Delighting in the idea that perhaps he was the solution to the puzzle after all, he typed out a new message. Very flirty, very cheeky, and typically Eddie all over.

“Oh! It’s you. I’d recognise that attitude anywhere. Spicy. Off-putting. I won’t be deleting you, so what do you want your name to be in my contacts? Would ‘babe’ do?”

You were typing already. Hook, line and sinker. He had you, and even if you were only replying in order to tell him off, at least you were communicating with him. It was better than nothing. And it meant he might have another chance before you decided to block him.

“Absolutely not.”

“Ok then. What about ‘cutie’?”

“If you think ‘cutie’ suits me, then I think you still have my identity mistake.”

“Ok, fine then. If we’re going for descriptive accuracy, how would ‘Stone Cold Bitch From Hell’ suit you?”

The back and forth stopped. There was no immediate response from you, and panic began to settle in Eddie’s chest. If this backfired, it would take a lot to come back from it, effort he wasn’t sure he was ready to put into even a committed relationship let alone a hook-up with someone he barely knew. Even he might not be able to rescue this situation from the hole he had dug for it. Maybe, he should have clarified it was a joke. Text you back immediately with a smile and a laughing emoji. After all, not everyone was as intelligent as he was, and the nuances of his humour did often go unrecognised or misconstrued, through no fault of his own obviously.

When his phone finally pinged, Eddie held his breath as he looked at the screen, his skin dimpling and his hairs standing on edge as he waited for the disastrous consequences of his actions to rear their ugly head.

“Actually, that one kind of suits me. Maybe you’re a bit more perceptive than I thought you were. And don’t get excited, because that really isn’t saying a lot.”

With a smug grin washing over his face, Eddie elected not to respond any further than sending you one solitary winking face. That would do, for now. He had to take it slowly, even still. Weeks of pandering to you, of trying to be someone else. And now, finally, he found out that you were one of the rare few who responded positively to his true self. A woman of refined taste, it seemed. But he was still wary, cautious.

As he got himself ready for bed, he thought back on how much time he had wasted so far on you, trying to convince you that he was perfect for you from behind a façade that you clearly had no interest in. He’d learnt the lesson, yet again, the hard way. Be himself.

“Be yourself, Eddie. That’s how you’ve won everything you have so far in life. Who can resist your charms? I mean, come on!”

He grinned wide into the mirror above the sink, shooting himself a quick wink, sly smile spreading further. He brushed his teeth quickly, spitting into the basin before focusing his attentions back on his reflection, picking at his teeth and combing back his hair before stopping to pose in front of the mirror. He flexed his almost non-existent muscles, self-obsession and illusions of grandeur once again assuring him he had the body of an Adonis, and then he laughed.

“I am genuinely almost jealous of her. She gets to be with this! Hoe wonderful for her. I truly am a gift.”

Thoroughly enamoured with himself, he took his self-satisfaction and headed to his bed to celebrate it in the disgustingly lewd way only he could. And, surprisingly, beyond the thoughts of how wonderful he was, he was thinking of you as he congratulated himself over, and over again.

And he was still thinking of you in the morning when he woke up. It had been a long time, concerningly so, since someone other than himself, or that ridiculous vigilante with his tight-fitting costume and penchant for leather, had been able to steal the focus of his attention. The excitement at the novelty of the situation had him giddy as he got out of bed. Purposefully ignoring the pull of desire to check his phone for any notifications, he opted to primp and preen first. The longer he held off checking, the longer he could live in ignorant bliss of the true, and potentially heartbreaking, outcome.

“Schrödinger’s booty call…”

He winced at his own joke, the thought of it distressing him. What if that’s all he could get out of you, in the end, after all of this?

“OK, but do I really want more?”

Yes was the answer to that, although his empty apartment could hardly scream that back at him. This was beyond a quickie, a one-night stand with someone he found physically enticing. He had deeper feelings for you, maybe only slightly underneath his callous and crude surface. But they were definitely there. What they might amount to in the future even he couldn’t be sure of yet. But all he knew was that once with you would not be enough. Not for the trouble he considered himself having gone through for you.

Finally dressed and smothered in his obnoxious cologne, Eddie turned his attentions back to his bedroom as he left the ensuite to find out whether he had a reason to live this morning. And if you hadn’t replied, his plans to destroy Gotham would be enacted far sooner, spurred on by your cruelty.

Luckily, however, for the citizens of Gotham and Eddies own ego, given that with so little preparation he was sure to fall flat on his face if he commenced his grand scheme so early, he had one message and it was from you.

“Nygma. That’s right, consider yourself lucky that I remembered your name. You’re good with computers, yes? I seem to recall you bragging about it.”

“Ha ha! I’ve got you now!”

A typical ploy! How many times had he asked for help from someone, which he never needed given he was the smartest and most competent person who had ever lived, just to get closer to them or to spend time with them? Far too many for him to count. He was very aware of what you were trying to do. And he was more than happy to play ignorant, to play along and give you what you so clearly wanted.

On the edge of his seat, quite literally he realised as he shuffled back into the centre of his bed, his fingers tapped quickly, furiously, as he replied to your message.

“Obviously, of course I am. It’s kind of my thing. Although, you obviously knew that.”

Was he too smug? Maybe… But you clearly liked him. It was impossible for you to deny it now. It was only a matter of time before he lured you into his web and kept you there… willingly of course… unless…

Eddie’s more villainous daydream was cut short, thankfully, by the slight vibration of his phone against his palm, a tingle sent through him like an electric shock as he took a breath and looked to his screen, or looked to his future.

“Great. Is this guy any good? I need someone to fix my laptop and he looks competent.”

Attached to your words was a screenshot of some less man, the Computer King he was calling himself, who was offering extortionate prices for no doubt shoddy, subpar work, regardless of what it was that you needed.

Were you joking? He couldn’t be sure. It could be an effort to make him jealous, retaliation for his own efforts the night before. It felt as though you were goading him into offering himself up on a platter, detailing his skills and positive attributes like you were interviewing him for the job of “gracious boyfriend”. And that just wouldn’t stand, not even…

“It would stand though. Only for her. But still, irritatingly so…”

Laying back in his bed with a soft thump, he clutched the phone to his chest, reminiscent of how he had been the night before, and so many other moments leading up to this one. You were in his head, and he could feel you slipping into every other facet of his being. But still, he was slightly pissed off with your constant back and forth, your cold attitude, flaunting the concept of communication in front of him and then snatching it away cruelly with the suggestion that you’d be giving it to some other, lesser, man.

Fed up, and already annoyed at this early hour, he typed a droll message.

“Yep. He’d be good enough for you, anyway.”

With a falsified grin that faded into a genuinely emotional frown, he placed his phone down and went to the kitchen to grab some coffee. He managed to convince himself he’d done the right thing. Pretending to be proud of himself, he sipped slowly, a dramatic “ah” at the end of each slurp as he continued the farce. Who he was performing to, he wasn’t even sure himself. But given that he spent most of his time in solitary isolation, self-congratulatory arrogance with the aim of tricking himself into feeling comfortable was the least strange thing he did alone.

When he realised he hadn’t heard his phone chime, though, he began to feel tense and nervous. He was fidgeting, tapping the edge of his coffee mug with his fingers, shaking his leg, his foot bouncing on the ledge of the breakfast bar. One moment of, albeit in his mind rightfully placed, anger, and he’d undone his weeks of hard work.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot.”

In a rare moment of self-reflection that bordered on a breakthrough, Eddie considered his life as a whole, and how many things had actually gone right for him. The years of slaving away at a job that didn’t respect or value him, his tortuous formative years filled with bullying and excommunication from every social group he had tried to enter, his lack of luck in social situations with anyone he dared to interact with, his formidable and deeply unloving parents. The possible, but likely inevitable, end to his great schemes when the vigilante of Gotham decided to crack down on him. Surely, all of these amounted to an understanding that Eddie might just not be lucky, or made for good fortune. Or, could it be that Eddie was the problem? That he was the common denominator in all of the unfortunate things in his life?

It was a self-hating thread that he rarely pulled, for fear that his entire existence would become unravelled. But then, a glimmer of hope as he heard the chime, finally.

Tripping over himself in a bid to reach the phone as quickly as possible, he read the message wide-eyed and hopefully.

“I don’t want to regret this, Eddie. You seem to not understand. If I get another guy to look at my laptop for me, then I can meet you for a coffee while he works on it. You seem like you might be adequate entertainment for an hour. And besides, I feel like hating myself today. So?”

Eddie’s wide smirk pressed into his cheeks as he sighed dreamily. With any luck, you’d be willing to commit to hating yourself every day if he could just make sure this date went well. And since he had already managed to get this far with you, he assumed his natural charms would see him the rest of the way.

#finnie writes #riddler #the riddler #riddler x reader #riddler x you #edward nygma #zero year riddler #zero year!riddler #capullo riddler #capullo!riddler #riddler smut #x reader

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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with or without you | e.m.

eddie munson x f!reader ; [1.4k] summary: It's time to leave Hawkins, and unlike every scenario Eddie had built so far in life, the reality is: he doesn't want to go alone. Now that he has you, everything's shifted. For the first time, he sees someone else leaving this hellhole with him.

📝 this was a commission done by the lovely (and very patient)) @easy-peasy68 and i hope she likes reading it as much as i loved writing. i missed writing Eds. ⚠️Minors, DNI. Explicit sexual content. | 🏷️ established relationship, soft Eddie, unprotected sex, love-making, talks of the future.

The graduation cap lying on top of his gown looked lost amongst the rest of Eddie’s things.

What a weird, and happy sight, you thought, exhaling the smoke from your lungs. From ‘a loser who’s never gonna make it outta this fuckin’ town or even finish High School’ to a graduate, and one with honors.

Eddie came a long way from the angry, bruised, and hopeless guy you met months ago. Turning to your side, you analyzed his side profile lying in his bed right next to you, and sighed, content.

In a sign of syncronization, he echoed. He looked peaceful lost in thoughts like this. A lot different from the person on stage, or the guy running the role play table—he looked like Eds, the one who you met outside the hospital with a gown on, a cigarette between his lips, and a flirtatious remark for anything you had to say.

When you passed him the blunt, Eddie turned his attention back to you, and the hint of a smile showed on his face.

“It looks weird, doesn’t it?” he asked, pulling you closer.

“What does?”

“That thing,” he pointed at the cap, took a drag, and blew the smoke upwards so it wouldn’t go to your face.

It did look weird, but instead you answered, “It looks… out of place,” and bingo, Eddie laughed.

A win.

Anything that made him laugh with his chest like that counted as victory. Plus—Eddie liked to pull you even closer whenever something amused him, just like now.

His body wrapped around yours like an octopus; legs thrown over your middle, arms circling your waist, and his head hiding in the crook of your neck. “I’m out of place,” he chuckled. The feeling of his lips pressing against your neck made your exhale shakier—Eddie took advantage of it. “Hmmm,” the hum meant he noticed your shiver, so you curled up further into him. “And now… I can not be.”

So this was it.

The unspoken conversation that hung in the air between you two for weeks now—the one you two almost had a few times, but was always interrupted by something or someone; the inevitable moment where the future knocked on the door, and you discovered what it looked like.

The shift in the air would be comical if it didn’t turn your stomach into something quivering and alive. “Free at last,” you whispered to him. Your lips searched for the skin closest to you—his chest, out naked after his shower, exposed with all of its ink and scars.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Dangerous thing,” you joked.

Another laugh. This one, you felt vibrating against your chest. “It is.” Eddie squeezed himself around you, then pulled his head back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’ve been thinking about how much I always dreamt of this, y’know?”

“Finsihing High School?”

“Yeah.” His smile looked a little magical under the moonlight seeping through his bedroom’s window. “And whatever the hell came after that.”

Dangerous thing, indeed. “What was included in these dreams?” A question you hadn’t dared asking yet. It had been choking you, if you were to be honest, but it felt good to let it out.

What’s in store for you future?

Eddie had that answer ready. “I wanna get out of this town.”

The words froze you in the spot. Looking at him, with your body warm and held tight in his arms, all you could do was look for a moment. Forcing a smile on your face, you tried some words, too. “You should.” This town is quicksand. I’d know. “Don’t get stuck here like—”

“Come with me,” Eddie blurted the words out so fast that it seemed to surprise even him.

Wide eyed, he opened and closed his mouth again, then swallowed visibly.

“Sorry—” he laughed, looking nervous. “I meant—I’d like you to come with me too. If… if you wanted. If you think about getting out of here too.”

“Eddie…”

Overwhelmed by the feelings washing over you, all you could do was close your eyes. Bury your face in his chest like a cat, or like someone who’s trying to push their way inside.

You’d do it. If it was possible, you’d climb inside Eddie and live safe and sound in the comfort of his warmth.

“What, sweetheart?” His hand sneaks underneath your shirt—his shirt, and starts rubbing against your back. “Too much?”

You shake your head. Never too much. “You’re never too much,” this much you can say without choking on it.

Eddie was never too much. Ever since you met him, he was more than enough. He was—”perfect,” you mumbled.

“What?”

“You’re perfect.” You climbed on top of him, finally feeling like you could breathe again. The words had ran their course through your body, much like he had all night long, and Eddie looked even brighter now. “You really want that?”

“I want all of you,” he replied with a seriousness that was rare for him.

“Just like that?”

He shook his head. “No—not ‘just like that. I thought about this. Been thinking about it. I mean…I claimed ‘86 was gonna be my year and it almost killed me. Then I said I just wanted to make it out of ‘87 and right in the hospital I was gifted with, like, one of the best things that ever happened to me, so… yeah. Why the hell not? Uncle said he’d love a change of air. I need to get the fuck outta this town. I know it’s not your dream to work where you do forever, and as far as I know, nothing’s holding you here.” Eddie’s hands worked their way on your thighs as he said that, with his eyes kept solely on you. “I was just tryin’ to figure out how to ask you this.”

If he had any doubts, he could see in your eyes your answer, and they all dissipated.

“I wanna go,” you whispered, leaning down to get closer to him.

Eddie had a power in his hands; they could guide you wherever he wanted, and like his lips, they commanded any room he was in. “You’ll go with me, sweetheart?”

“Into the very fires of Mordor.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he sensed you meant it. Maybe it’s quoting one of his favorite books, or the way you’re already with eyes closed and ready to melt into his touch once more, but Eddie was a goner the second the words left your lips.

He muttered a curse under his breath, and then, “I can’t fucking believe you’re real,” which was the last warning you got.

Eddie was stronger than he looked.

When he flipped you over and took off the shirt he landed you after the shower, he did so without any struggle.

He got lost in the curves of your body with his eyes glued to you in a way he never had before.

Because he knew the way you adored to be touched, Eddie seemed to be on a high focused road—his tongue ran a path from your belly button to the middle of your chest, where he hummed low and nibbled, eating up all the sounds you let out. He sucked marks on both of your boobs, then sucked harder on your hardened nipples as he grinded his hips into yours.

“Eddie,” was everywhere.

“‘m here,�� he answered, and he was.

Eddie made quick work of both of your clothes, and you were thankful there weren’t many.

The more you felt of his skin, the more you whispered his name, and the more he smiled. Eddie smiled as he told you to slow down, as he rubbed his dick between your folds in the cruelest teasing manner possible, as he pushed in slowly. He supported both forearms next to your head, holding you caged underneath his body, until all you could see was him, and asked you over and over again, “you’re with me, sweetheart?”

Over and over again, you answered, “Yeah, Eds, I’m with you,” and watched as the words got him lost in your body. You moaned them, whined, and eventually, all there was left was a scream of his name and the feeling of him overpowering all of your senses.

He was with you. And you’d be with him, too, wherever the road lead you two to be.

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carolmunson · 1 year

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wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

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