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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

Summary: After moving to Hawkins to take care of your ailing grandma, you end up spending a wild night with Corroded Coffin's lead singer, Eddie Munson. When you uncover his true intentions, you have no desire to ever see him again, but fate--and his son, Harris--has other plans.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering (f! receiving), oral (m!receiving), slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 7.5k

Chapter 1/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Late August, 1996.

July had come and gone so quickly, and you could sense it in the muggy air as the daylight dwindled away on the horizon of an orange colored sky. Your heels click along the parking lot pavement as you make your way into the dingy bar. Everyone told you that your twenties would be full of surprises, but no one warned you that those twists and turns would land you in Hawkins, Indiana.

The neon sign reads The Hideout; well, really, it reads Th H deo t, and the “o” is starting to flicker. You’re not the only one who notices the building’s crumbling exterior.

“Huh,” Jess says, crossing her arms over her chest. “This place seemed a lot cooler when I was in high school.” Still, she pushes open the door, where you’re immediately hit with the stench of cigarettes and beer. The floor is sticky with what you can only hope is spilled liquor, and you take a seat on a rickety barstool.

“How did you even hear about this place?” you ask your new friend, tugging your dress so it covers a bit more of your thighs. You had one night out to yourself, and Jess was insistent on you making the most of it.

“Used to come here all the time when I was, like, sixteen?” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re dirt cheap and they never card, so my friends and I used to get super wasted. Thought we were hot shit.” She flags down the bartender with a wave and a smile. “Anyway, you can’t live in Hawkins and not come to the Hideout at least once. It’s a tradition.”

The bartender, a woman who looks to be in her mid-forties, leans on the counter. “What can I get you ladies?” she asks. Her voice is raspy from what sounds like decades of chain smoking.

You’re about to order a Bud Light, but Jess cuts you off. “We’ll each have a Hideout Special,” she says confidently. “Make hers a double.”

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me? And what the hell is a Hideout Special?”

She waves off your concern. “Honestly, I have no idea. But it’ll get you buzzed fast.”

You reluctantly agree, sipping on something that tastes vaguely like a mixture of rum and vodka, with the pungency of rubbing alcohol. “That’s awful,” you grimace, and Jess just laughs.

“Yeah, they’re pretty rough going down. But you only have one night to yourself, and you’re gonna make the most of it.” She links her arm through yours, using her free hand to tilt the drink back up to your lips. “Now, drink up. The band’s gonna start playing soon, and you’ll need all the liquor you can get. Trust me.”

Corroded Coffin, the band in question, is warming up in the back room. Tuesday nights has been their slot since high school, and if their lead singer and guitarist has his way, it’ll be their slot until they’re too old to play. He’s tuning his ax, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, only looking up when he hears a faint “oh, shit,” come from his bandmate.

“Y’good?” Eddie asks, strumming gently to play a perfect A-chord.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, holding up a small black box. “Forgot I had this in my pocket; almost dropped it when I took off my jacket.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That’s what you get for wearing leather in fuckin’ August, dude.” He squints at the object in Jeff’s hand. “What is that, anyway?”

“A ring,” Jeff proudly announces. “I’m gonna ask Viv to marry me.” The big, goofy grin on his face makes Eddie’s stomach churn. He looks at Gareth and Danny, expecting similar disgusted reactions from them, but they’re both smiling, too.

“Way to go, man!” Danny says, and Gareth claps Jeff on the back. “Our little Jeff is growing up.”

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Jeff says, but he’s laughing as he accepts the congratulations. He glances expectantly at Eddie, waiting for him to chime in.

“You two’ve been together for a million years,” Gareth jokes, twirling a drumstick in his free hand. “What made you decide to take the plunge?”

Jeff’s eyes dart around the room. “Okay, I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” he starts, voice hushed, “but Viv’s pregnant!”

“Holy shit!” Danny sputters. “Dude, you’re gonna be a dad!”

“Yeah,” Jeff agrees incredulously. “Fuckin’ wild, isn’t it?” His gaze falls to Eddie. “Does the seasoned professional have any words of wisdom?”

An uncharacteristic silence fills the room. Eddie can feel their eyes burning a hole into his head. He knows what he should say, what Jeff wants to hear, but he can’t bring himself to feign happiness. “You don’t have to marry someone just because you knocked her up.” It comes out with a snarl, meaner than he’d intended.

“Crazy thought, but have you considered that I actually want to marry her?” Jeff shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not all content being miserable hermits like you are.”

“Whoa, break it up,” Gareth tries, stepping between the two guitarists, but the conversation’s already too heated.

“I’m not miserable, and I’m not a hermit,” Eddie counters. “I’m just not about to limit myself when there’s plenty of pussy in the sea.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Thanks for the well wishes.” Eddie can’t help but notice the flash of hurt in his eyes as he walks away. A small part of him feels bad, but he can’t shake the anxiety that unexpected change seems to bring.

“So, what does this mean for Corroded Coffin?” he asks. “Should we consider this our farewell show?” He tries to ignore the irritated glares he’s getting from Gareth and Danny. It’s like the words fall from his mouth before his brain can process the damage they can do.

“Obviously, once the baby comes, I’ll have to take a step back,” Jeff shrugs. “And I’m gonna try to work some overtime before it’s born. Save some extra money, y’know.”

The room had been zapped of joy, and Eddie feeds off of the sullen atmosphere. “Nice commitment to the band,” he sneers. “Glad to see how easily your priorities change.”

“Yeah, man, you should try it sometime,” Jeff snaps. His fists clench, and he looks angry enough to throw a punch. “Maybe you’ll stop acting like an overgrown teenager.”

Eddie’s about to fight back, jaw locked in place and eyes seeing red, but he’s temporarily grounded by the sound of the manager’s tired voice echoing from the ancient sound system.

“Put your hands together for Corroded Coffin!” A smattering of applause signals their cue to enter. Eddie tries to shake off the conflict; it can be resolved after they play. The show must go on, or whatever it was that his high school drama teacher always said.

A balding man with a gruff voice introduces the band as Corroded Coffin. Jess’s eyes go wide; she’s already a few Hideout Specials deep and definitely feeling it.

“Oh, shit!” she laughs with a hiccup. “That’s my sister’s boyfriend’s band!” She motions to the bartender to pour her another drink, but you shake your head and just mouth water. The bartender gives you a knowing nod, probably grateful that she won’t have to be the one dealing with Jess tonight.

“Yeah, that’s Jeff!” Jess continues, pointing at a tall guitarist with tight curls. “He’s the one who knocked up Viv!” She cackles like she just made the most hilarious joke. “I totally forgot they were playing tonight.” She frantically waves at him, and he gives a small head nod in acknowledgment.

Your eyes are drawn to someone else: the lanky, ring-clad man who takes center stage. He grips the mic with black polished nails, smirking out into the crowd as he yells, “Hawkins, how’re we doin’ tonight?” The loudest cheers come from Jess, and you join in, letting out an obnoxious “woooooo!” in response.

The noise draws his attention, and you watch as his smirk shifts to something needier, hungrier, even. His big brown eyes land on you and Jess, leaving you momentarily breathless. He’s absolutely gorgeous, light stubble on his cheeks and above his plush lips. He’s wearing a white V-neck that shows off a dusting of chest hair. His torn black jeans hang low on his hips, accentuated with a studded belt. A gleaming pair of silver handcuffs are clipped to one of the loops.

“All right!” he calls back. “Well, this first one goes out to the pretty girl in the blue dress at the bar. Wait for me after the show, Sweetheart.” He counts out to four, and they launch into a cover of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.

It doesn’t even register until Jess nudges you, more forcefully than necessary, and says, “Hey, you’re wearing a blue dress!”

Oh.

“Who…who is he?” you ask, feeling a warmth spread through your core that you’re sure isn’t from the alcohol.

“That,” Jess says, leaning on you for balance, “is Eddie Munson. Total freak back in high school, but now he’s just got a reputation for being a freak in the sheets.” She throws you a clumsy wink and adds, “looks like you’ll get to find out for yourself tonight.”

“I’m not really a one-night stand kind of person,” you counter, internally cringing at the memories of your feeble attempts at hooking up, all of which inevitably ended with you pining after them pathetically.

Jess rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she whines, taking note of the way you and Eddie can’t seem to tear your gazes from each other. “Your dad leaves tomorrow, and then you’ll be spending your nights taking care of your grandma. You gotta live a little!”

Plopping back down onto the barstool, you consider her sentiment. It’s true; once your dad goes back home, you’ll be the one helping out in the evenings. And the new school year starts next week, leaving you with little time for yourself.

Your whole life has been spent helping others. You became a teacher to shape young minds and provide them with a safe place to learn and express themselves. You moved to a tiny town in the middle of Indiana to look after your grandma. Even now, you’re babysitting Jess and ensuring she doesn’t dehydrate instead of letting loose and ordering another drink.

“Fine, but only if he brings it up,” you concede. “I’m not gonna be the one to make the first move.”

The band moves on to their next song; it’s either an original or one you’re not familiar with, but you find yourself dancing to the beat. Jess joins you, writhing her body in some kind of drunken jig that has you cackling. You’re having such a great time that you don’t even notice Eddie tripping over a few chords as he watches you sway your hips back and forth.

Corroded Coffin plays for another forty minutes. You recognize some Metallica and Black Sabbath songs, headbanging along until you’re dizzy. The bartender slides you another drink—on the house, she insists—and you sip it eagerly, trying to quell your nerves. Eddie shouts out, “thank you, Hawkins!” and disappears backstage with the rest of the band.

You can’t ignore the dejected pain in your heart, but you muster up a smile and turn to Jess. “Ready to get out of here?”

She shakes her head, putting her palm on the bar to steady herself. “You still have to wait for Eddie,” she teases. “You promised.”

You cock your eyebrow in amusement. “First of all, Drunky McWasted, I didn’t promise anything,” you say, “and second, show’s over and, uh, he’s not here.” You swivel around for emphasis.

“Give him a fucking second, would ya?” The comment doesn’t come from your friend, and you turn around to see Eddie standing behind you. He’s got a towel around the back of his neck, mopping up the sweat from his performance. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and you can see the remnants of kohl eyeliner smudged around his lash line. “Had to clean myself up a little bit, damn.” He smiles, and you feel like you’re going to melt.

Jess interrupts, pushing you closer to him. “Eddie, this is my neighbor.” When you still don’t say anything, too awestruck to introduce yourself, she tells him your name.

Eddie nods, letting his fingers graze yours. “What’d you think of the set?” He grins at the bartender, who gives a small head bob and hands him a whiskey, neat.

“It was good,” you manage, finally finding your voice. “I especially liked the song you dedicated to the pretty girl in the blue dress.” There. You flirted. The rest is up to him.

“Yeah?” He rests his forearm on the bar and leans over to take his glass. “Was kinda hopin’ you would. Soon as I saw you, I knew I had to shoot my shot.” His eyes flit over the low-cut neckline of your dress before he drags his gaze back to your eyes. “You new to Hawkins?”

“Mhm,” you say, watching as he fumbles with a pack of Newports. “I moved here to take care of my grandma.” Good going. Nothing turns a guy on like talking about your elderly relatives.

But Eddie’s unfazed. “Hot and nice? A lethal combo, if I do say so myself.”

“What about you?” you blurt out. “I mean, have you always lived in Hawkins?”

He shrugs. “Been back and forth. Came here when I was nine, left when I was twenty-two, then came back about four years ago.”

“What brought you back? Missed all the excitement?” You laugh and he gives a small smile, but an emotion you can’t pinpoint crosses over his face.

“Somethin’ like that,” Eddie mutters, popping a cigarette between his lips. “Wanna go outside an’ have a smoke with me?”

“I’d love to,” you say with an apologetic tone, “but I really don’t wanna leave her alone.” You motion to your friend, who is currently trying to convince the bartender to let her have another drink. But as soon as she hears you using her as an excuse, she waves you off.

“Go,” she insists. “I’ll be fine. ‘M gonna have Jeff take me back home.” She stands on her tiptoes, nearly falling over, flailing both her arms wildly when she spots Jeff in the crowd and shouting, “Jeffy! Jeffy, can you drive me home so these two can have sex?”

You feel your face heat up at her words as Eddie shakes his head incredulously, lips twisting into a cocky grin. The last thing Jeff wants to do after Eddie’s earlier tantrum is help him get laid, but he knows there will be hell to pay if he doesn’t watch after his inebriated sister-in-law-to-be.

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbles, carefully looping his arm around her waist and helps her to his car. He appears to deliberately avoid making eye contact with Eddie, though you don’t know why. The two of them seemed to be getting along just fine on stage. The rest of the band leaves with them, carrying various instruments. No one even acknowledges Eddie’s presence.

“Uh, everything okay?” You can’t not pretend you didn’t notice; the tension is far too obvious.

Eddie brushes it off with another shrug. “Guys all got sticks up their asses, I dunno.” He pulls a black Bic lighter from his back pocket and motions towards the door, signaling your cue to walk out with him and drop the conversation.

Chirping crickets and a rowdy group of drunks shouting obscenities at each other punctuates the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Eddie looks at you expectantly, holding out his lighter, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to take out your own pack of cigarettes. A pack of cigarettes that you do not have.

“Oh, I, um, I don’t smoke,” you stammer, biting your tongue in irritation towards your own awkwardness. “I mean, I’ll smoke, like, socially, but I don’t carry cigarettes on me. Sorry.”

“Wanna bum one?” You pluck one from the pack and lean in as he lights it for you. The crisp inhale of tobacco lingers in your lungs for a moment before you breathe out, grateful that you didn’t cough like a middle schooler stealing cigs from her mom’s stash. You take another drag, watching as he does the same. You’d thought that there would be some level of conversation, but Eddie seems perfectly content smoking in silence.

“So,” you finally say, “how long have you been playing guitar?”

He chuckles and pushes his hand through his hair, stopping where it’s gathered into a hair tie. The perspiration on his forehead is starting to dry, but his bangs still stick to it. “Shit, gotta be twenty years now. Damn, I’m fuckin’ old.”

“How old are you?” It comes out more accusing than inquisitive, and you sharply inhale more nicotine to shut yourself up.

“Turned thirty last month.”

“Oh, that’s not old,” you reassure him. “I’m twenty-eight, so…not far behind.”

He doesn’t say anything in response to this. Maybe you’d misread his intentions. Or maybe he’d lost interest after just a few moments alone with you. The pretty girl in the blue dress quickly becomes the lame girl in the blue dress, and you both return home unsatisfied.

You try again, this time saying something that warrants a response. “I just moved here last week, if you have any recommendations of places to go. Restaurants or something?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, ‘s pretty boring around here.”

End of conversation.

“Well, I should probably get home,” you say, shifting your weight onto your other foot and stubbing out your cigarette in the nearby ashtray. There’s no sense in wasting anymore time, and the nighttime chill is biting at your bare legs.

“Wait, what?” Eddie practically does a double-take. “I thought…didn’t Viv’s sister say something about…”

Or maybe you’d read the situation correctly after all.

“You still want to?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his own cigarette, and the smirk returns to his face. “Your place or mine?”

Considering the fact that your place is currently housing an eighty-year-old woman with declining cognition, and your father, you quickly jump at the offer to go to his home.

You walk with him to his car, a beat-up blue sedan. He opens the passenger door, and you thank him with a tight smile, still not sure what to expect. Maybe he’s just not into small talk, but he seems awfully closed off for a man who’s trying to get laid.

A tangle of tree-shaped air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror; they sway slightly as the two of you plop in your seats. Instinctively, you look behind you as he turns the key in the ignition. Nestled into the far left side of the backseat is a carseat. Cheerio crumbs are wedged in the crevices, and an empty sippy cup leans up against it.

“Is that a carseat?” It’s a dumb question; of course it’s a carseat, but you can’t bring yourself to be more blunt and ask if he has a kid. I mean, the guy couldn’t even tell you a single restaurant to go to.

“Oh. Yeah.” Eddie reaches around, placing a ringed hand on the back of your headrest as he backs out of the spot. He doesn’t elaborate on the matter, just speeds out of the parking lot, so you don’t push it.

The words, I love kids; I’m actually a preschool teacher, linger on your lips, but you bite them back. This is supposed to be casual, a one-night stand; you’re not trying to be anyone’s stepmother.

Eddie flicks on the radio to a metal station–of course–and you sit back and try to enjoy the ride. You can faintly hear him humming along to the music. The fingers on his left hand drum on the steering wheel, while his right hand finds its way to your upper thigh. Fuck, it feels good. He gently squeezes, and the sensation of his cold metal rings combined with his hungry touch makes you involuntarily press your legs together.

“Just wait, Sweetheart,” he laughs. “There’s more where that came from.” It’s probably the most he’s said to you all night, and you consider it a small win. You lean in and gently nip at his earlobe, grinning as he shivers at the contact.

“There’s more where that came from,” you echo, shifting back in your seat. Eddie looks at you, brows raised and forehead creased in amusement, but–big surprise–says nothing. He pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, swinging into the nearest available spot, and kills the engine. Without the music or the steady hum of the ignition, you’re suddenly plunged into complete silence. Are you really doing this? Going to a stranger’s apartment to have sex with him? What if he’s some sort of serial killer? But Jess knows him–sort of–and vouched for him, so he can’t be all bad, right? Although, Ted Bundy had friends, too…

Eddie clearing his throat disrupts your inner monologue, and you glance up at him shyly. “Sorry,” you mutter, though you’re not quite sure what you’re apologizing for.

“No biggie,” he says, like he’s used to women just spacing out in his car before they fuck him. “Um, y’ready to go inside?”

You nod, opening your door and carefully stepping out onto the uneven pavement. You wobble a little in your high heels, but you feel a hand on your lower back, steadying you. “Lemme help you,” he mumbles, lacing his fingers through yours and guiding you to the front door of the building.

The two of you only make it to the stairwell between the first and second floors before he’s pouncing on you, your back against the cold concrete walls. His hands start on your waist, traveling upwards and lightly grazing your breasts before he’s cupping your face. His kisses are hungry, but not sloppy; when his tongue breaches your lips, you let him in without a second thought. He places his knee between your legs, just barely nudging it against your lace thong. “Fuck,” he hisses, pulling away from you and running his tongue over his teeth, “I need you, pretty girl.”

You pout, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “Can’t get naked until we’re in your apartment.” You pause before whispering in his ear, “and if you thought this dress looked good on me, wait till you see it on your floor.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “‘S just another flight of stairs after this, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes your hand again and leads you to apartment 3C. There are a few Hot Wheels cars scattered on the ground, but he kicks them under the couch without further explanation. He sits down, adjusts his body on the soft beige cushion, and pats his lap. “Your throne,” he says cheekily, exposing tiny dimples on either side of his lips.

Wordlessly, you climb on top of him. Your dress bunches up as you straddle his waist, though that won’t be a problem much longer. You greedily grind your clothed pussy over the rough denim of his fly, sucking on his neck as his strong hands clasp the back of your thighs and pull you closer.

“Needy thing, hmm?” Eddie smirks, chuckling when you feign offense. “Where’re you going? ‘M just teasing you.” He sits up a bit, tugging one dress strap down and kissing the flesh between your neck and shoulder. “Maybe I read it wrong, but…y’look like a girl who likes to be teased,” he says, voice muffled by your skin.

“N-No, I do. Like it,” you stammer, fumbling with the frayed hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head. You run your hands over the expanse of pale skin, admiring his tattoos. There’s one of a red guitar pick right above his left pec; without thinking, you kiss it gingerly. He lets out a quiet moan, unzipping your dress and helping you shimmy out of it. You’re not wearing a bra, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue when he sees you on display for him.

“Christ, baby,” he groans, “got the most perfect fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.” He kisses them and runs his thumbs over your pert nipples before briefly sucking on them. The nickname baby isn’t lost on you, but you try not to read into it.

Still, there’s a sense of satisfaction at the way he’s crumbling literally beneath you, though you can’t help but snarkily say, “bet you say that to all the girls you bring back here.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, sending vibrations through your core. “Only the ones with perfect tits.”

You hate yourself for wondering how many perfect-breasted women there have been.

“Bedroom?” It’s all you can manage, already breathless from dry humping like a goddamn teenager on prom night.

Eddie hesitates before shaking his head, a curl falling loose from the hair tie. “Let’s just, uh, stay out here. Room’s kinda a mess.” The unsure expression on his face hints at another reason, but he quickly distracts you by pushing your panties to the side, slipping his middle finger into your aching cunt. “Holy shit. S’fucking wet already. I knew you were needy.”

“Y-Yes. Need you. Need more.” You’re already stretched out by one finger, but you’re dying to know how a second one feels. The more of him inside you, the better. He obliges, fucking you with his pointer and middle fingers while his thumb makes tiny, hurried circles against your clit. “That’s it, right…right there. Don’t stop; please don’t stop!” He brings you to your orgasm, smirking as you finish all over his fingers.

Your rocking slows, and you reluctantly pull yourself off of him and sink to your knees. He’s unbuckling his belt as fast as he can, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot on his jeans right where you were grinding on his thigh.

Eddie’s pants and plaid boxers are around his ankles in a heartbeat. His hard cock rests against his stomach; a pearly bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip. “Let’s see what that cute little mouth can do, Sweetheart,” he muses, leaning back into the couch with his hands behind his head.

You bite your lower lip. “First I gotta clean you off, yeah?” you ask before licking the tip, tasting him. His length twitches at that minimal contact, which makes you giggle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.” There’s no protesting, so you grasp the base of his shaft with one hand and cup his balls with the other. You suck on the head, circling it with your tongue, before taking as much of the rest of his cock as you can fit into your mouth.

“Mmm, baby, yes,” he growls, inhaling sharply when you gently tug on his balls. “Thas’ a good girl. Play with my fuckin’ balls, just like that.” He bucks up his hips, bringing his cock even further down your throat. “Gag on it, baby. Gag on my big fuckin’ cock.”

He’s not wrong; at least, it’s the biggest of any guy you’ve ever been with. Hollowing out your cheeks, you increase your pace, letting your nose brush against his patch of dark curls. Saliva drips down your chin; you swipe at it clumsily and keep your focus on him.

“Shitshitshitshitshit–FUCK!” Before you can even process what’s happening, Eddie pulls out of you. Thick, hot ropes of cum trickle down his right hand, and he buries his face in his left. You reach for a tissue and hand it to him, and he angrily wipes off his spend.

“Gimme fifteen minutes, and I’ll be good to go,” he says, tossing the used tissue in a nearby wastebasket. He finds the remote tucked behind a couch cushion and clicks on the TV. An episode of Seinfeld comes on. “You’ll do,” he mutters, plopping down next to you and poorly stifling a yawn.

“Sleepy?” you tease, wrapping your naked chest in an itchy wool blanket and curling up. He doesn’t put his arm around you, or make any attempt to cuddle, so neither do you.

“Nah, ‘m fine.” But nearly five minutes later, while Jerry and Elaine argue about God-knows-what, you can hear Eddie softly snoring next to you.

“Eddie,” you whisper. No response, so you try a little louder. “Eddie!”

“Huh? What?”

“I can, uh, I can go now. I’ll call a cab. Just need your address.” You start to get up and head for the phone hanging on the wall, but he puts an arm out to stop you.

“‘S’okay. Stay for a bit, baby.”

Stay for a bit, baby.

It almost feels like you’re taking advantage of him; his curt conversations and closed-off demeanor earlier in the night indicated that he was not looking for someone to sleep over. But now he’s asking you to stick around, resting his head on your shoulder and letting one tattooed arm drape over your waist. You let him stay there, trying your best not to wake him, but you’re forced to reach over him to grab the remote when an infomercial starts blaring.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, half-asleep as he lays down and scoots himself as far back as he can. You follow his lead, pressing your back against his bare chest. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you find yourself drifting off while wrapped in the warm embrace of this handsome stranger.

RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!

You’re startled awake by a loud, unfamiliar noise that doesn’t sound like your alarm clock.

RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!

Eddie jolts up, almost knocking you off the couch. “Shit, didn’t think you were still…” He turns towards the ringing sound, still confused. “What time is it?!” His eyes widen as he gets a look at the clock, which reads 7:19. “Shit, shit, shit! Son of a bitch!”

He practically flies off of the couch, sprinting to the phone and bringing the receiver to his ear. “Wayne? Yeah, I’m sorry…overslept. I can be there in ten…no, you don’t have to do that, I’ll just…okay, okay, fine. See you soon.” He hangs up with a clank, turning back to you.

You’re just sitting on the sofa, still wearing nothing but your underwear and the blanket. “Everything…um, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he lets out an overwhelmed sigh. “Let me help you find your dress.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but the real meaning behind his words seeps through: you should leave.

You nod, feeling the all-too recognizable lump in your throat. It happens any time these shared intimate moments come to an end; the realization of just how temporary you are in someone’s life is a punch to the stomach.

You find the bunched blue garment behind the couch and slide it over your head. The fabric feels stale and cold against your skin, like it doesn’t belong to you. Eddie’s only wearing his boxers, and you catch yourself staring at the collection of tattoos that trail down his arms and torso.

“Like what you see?” He laughs when you duck your head, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as he walks towards you. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Not after that little show you put on for me last night.” He leans down, tilting your chin up to him and kissing you softly. “Before you go, leave your number, yeah?”

That makes you roll your eyes. “Oh, please,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What?”

“Don’t ask for my number if you’re not gonna call,” you say. You sling your bag over your shoulder as you walk to the door. “We don’t have to do the whole song-and-dance. We can just, y’know, leave this as a one-night stand.”

Eddie chuckles incredulously. “You wound me, Sweetheart,” he says. “‘Course I’m gonna call you. How could I not wanna see a girl as beautiful as you again? ‘Sides,” he adds slyly, “We didn’t even get to the best part.”

Begrudgingly, you write your number on a nearby notepad. The phrase don’t get my hopes up for nothing sits on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back.

You’re halfway down the stairwell when you remember that you never called a cab. There’s no way in hell that you’re going to clamber back up to the third floor and ask Eddie to use his phone–and get his address–so you continue down to the lobby payphone and dial Jess’s number.

“H-Hello?” a man’s sleepy voice picks up on the third ring.

“Uh, Jess?” It’s clearly not your neighbor, but you have no idea what else to ask. Did she find some skeezy guy to bring home from the Hideout last night?

“Nah, it’s Jeff. Who’s this?” When you say your name, he hums in acknowledgment. “Oh, yeah. From the bar, right?”

“Yeah…is Jess there?”

He yawns into the receiver. “Last I checked, she was asleep. Finally. She spent half of last night puking her guts up. Everything okay?”

“Mhm. I was just wondering if she could pick me up from…um, from Eddie’s.” You cringe at your admission; the last thing you want is for Eddie’s bandmates to think that you’re some kind of pathetic groupie.

But Jeff seems unfazed. “I’ll be right there.” Before you can protest, he hangs up.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass-door reflection. Your hair is a mess, and there’s smudged makeup around your eyes and lips, like a billboard for the walk of shame.

Jeff pulls up a few minutes later, and you bashfully climb into the passenger seat. “Thanks,” you mumble, trying not to let your humiliation show through.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as he pulls onto the main road, “it’s a special occasion.” When you pinch your eyebrows together in confusion, he laughs. “Ed never lets a girl stay over. Not sure what you did–don’t wanna know, to be honest–but you must’ve made quite the impression.”

“Didn’t mean to,” you say quietly. “We both fell asleep after…yeah. We only woke up when we did because some guy named Wayne called.”

Jeff nods knowingly. “That’s his uncle. He watches his son on Tuesdays when we have our gigs.”

His…son?

Jeff must notice the stunned expression on your face, and his cheeks flush pink. “Shit, he didn’t tell you about Harris?”

“We didn’t do much talking,” you reply wryly. “I’ll have to ask him about that when he calls.”

“Christ,” Jeff shakes his head. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s not gonna call. Never does. Calls it the ‘Cat-and-Mouse.’”

“The what?” Your throat goes bone-dry. You should’ve trusted your intuition, denied giving him your number, left it as a one-time thing.

“He brings a girl back to his place, has sex with her and asks for her number, but doesn’t call. When she shows up to the bar the next week, all insecure and wondering if he’s still interested, he acts like he’s been so busy, apologizes profusely, and strings her along until she catches on. Then it’s onto the next one.”

You feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest. Bile burns at the back of your esophagus, and you have to blink back tears. How could you be so stupid, so naive? Didn’t you know by now that guys like Eddie Munson are only after one thing?

The two of you sit in silence until he pulls up to your building. “Thanks,” you say finally, “for the ride and for the warning.” Jeff just nods, watching to make sure you get inside before driving off. As soon as he’s safely down the road, you burst into tears. Angry at Eddie, but mostly angry at yourself.

Eddie watches from his window as you get into a car–Jeff’s car–and leave. Great, he thinks, I’m sure I’ll get my ass handed to me at our next practice for fucking around with his sister-in-law’s friend. If we even still have a band, anyway.

Throwing on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and an undershirt, he makes his way downstairs just as Wayne and Harris arrive. His son is leaping out of his carseat to get to him.

“Daddy!” Harris flashes a gigantic smile. His dark brown curls are a tangled mess atop his head. Eddie unbuckles him and wraps him in a giant hug. He’s losing the chubbiness of his baby fat, but he’s still sweet and cuddly.

“Har-Bear!” Eddie laughs. “Did you say goodbye to Grampa Wayne?” Harris encircles Eddie’s waist with his legs, reaching out his arms to give Wayne a hug through the window.

“Sorry again,” Eddie says sheepishly. “Fell asleep and forgot to set the alarm.”

“Got a job yet? A real one?” Wayne asks stoically, ignoring his nephew’s apology.

A storm cloud washes over Eddie’s face. “I’ve told you a million times: nothing’s going to pay the bills as well as working for Rick.”

Wayne rolls his eyes. “Get a job,” he says pointedly, pressing a kiss to Harris’s cheek before lowering his voice and growling at Eddie, “and wipe the damn lipstick off your neck, for Chrissake.”

Jeff’s right: Eddie never calls. The home health aid that takes care of your grandma during the day informs you at the end of each shift that week that no one named Eddie called for you. And while you can’t say you’re shocked, it doesn’t do much to quell the hurt.

You spend as much time as you can preparing your classroom for the new school year. By the time you’re finished, the room is decorated to look like a jungle. Stuffed animals of lions, monkeys, and different birds line the shelf tops, which are packed with various books and art supplies. Your walls are decorated with different posters, all of which encourage kids to be their best.

The hustle and bustle of the first day of school helps keep your mind off of your personal life. With a thermos full of hot coffee, you happily introduce yourself to your teaching assistant, Will. He’s a sweet guy, a few years younger than you, and he’s practically bursting with games to teach the kids.

“Before I forget,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, “I picked up our roster from the office on my way in. Looks like we have ten kids this year.”

“You’re the best,” you tell him gratefully, and he starts putting tiny chairs around tiny tables.

Being new to town, you don’t expect to recognize any of the names on the list. There’s an Abigail Carver, a Joshua Harrington…

And a Harris Munson.

“No fucking way,” you muse, apparently a bit louder than you’d intended, because Will’s head snaps up and he swivels in your direction. “Sorry.”

The sounds of bubbly giggles and excited chatter filing into the hallway grab your attention. One by one, parents start dropping off their kids, kissing them goodbye. There are tears–some from students, some from parents–and you’re quick to reassure everyone that school will be so much fun.

You’re just grabbing the sign-in sheet for Mr. Carver to fill out when you feel a small thump against your legs. When you look down, you see a curly-haired boy staring up at you with wide, brown eyes.

“This is my classroom!” he says matter-of-factly, pointing to the number 3 on the door. “My name’s Harris. Like the guy from Iron Maiden!” He jumps up and down as he speaks. “Are you my teacher?”

“I am.” You smile and introduce yourself, peering towards the door. “Harris? Did a grown-up drop you off?” And please tell me his name is Wayne, you silently plead.

“Oh, yeah! My dad has my backpack!” He starts running back to the hallway, only to crash right into Eddie.

“Little dude, you can’t be running off like—” Eddie stops mid-sentence when his eyes land on you. “Oh, shit.”

You set your jaw, willing yourself to stay strong. He’s on your turf now.

“Mr. Munson, you need to watch your language,” you warn crossly.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, handing Harris’s backpack to him. “I packed him a snack, um, and a juice box.”

“Okay,” you nod, crouching down to Harris’s eye level and injecting enthusiasm into your voice. “Can you find your cubby? It’s the one with your name on it!”

The little boy bounds over to his assigned spot, hanging his bag on the hook before running over to play with blocks.

Forced to interact with Eddie, you press up on your knees and say, “Pick-up is at two.”

“Can I say goodbye to my kid before you kick me out? Jeez,” he grunts, calling out to Harris with his arms wide open. Harris hugs him, half-heartedly promising to be on his best behavior before starting to race back to the toys.

“We walk in the classroom,” you tell him sweetly. “That way, people don’t hurt each other!” You make a point to look over at Eddie when you say the last part, though his gaze is trained on the classroom posters. Harris, innocent and oblivious, walks hurriedly towards the group of kids playing with blocks.

“Didn’t know you were my kid’s teacher,” Eddie remarks, pressing his tongue into his cheek.

You shrug. “Maybe I would’ve told you if you called me.”

Shooting you the wide eyes that he passed down to his son, Eddie lets his lower lip jut out in a little pout. “I’m so sorry; life’s just been, like, crazy lately—”

“Exactly what Jeff said you’d pull,” you bite back. “Two PM, Mr. Munson.” You walk towards your students to begin circle time, leaving Eddie dumbfounded.

After a long day of wrangling ten four-year-olds, you’re ready to go home and take a nap. The kids are gathered around the table, molding Play-Doh and giggling amongst themselves. By 2:10, everyone’s been picked up. Except for Harris.

“Typical,” you mutter, kneeling next to the boy and smiling sweetly. “Whatcha making, Harris?”

He holds up a lump of the yellow clay. “A dinosaur, see? Roar!” You fake being scared, and he laughs. “Don’t worry; it’s just pretend!”

“Oh, phew!” You wipe imaginary sweat off of your brow. “I was afraid that he was gonna eat me!”

Harris reaches over to where one of the other students had been sitting and plucks a handful of blue Play-Doh off of the table. “Wanna play with me?” He’s looking at you adoringly, and you can’t possibly turn him down.

Just as you’re about to join him, Eddie runs into the room. “Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. Got, uh, caught up with something.”

Harris just shrugs, unaffected by his dad’s tardiness. “S’okay. Look!” He holds up the dinosaur proudly, giving another ferocious roar.

“That’s awesome! And super scary.” Eddie ruffles Harris’s curly hair before looking at you. “Can we talk for a sec? Out there?” he asks, gesturing to the hallway.

You huff out a sigh. “Fine,” you concede, and Will slips into the chair next to Harris.

Eddie closes the door behind him. “Listen,” he begins, twisting his rings around his fingers, ”about the other night…” He trails off, and for a split second, you think he might offer a genuine apology. “I just don’t want this to affect how you treat Harris.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “You really think I treat my students any differently based on whether or not I like their parents?” Crossing your arms, you turn back towards the door, throwing out a pointed, “I think it’s best if you leave now.”

Eddie’s voice draws you back into the conversation. “I’ve never had this problem before,” he snorts.

“Excuse me?”

“Most girls love the thrill of the chase. The will-he, won’t-he. Haven’t struck out yet,” he retorts, a smug grin spreading on his face.

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m honored to be the first. I don’t know what girls are into your pathetic games, but I’m certainly not one of them. So, please, just go before you say something else ridiculously stupid.”

Eddie bristles at that, standing a bit straighter and clenching his jaw. “Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, twisting the doorknob and punctuating his frustration with, “Frigid bitch.”

He’s just trying to get under your skin, and you refuse to let him get the best of you. You plaster on a well-practiced fake smile. “If you don’t think that this classroom is a good fit for Harris, you can request a transfer with the office.”

“Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart,” he snaps, yanking the door open so aggressively that it smacks into the wall. “We’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

“Can’t come soon enough.”

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eldritch-thrumming · 1 year

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imagine: it’s been years since Eddie and Steve have seen each other. Eddie still keeps in touch with the Party, with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle, but for whatever reason, neither him nor Steve have made a massive effort to stay in touch. Eddie can’t help but feel like he maybe had missed out on something, that he’d been too quick to leave, too quick to write it off as unimportant, meaningless, a fleeting crush. It’s okay. It’s fine now.

Because Eddie has the life he’s always dreamed of. He travels the world, gets paid to play his guitar in front of crowds that scream his lyrics back at him, dates celebrities, and sees things he couldn’t have even imagined back in that Hawkins trailer park. He doesn’t regret much. He can’t, when everything has led him here.

He’s just released his third studio album and it’s been a commercial and critical success. He’d tried something a little different with this project, something a little outside his comfort zone. He’s never been known for his love songs, but he couldn’t help himself this time. He just had so much he’d never had the chance to say until now.

Eddie loves the Grammys. It’s a fun night, full of fellow musicians who care deeply about what they do. He’ll never get used to being in the same place as his idols, the voices he used to listen to when he’d dream of getting the hell out of small-time, small town Indiana.

He’s got a date on his arm this year, a handsome actor who’d just had a film premier in Venice. Eddie loves the attention, knows the fans are speculating about which songs on the new album are about Rob and their relationship. It’s not hard to act like they’re in love; Rob is beautiful, tanned and golden and smiling big for the cameras. It’s easy to fuel the rumors, to make eyes at each other like they think no one is looking. Eddie lives for this kind of thing, loves to put on a show. He kisses Rob right there on the red carpet, like he doesn’t care who’s watching them, like he just can’t help himself.

He’s up for a whole bunch of awards tonight. Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Best Metal Performance…. Eddie’s skin is buzzing, a dull thrum of excitement just under the surface.

Halfway through the ceremony, Eddie wins his first award for his performance in Las Vegas earlier in the year on tour promoting the new album. He doesn’t have a speech prepared, hadn’t wanted to jinx anything by over-preparing, and now he’s nervous he’ll forget someone and not have another chance to tell the world how he’s gotten here.

Eddie’s smiling big when he takes the stage. His face feels stretched, his cheeks hurting. He feels like his body can’t hold all his excitement inside him, all the feelings of love and amazement that threaten to burst through his skin.

He thanks Wayne and the Party first, clutching his trophy in his sweaty fist. They’re the ones that really got him here, the ones that made him believe he was worth saving. The ones that made all this possible.

Then he thanks his management. His agents and producers and tour managers, all the people that make the logistics of touring possible, that give him the ability to do what he loves.

There’s one last person to thank. His PR team had told both him and Rob to lean into the relationship, to embrace the spectacle, and there was nothing Eddie loved more than performing for a captive audience. He looks out into the crowd and finds Rob smiling up at him from his seat. He looks perfect, tan and beautiful, and it reminds Eddie of someone he used to know.

“And to the man who’s inspired every song on this album,” he feels his lips spread into another smile, sees the camera from the corner of his eye and imagines how goofy he must look on screen. He wonders who might be watching, if the person he’s been thinking about for the last ten years even knows he’s winning an award right now. “Stevie baby, thank you, darling.”

There are confused grumbles from the crowd and for just a second, Eddie doesn’t understand. But then he glances at where Rob sits in the crowd, his smile plastic and forced, and he realizes what he’s said. The wrong name. The name of a ghost. The name of a person who only exists for him in his memories.

Eddie’s legs feel numb. His chest starts to ache and his hands feel hollow. Horror spreads through him as he hears the music start to play. The presenters gently usher him backstage, push him toward the darkness, away from the cameras. He stands there out of sight for several moments, frozen, rooted to the spot he’s been left in, before a familiar figure steps into his eye-line.

“Eddie,” Rob says, sounding both surprised and irritated. “What the fuck?”

the question pounds my head, what’s a lifetime of achievement if i pushed you to the edge but you were too polite to leave me? do you miss the rogue that coaxed you into paradise and left you there? will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me but too old to care?

part one

#coney island inspired Steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #sorry to everyone who commented on the other one asking to be tagged I’m on my phone!!!!!!#i literally am writing these on my phone so pls forgive me #famous Eddie in a PR relationship truther

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imissthembutitwasntadisaster · 3 months

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"Grace why do so many bad depictions of archeology make you so angry but you don't mind Indiana Jones" because Indiana Jones isn't trying to be serious!!! It's not trying to truly address the ethical issues with American archaeology in the early 1940s! 'oh he's not the good guy because he steals artefacts' he's the good guy because the other guys are the Nazis!!! It's a silly goofy story about a man fighting Nazis and I can suspend disbelief like no one's business! My issue is when fiction tries to pretend it's actually saying something serious and then half-asses it.

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penny00dreadful · 10 months

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Somebody To Love - Part 2

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 AO3

Like most things in life, trying to make something appear sexy on camera was decidedly very unsexy in practice. Case in point, the repeated motions of trying to look sultry and brooding and sexy in front of a camera and crew that just made him feel goofy.

Steve slapped Eddie’s hand away from his face.

“Stop fiddling with it.”

“It’s irritating!”

“Because you won’t let it dry!”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes, continuing to pace up and down the makeup room.

It had been weeks since that hookup with Julian and their tour had finally ended. Eddie had tried to see what Julian had seen, what he'd seen the following morning, he really had tried but he could never find it. Steve looked at him like he’d always looked at him.

He still bitched Eddie out whenever he got too fucked up, he still snatched up his drugs when he thought he was getting in too deep and flushed them down the toilet like an asshole and still dragged him out of bed, unceremoniously dumped him into a hotel shower and hosed him down without mercy whenever he needed sobering up to appear in public.

Because that was Steve’s job. And not only was it is job, Steve was a good friend. A great friend even. To the point that they often forgot they had an employer/employee relationship. Steve could quit tomorrow and Eddie was pretty sure they’d still be hanging out on the weekends or travelling back to Indiana in the summer for the Hoppers-Byers barbecues. Steve would still call to check in on Wayne whenever Eddie was too busy or fucked up to get the chance.

Because he was a good friend. One of his closest confidants. Because yeah, Steve did love him as a friend. And Eddie loved Steve as a friend.

Eddie brought his hand up to his face again, already forgetting he wasn’t supposed to touch which only led to another sharp slap. There was fake blood trickling out of his mouth and smeared across his jaw but it was fucking tickly and irritating the ever loving shit out of him, only adding to his heightened anxiety.

They still had a whole day of shooting left to do but they’d gotten most of the fully clothed dark and brooding closeup B-roll of the band done. Draped over thrones or hiding in the shadows of alleyways with a fog machine in the corner or playing their various instruments in the middle of a graveyard that smelled like styrofoam and the kind of dust that always clung to studio lights.

They were shooting the music video for their newest single ‘Sucker’, a song about sucking blood which was an extremely thinly veiled metaphor for going down and the latest in a long list of filthy songs he and the boys had penned over the years.

The concept for the music video was a whole Victorian gothic vampire blood drinking thing where each of the boys had a ‘victim’ to paw at and mouth all over and that was fine, really. They’d met their extras and the three girls that were acting against Jeff, Grant and Gareth were sweet but very professional in what they were doing which helped put the boys at ease. Because no matter how big and famous they got they were all still smalltown awkward nerds at heart. The guy they’d brought in for Eddie was slightly less professional but very, very good at acting the part of a vulnerable subby boy for Eddie’s vampire persona to suck dry.

And it hadn’t hurt that he’d slipped Eddie his number for a hookup later that night, so there was that to look forward to.

But the main centrepiece for the music video was the one that was giving him anxiety. He and the boys would share a ‘victim’ all at the same time and it was going to be very sexual and very intense. And because two out of the four members of Corroded Coffin liked women exclusively and the other two didn’t not like women, their shared victim would be a woman.

But the issue for Eddie was, they hadn’t met her. Usually with something like this, Eddie and the boys liked to meet up with the female model or actress a few days ahead of time just to make sure everyone was comfortable, there was no pressure, find out if there was anything that she wanted them to avoid doing and figure out some kind of tap out system if it was a live performance.

But their tour bus had been delayed a couple of days and they’d only barely managed to crash land back in LA with enough time to pee before they had to go shoot, let alone check in like they wanted to.

At least tonight Eddie would be able to sleep in his own bed again for the first time in months. And if the night worked out like he was hoping it would, he’d call that guy and he’d have his bed filled for once more.

“Eds, if you try to touch your face again, you won’t get your surprise.” Steve had thrown himself down on the couch behind the makeup chair, stretched out and not even looking up at him, legs crossed at the knee, one arm thrown over the back, lazily scrolling through his phone, white shirt rolled up to the elbows and the first few buttons undone.

So like…

They may not be in love but Eddie had eyes. And Steve was a snack and a half at the worst of times so now…

Wait.

“Surprise? You have a surprise for me, love?” Eddie flapped his hands in Steve’s direction who looked as stoic and bored as he had a few seconds ago, only betrayed by the slightest curl at the corner of his mouth. “What is it? What is it?! Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

Eddie’s own black and billowing shirt that hung loosely open the whole way down, tucked into a pair of tight leather pants fluttered around him as he continued to pester Steve, the tiny clink, clink of his low hanging chains and rings only adding to the cacophony of energy building up in him.

Until a voice sounded from outside the door and Eddie froze.

“I get good grades!”

Eddie could feel his mouth drop open as Steve’s smile grew wider.

“I go to church!” The tinkling voice continued, getting closer.

“No…” Eddie whispered at him in complete disbelief.

“I’m a cheerleader!” There, standing in the doorway, looking like the picture of Victorian innocence in a strategically low cut, sheer and flowing white sleeping gown with the biggest smile on her face was Chrissy Cunningham.

“No way!” Eddie darted forward, scooping her up into his arms and swinging her around the tiny little makeup room while she squeezed him tight, giggling into his neck. “You’re our victim?!”

“I’m your victim!” She responded, almost radiating brightness throughout the room. He hadn’t seen her since they took off on tour and she was always one of the people he missed the most. His god-damn bright bubblegum pink platonic soulmate and model extraordinaire with the acting chops to make it to the top if she ever decided to pursue it.

“How?!” He set her back down on her feet before taking her hand and twirling her, getting a good look at her costume. “God, you look so corruptible.”

“I know, right?” She batted her big eyelashes up at him. “But the girl who was supposed to play the part had to drop out so we shuffled some things around.” Chrissy gestured over at Steve whose smile had softened out into something sweeter.

“You knew about this?!” Eddie pointed an accusing black tipped finger at him. Steve just rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet.

“Of course I knew about this. I know everything. This is your surprise, dumbass.” He flicked Eddie on the ear as he passed by. “I’m gonna go get the boys!” The next second he had disappeared out the door.

Eddie scowled at the empty doorway before turning his attention back to Chrissy, pulling her down with him into Steve’s vacated spot on the couch.

“So tell me, how was the tour this time around?”

“Chris, you know how the tour was. I called you all the time.”

"No, Twinkie." Chrissy scoffed and shoved at his shoulder. “Steve called me all the time. You called me whenever you were lucid enough to use your phone or you didn’t have a dick in your mouth.”

“I still called, didn't I?!” Eddie pouted, trying to give her the biggest doe eyes he could manage. He was only able to hold it for a few seconds before another thought came to his scattered mind. “Actually there is something I wanted to talk to you about. One of the guys I hooked up with a few weeks back said something.”

“Do I have to fight him?”

Eddie smiled and patted her head, careful not to damage the bouncy blonde ‘slept in’ curly updo she’d been put in. “No babe. Nothing like that. He mentioned something about Steve.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He said that Steve was in love with me.” He shot her a bewildered look, as if to say ‘can you believe that?’ but Chrissy barely reacted.

She just continued to watch him carefully.

Which, oh Jesus, might be the most terrifying thing to ever happen to him in his life because if Chrissy was unsurprised… so unsurprised that she didn’t even move… had she seen it too?

“What-”

“Chrissy!” Jeff, Gareth and Grant burst into the room and in much the same way that Eddie had, scooped her up and swung her around with delight. The three of them had clearly been just as anxious about the coming scene as he had and were now extremely relieved to be doing it with someone they knew.

In amongst the whirlwind of greetings they were called back out to start filming again and the next time Eddie had a chance to talk to her was on set with his arms around her, pulled flush against his chest, Gareth pressed against her back with his head bent to one side of her neck and Jeff and Grant looming over either side of her with her wrists at their mouths before action was called, so… not exactly a place for private conversation.

Eddie had to wonder if Steve had spoken to the director so he knew what to expect because by the time the five of them had broken down into giggles for the fourth time in a row, they guy wasn’t looking nearly as irritated as he should have been.

It was a mix of all five of them being together again that made them all feel a little giddy and the fact that a very sexually charged scene was always so unsexy when it was being filmed.

And, okay, maybe the last one was Eddie’s fault because he had to hold nasty tasting fake blood in his mouth before bringing his lips down to Chrissy’s neck, allowing it to leak out over her skin making it look like he was biting her and maybe a really badly timed giggle had caused it to spray everywhere, spattering dark red over everyone and causing the five of them to almost collapse into each other with laughter.

Once they had all managed to reign themselves in for another shot the director was watching them with his arms crossed and a contemplative look on his face.

“I’m going to be honest, I should be mad.”

“But?” Gareth asked.

“But Mr. Harrington has pointed out if we cut that shot just before it’s obvious you’re laughing, it looks like you hit an artery. There’s no way that would get past the censors for TV so he’s suggested a R-rated gore heavy version of the music video? Maybe released exclusively online?”

The five of them looked at each other for barely a second before they were all enthusiastically agreeing and volleying ideas for just how gore heavy they could go.

The director clapped his hands. “Alright! We can discuss ideas later, but we really need to get this shot done, so back on your marks and Eddie?” he pointed at him. Eddie had already had more of that fake blood tipped into his mouth (less this time, thank god, considering Chrissy was practically covered in it already) so he could only respond with a ‘mm?’

“You’re going for sultry. Give the camera a good eye-fucking this time around please?”

Eddie shot him a dorky thumbs up before sliding his arms back around Chrissy’s waist and bringing one hand up to rest in the blonde curls at the back of her head. As the director called ‘Action!’ their song was blasted through the speakers in the studio and he lowered his head.

Just as he mimed biting into Chrissy’s skin he lifted his eyes up, trying to keep his gaze as dark and wanton as possible, but just behind the camera stood Steve, looking right at him. As their eyes met, he visibly swallowed, his cheeks went pink and he bit down on his lip hard before a blank mask of nothingness slid over his face and all at once Eddie was unmoored.

Because he recognised that face. Because he knew Steve inside and out. Or up until that very moment, he thought he did.

Sure, it was the face Steve used in contract negotiations on Eddie’s behalf with silver spoon label executives he knew how to pander to. But it was also the face that was used when Steve wanted to keep his real feelings locked away.

The face Eddie realised, with sudden clarity, he’d been seeing on and off for years.

Whenever Steve would have to hold his hair back over a toilet bowl or drag him by the arm out of whatever group sex situation he’d gotten himself involved in. Whenever Steve would watch from backstage, his eyes only ever following Eddie around, whenever they would invariably end up sitting closer and closer during movie nights on the couch, whenever Eddie had chosen over and over and over again to parade his choices of flings and partners in front of Steve, whenever Eddie had thrown ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’ at him, like they meant nothing. Like they couldn’t cause damage.

But they didn’t mean nothing, had they ever meant nothing?

Had they always meant everything to him?

“Cut! Fantastic!” The director cried.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 AO3

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring, @child-of-cthulhu, @sweetwaterangel, @anaibis

Chrissy's lines as she comes through the door are from But I'm A Cheerleader! An iconic lesbian comedy about a high-school cheerleader who's conservative parents send her to conversion therapy when they suspect she's a lesbian which... 👀

It's a good watch but even though it's a comedy, it's still about a heavy subject matter so just proceed with caution and keep yourselves safe. 🖤

#steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie x steve #fanfic #steddie fic #penny00dreadful #stranger things fic #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar eddie #personal assistant steve #personal assistant steve harrington #modern au #somebody to love

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ducklooney · 2 months

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While the Epic Mickey video game is getting a remastered version (and that's a good thing, because that video game is really underrated), it's a shame that Disney canceled a video game project called Epic Donald for stupid reasons. It would be like Epic Mickey (spin-off to be exact), but Donald would star as the hero who saves Duckburg from various troubles and villains. Donald would be like Indiana Jones, but you should know that Indiana Jones was modeled after the Carl Barks comics and the adventures of Scrooge McDuck, Donald Duck and Huey, Dewey and Louie.

That game would be based on the Carl Barks comics with some references from the OG Ducktales and in addition to Donald, there would be Scrooge McDuck, Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie, Gyro Gearloose, Magica de Spell, Launchpad McQuack, Beagle Boys, Gladstone Gander and other characters (with appearances by Goofy and Mickey). And these are some of the concepts for this game which was specially left by one of the last current American writers and artists for Donald Duck comics Patrick Pat Block. This idea was put forth by Warren Spector himself. And you can learn more about it from this video clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50doEJYcwv8

Articles related to this: https://www.thegamer.com/epic-donald-epic-mickey/ https://mynintendonews.com/2016/08/19/concept-art-from-cancelled-epic-donald-game-surfaces/

And thanks to gaming historian Liam Robertson for the excellent video clip analysis.

It was also planned to realize the video game Epic Mickey Racers in which famous Disney heroes would race, and one of them would be Scrooge McDuck who would ride a motorcycle together with Donald's nephews. This sounds familiar, doesn't it?

It's a great shame that they canceled this video game (especially after Ducktales Remastered Game), because if they had realized it, they would have realized how much they could do with Donald Duck, his family and friends, and the comic book material, which there is a lot of, and people, through the video game, could be interested. for Carl Barks comics, as well as other comics by other authors, especially in America where interest in Donald Duck comics has declined since the 1980s era. In Europe he would be even more popular because Donald is a much more popular character than Mickey (which is not to say that Mickey doesn't have a role in his comics, especially look at Egmont and the Italian comics) and has a significant role in those comics. I have a feeling that American Disney has a lot of intolerance towards Disney comics, which is unfortunate. Shame on you Disney!

I wish that this idea and this video game could be realized and that Donald could be restored to his old reputation. This is just my opinion.

Feel free to like and reblog this if you support this!

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harrisonbrainrot · 8 months

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Indiana Jones NSFW Alphabet

18+ MDI

Teehee, content for my POOKIE. God, I love him, I'm feral, a horny monster, I have thots.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Indy is alright at aftercare, but it really depends on the setting you've been in. A slow, romantic night home from a life threatening excursion for an ancient relic? He's taking care of you, treasuring you. He wants to make sure he takes his time with you, so you know how important you are to him. If it's a quickie in the heat of the moment because you might never get another chance to ever fuck again? Forget it, you're getting a soft kiss on the forehead, he's pulling your pants back up for you, and you're back to running for your life. Mess and all, you get enough attention to know he loves you but he's not stopping long enough to be all lovey dovey.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I genuinely think his favorite is his brain, he thinks he's so smart, and it makes him all smug and arrogant half the time. Which isn't untrue, he's very smart, but God does it make him insufferable sometimes.

That being said, he loves curves, feeling your waist tuck in and holding your hips, feeling your ass. It's hard to pick a singular feature, but he appreciates your figure.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves to hit it from the back and cum all over your ass. He loves seeing it run down off your cheeks and down the back of your thighs. It makes him feral.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He told you the door to his classroom was locked, he really thought it was locked, and in the end it wasn't. It's a simple dirty secret, it added to the moment after. He had you bent over his desk, your backs to the door, and anyone could've walked in. He'd never tell you, he hates being wrong, but the thrill of being caught added to his experience.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Good lord, he's so sickeningly skilled, it's just unfair. He's so well versed, it's almost embarrassing because he's so much more experienced than you. He knows exactly what to do to leave you a crumbling, drooling mess and absolutely relishes in this fact.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl, or missionary, but your legs are on his shoulders and he's folding you in half. He loves cowgirl when he's sore and battered from an adventure and he wants to be taken care of. He wants you to set the pace, he wants to hold your hips. He'll sit up and nuzzle your tits, sighing against them. His scruff drives you crazy and he loves how it combined with his warm breath makes you clench around him. If he's feeling himself and he's really wanting a good time, he's nearly pinning your thighs to your chest, just absolutely wrecking your pussy. The man bruises your cervix almost everytime in the most delicious, mind blowing way. You'll feel him for days after and it makes you just want it all over again.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be a total goober. If he's had a few drinks and you're home and he gets frisky, he's using bad lines to get you in bed and he's giggling and flushed. He's happy, he's safe, he's in love. So rarely does he feel this comfortable and content in his life, he can't help but feel giddy.

That being said, he's usually very down to business with sex. He wants to make love or fuck and he wants to do it right. Which requires his full attention if you both want to get off.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Trimmed enough to be polite. Sometimes a bit too hairy when he gets back from being gone, but will return to his grooming habits promptly if you prefer it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Wildly intimate. I'm talking eye contact, soft praises, slow and deep thrusts. He wants to feel and chart everything to memory. How tight you are, how you flutter around him when he places open mouth kisses just under your ear. He loves it all. He wants you to feel absolutely loved. He might be a smart ass but that doesn't mean he isn't one to slack in the romance department.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If he's desperate and you're not around, other than that he doesn't really ever jerk it. He's usually always with you and you two are always down to be horny monsters wherever you can be.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Call him sir or professor and see how fast he's making you moan in the nearest dark closet at the college.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In no particular order; outside in some jungle with you pressed against a tree, his office at the college with your legs spread on the desk, an old temple, palace, ancient ruins.. he's the first person there in hundreds, maybe thousands of years, and he's probably the first to cum there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Flirty banter, subtle touches, neck kisses. Bite his ear. He's a sensitive man, just breathe a certain way and he wants you mewling under him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not super into anything extremely taboo or rough, he likes rough sex but he's not into inflicting pain or anything.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to receive, loves to cum down your throat, holding your head steady and close while you gag around him. Is extremely skilled at giving though and will never, ever hesitate to go down on you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

The man is fast and rough and hard, he knocks the air out of you. But that's not to say it isn't sensual. He's very strong, very skilled, he's not clumsy. He's not sloppy, unless he's drunk and you're both in a fever trying to get each other naked. He'll bend you over the nearest surface, rutting into you until sweat drips down him. His grip on your hips is harsh, but his thumb traces soft circles against your skin. He's relentless but he leans over you, kissing your neck, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's a quickie master. Fucks in-between classes, lectures, and running for your lives. There's really never a time he'd say no to you. He'll pin your back against the wall, holding your thighs tight around his waist while he fucks you desperately. Your mouth silenced by his, as you moan into the kiss. "Sweetheart, your pretty little noises are gunna get us caught." He'd whisper into your skin, punctuating each word with a hard thrust, just to make you suffer and try to keep quiet.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Let's be real, it's Indy. He's always taking risks. Quick fucks after surviving some traps in a tomb to celebratory sex, some idol found and he wants his other reward, you. And that's just on his adventures. He'd fuck you in cars, in his office, in his classroom, the library? Pinned up against the bookshelves, trying to be slow and gentle but it drives you both crazy, anything other than that and you'd get caught. Can't have that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Safely say two rounds, maybe three if you're lucky. But he lasts a while, almost too long, he's a master at edging, both himself and you. He won't come unless it's the perfect moment and he won't come first.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Probably not tbh.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's 100% the biggest tease on the face of the planet. Little touches he knows drive you crazy while you're in public. Fuck, he'll finger you while you're at the bar ordering drinks in some foreign country where no one knows you, and once you're completely hot and bothered and basically dripping wet for him, he'll ignore you until his drink is finished. Just soft glances out of the corner of his eye while you wiggle and squirm and beg for even a modicum of his attention.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh, he's fucking PRIMAL. When he can be vocal, he's swearing, grunting through gritted teeth, making these whiny little moans when you're on top. A bit of a shout with his head thrown back as he cums when he's fucking you. He's a vocal man.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Kisses like a man starved. Open mouth kisses everywhere, his hands gripping you close. He kisses like every one is his last with you, because to be fair, it very well could be. His tongue against yours, against your throat, teeth against your soft skin. Forget it. He can ruin you with his kisses alone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8", cut, girthy enough to make you stretch delightfully, thick vein on the top that you love to trace to tease him, which gets him all huffy and puffy.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Stupid high. He wants to fuck to wake up and he wants to fuck to go to bed and maybe have a quickie for brunch.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depending on the setting and time, he could be chipper after. If it's a desperate "I almost lost you, this, us" type fuck, he's almost asleep before he pulls out. He's dozing while still inside of you, all snuggled into your neck, his arms wrapped around you. (He loves that the most, he won't say that but he doesn't have to, you know your Indy)

#indiana jones imagines #indiana jones #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones/reader #indiana jones imagine #indiana jones smut #pookie posting

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