#Stranger Prompts
Text
Knock, knock.
Neighbour!Eddie Munson x Neighbour!Reader
Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Negative self talk. Horror-esk/creepy vibes. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.
Authors note: He's finally here, in the flesh.. ish. Thank you for all the love on the last part. Officially out of the introduction and into the meat of this creepy lil story.
Find @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing full prompt list here including the one that birthed this weird little world I'm making.
6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.
Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you and hope you're being kind to yourself, okay bye.
Part 4: Conspiracies made through the hardwood.
The smell is nostalgic.
In every home you lived in, in your formative adult life, the introduction had been followed by the earthy smell of burning sage, whisps curling in draughty apartments and catching the light in shared dorm rooms.
Tina, your college roommate insisted on every room being scrubbed down and smudged before you unpacked.
You'd since lost touch, but you still kept the tradition of scrubbing places head to toe when you moved in and now you can't help but wonder, had you kept smudging your homes could some of the negativity in your life have been avoided.
You aren't dead.
After the momentary spiral the other night you had righted yourself from entertaining the idea.
Ghosts didn't eat, sleep, pay rent.
Go to work.
What a fucked up purgatory it would be if you had to spend eternity listening to Shona chew at her desk while desperately waiting for payday.
But it didn't stop the rattle in your bones as you'd unplugged the radio, fetched it away from the wall and fitfully slept on the couch.
You tried to explain that night away, the note was easy, a neighbour was trying to scare you, it was a prank, a bad joke.
But the radio.
You scoured the internet for hours looking for reasons as to why you had picked up what was playing on the radio next door.
It's fairly common apparently, to pick up signals from elsewhere, but you're lost in jargon.
HAM radios, the chatter of people talking over radio waves, inanimate objects picking up signals and freaking people out.
Nothing quite fits, and the rabbit hole ends in bad ghost hunting videos and advertisements for spirit boxes.
So, you call Charlie again, under the guise of fixing the faucet. The noise from next door’s not outrageous by your own relatively low standards but enough to show that next door isn't vacant.
He's exactly as he was the day you met him, with a wide smile and bright eyes, you try your best to match it, despite the dark circles hidden beneath thickly applied concealer.
He hums and haws at the pipes and you can hear humming clearly from above you as he tinkers with them.
He's chatting to you absent-mindedly about a place downtown that sells the best cubans he's ever eaten, asking if you've been to various spots around the area yet.
He's not acknowledging the noise.
Even when laughter and the TV starts he just continues on until he finally catches you staring angrily up at the scar.
“Still giving you trouble?”
He can't hear him.
You can tell by the way he phrased it, as a genuine question not a reaction to the noise.
“I thought I could maybe still hear someone in number 5?”
He chuckles. “Taking a look around spooked you huh? “
“No, just the noise.” you wave above your head, all subtlety lost in the interaction.
He doesn't even glance up.
“Honey, there's no keyhole on that door, only way someone's getting in is scaling the walls or breaking down the door.”
He pats your arm reassuringly, then moves turning the faucet on and off again as the water runs smoothly out.
“Good as new.”
You're not dead.
But maybe he is.
So, here you stand white sage and lavender burning in your hand on a Wednesday night, desperate for something to work.
Step 1. Introduce yourself.
“Hello, Eddie.”
“I'm,” You take a deep breath and let your name slip out, despite the conflicting information online as to whether it's a good idea. “and this is my apartment.”
The silence hangs for a moment. You know he's there, can hear soft distant sounds of movement.
This is so fucking stupid.
You flick through the multitudes of tabs open on your laptop.
Step 2. Acknowledge they were here first.
“I know this is your home too, and you were here first but-”
“ I'm not dead.”
The voice echoes and warps down to you and you feel your stomach roll at the sound, quickly you scroll, there isn't anything about them talking back.
“You, might not know but this apartment was split-”
There's a nervous laugh that cuts you off.
“Yeah, whatever you are, you need to leave. This is my apartment.”
You try again but can't get a word in and you can feel frustration building, rolling up your back and making your jaw clench as he talks over you.
“Look, a maintenance guy changed the locks on room 5 the other day.”
He's not listening, and you increase your volume, trying to explain, the calm and gentle candence is gone, your voice now shrill and foreign to your own ears.
“So either your fucking with me and you're somewhere else or you're the one who's dead so if you would kindly leave me the fuck alone.”
You're practically yelling now, and you almost fall from where you've scaled the kitchen counter when there's a knock at the door.
He's still yelling.
It can't be him.
You walk hunched, heart pounding, anger still coursing through you. You're not sure if you want it to be him, if he's there in the flesh then you're not losing your mind at least.
But if he is, then you're about to be faced with an irate man who's just been screaming at you through the walls.
You latch the chain, and it rattles at the force needed to open it.
A woman a good decade older than you stands arms crossed with a scowl on her face that your mother would be proud of. Behind her shoulder, a man stands with an apologetic look on his face.
You recognise them vaguely, he was one of the few who had given you a small smile as you moved in when you passed them, she had not.
“Hi? Can I-”
“I don't know what's happening in there but do you think it's acceptable to be yelling at almost 11 pm?”
She sounds like your mother too.
The urge to ask them if they can hear him is fleeting and the only response you can muster is to press your lips into a hard line.
“If it carries on I'm making a formal complaint.”
You can feel your temper still simmering and don't trust yourself with any sincere retort so merely murmur your apologies and close the door on them.
She knocks again, obviously unhappy with your lacklustre response and you can hear the man trying to reason with her as you lean your forehead against the door.
No longer yelling, the sound of him moving around remains.
The rough surface of the door is grounding as you squeeze your eyes closed.
You can't live like this.
But there's a stone in the bottom of your stomach.
The rent really was a steal, and with at least another 6 months on your lease, probation at your job still ongoing, you're going to have to.
You can't go home, not after the arguments and upheaval.
The scene you made.
People who would welcome you back were still in the group chat, talking shit after sending their well wishes. The only real person who would sincerely welcome you back lives next door to your old home and that's not happening.
You’ll exist with your undead roommate, bury the feelings down.
You're good at it, pretending that you're fine.
You just hope eventually he leaves, so you don't have to, again.
The next week is, well, loud but you reinstate the headphones and earplugs that had accompanied you in your first few days and manage.
Living for the quiet moments in between the noise, they usually come in the early evening, the low light of lamps colouring the room in fire lit hues and podcasts on the speakers instead of headphones while you cook.
A sanctuary from the surreal.
Headphones in your pocket ready.
It's the exact state you're in when you hear the raucous sounds of a group entering next door, voices overlapping and unintelligible.
“You hear that right? Uh hello?”
This is new, he never actually acknowledged you.
He calls out your name and you pull the pan from the heat, cautiously walking around the counter to where the voices are loudest.
“It's Eddie.”
“Eddie dude.”
“Shh!”
Other dead people?
Maybe the whole building's haunted you muse, reaching over to give your dinner an idle stir, heat from the metal still lingering.
“Some people want to meet you.”
That gets your full attention, and you pause for a minute unsure if you should greet more spectors into your living quarters.
Surely it couldn't get worse.
“Hey, other dead people.”
“We're not.” he grits out "You heard that right, see?”
Silence
“ Eddie man-”
“ No, don't look at me like that.”
You frown hard at the ceiling, dots connecting but in no useful way.
They can't hear you, Charlie couldn't hear him.
“Letter, letter, I have a letter!” you can hear him scramble away leaving the concerned murmuring of the others in his absence.
“Look see I'm not crazy.”
More silence
“It's a noise complaint.”
“No, well yeah, but it's from them and-”
“Dude, why don't you go stay with Wayne for a while.”
He doesn't like that.
It sets off an argument that you try to track but the movement makes their voices pitch in and out.
They just want to help.
They're worried.
Just get out of the city for a bit.
A slam of the door.
“Eddie?”
It's tentative the way you say it, the silence loud.
You're not prepared for another shouting match but the desperation that was in his voice makes your chest ache, you can't just leave it, maybe you should, but he was an echo of how you would sound had you anyone here to tell.
“Nobody can hear you either.”
“I'm not dead.” The sudden sound comes from directly above you and makes you flinch, eyes snapping up.
“Neither am I.”
His voice goes an octave higher, already defensive, diving headfirst into a ramble that you can't quite catch as he paces and, once again you find that your voice is rising to match his.
You catch yourself this time though, not about to have to explain this to your landlord if you get an actual noise complaint.
So another note to your otherworldly pen pal it is.
I've almost gotten a noise complaint, so if we can stop screaming through the ceiling to each other that would be great.
Neither of us think we're dead, nobody else can hear the other.
My apartment was split. I went round to number 5 last week and they changed the locks.
It's been empty for years.
I don't know where you are but it's not next door.
You hear the front door open and close not long after you slip the note under and settle yourself crisscross on the floor to wait.
He's quiet, only small movements audible as you run clammy palms into the carpet at your sides, fibres scratching against your fingers.
There's the sound of his door opening, then the note edges its way under your own.
The page has indents in the top corner where an empty pen has been tried, the writing fading halfway down before it changes colour.
My locks work fine.
I called the landlord to see if I needed to wait that day, he said nobody had called him and it can't have been next door because it's empty.
Sure you're not dead? No bright lights, big tunnels calling you. Fire? I don't know, tiny red dudes with pitchforks. No judgement.
Also, I'm not shouting at the ceiling. Your voice has been floating around here like an invisible stalker for almost a month now.
No judgement. Fuck this guy.
Not dead.
No lights.
No tiny men.
So what is this?
You wait with the door latched this time peeking through, as a family passes by and you make accidental eye contact with one of the parents watching as they hurry the kids past.
You close the door quickly cringing, when there's a soft crinkle underfoot, your heart stutters at the sight of the note under your feet. This can't be real.
I propose 50 questions.
A sharp breath leaves you at the words, but maybe it's not the worst idea. You need to get a handle on this, need more information because currently you're flying blind.
Okay 50 questions, how long have you lived here?
Boring. 2 years. How many eyes do you have?
You laugh but then the idea that maybe you could be dealing with something other than a human makes you feel a little ill. A ghost is bad enough.
Two. You?
You snatch the note up when it comes through.
Two eyes. So human right? Two arms, two legs, head, ass, junk between your legs?
Thank God.
So were both human. That's a relief. This is harder than I thought it would be. Who's president?
Yeah? I was kind of hoping for alien contact myself. President’s Clinton. No supernatural abilities at all?
You frown at the note.
Hillary or Bill?
The family from before return with their takeout, catching you in the hall crouched and stuffing the note under the door, you try and smile casually, it's returned but you hear the youngest kid hushed when they ask their parents what you're doing.
Great, you're going to be that person in the building.
"You have to answer the question!" He yells in a singsong tone as you close the door and the odd stares from the family in the hall are enough for you to risk shouting back.
“What year is it?”
“The games no fun if it's one sided.”
You roll your eyes climbing on top of the kitchen counter. “Eddie?”
“1993.” The huff is evident in his voice but when you don't respond he calls out almost timidly.
“What year is it there?”
“2024.”
He asks a thousand questions straight away and you spend the next hour comparing music, media and anything else you can think of. There are slight differences, no traces of shows, bands and brands he talks about, too many to pass off as just being lost to the passage of time.
You can't even find Hawkins on Google earth, Indiana he says not Texas or Wisconsin.
He's never heard of your home town either but that's not surprising unless he has a detailed map of the continental US.
You explain the concept of googling to him for a good twenty minutes when he asks how you're getting all the information and you're worried you might have broken him from the sounds he makes when you tell him that people make a living playing dnd.
Then he's gone, abruptly, cursing about having to leave and already being late, leaving you wide eyed in the middle of your apartment.
You pad toward the letters that are discarded on the floor, fingers tips running over the indents on his words.
You take your phone out, take a photo and send it to Janet.
You can see these right?
Your phone’s on your chest when you wake, your last memories are that of a concerned Janet, informing you that you could come stay any time.
You'd played it down, explained a neighbour’s playing a prank, you were just playing along.
You didn't need her worrying.
Now as you go to respond the blank screen of the phone reflects your tired face.
A sound, a drip suddenly fills the space around you.
Not again.
You reason with yourself that maybe you should just stay in bed, nothing good yet to come from actually getting up.
He always said that you were a busy body.
The noise of movement makes you peek out of your sheets, the distinct sound of walking making your bare feet hit the ground, creeping quietly towards the door trying to avoid the spots you know creak.
There's somebody there. Your heart rate quickens as you watch them leaning over the countertop, head tipped, with wild hair falling to the side they stare up at the drip, eyebrows knitted, he's leaning in hand going in to catch the next droplet.
“I wouldn't touch that,” you say on instinct, body pushing past the safety of the door.
“Jesus Christ.” he recoils backwards away from you hands outstretched.
You know that voice.
Staring at you with wide eyes, you take him in. As if this couldn't get any more fucked.
“Eddie?”
He looks wearily back at you, a confused frown settling on his face for a moment before realisation takes over.
“Holy shit.”
“So you're just in my dreams now too?”
“Your dream?”
“Yes?” you put your hands out to the side displaying the mismatched pyjamas you're in.
“Okay, if this is your dream, why have I been waking up in it?”
He crosses his arms, looking you up and down. He's fully dressed, in jeans and leather jacket and as you take another step into the room you catch the smell of him, like he's just come in from the cold.
Definitely a ghost.
“Beats me. Maybe this is where I help you pass on.” you tease and you struggle to bite back the smile at the way his nose scrunches in annoyance
“I'm not dead”
You humm looking over the room, dancing wall of light, black abyss, all still intact.
“Wait?” you turn cautiously.
“Were you the one chasing me?”
He fumbles a little, eyes wide “I wasn't chasing you.”
“The hell you weren't, I almost broke my neck falling.”
“Well, why were you running?”
You gesture wildly around yourself.
“Why wouldn't I be? Why were you chasing me!?”
“To see who it was and what the hell was going on.”
You eye him warily, how much harm can he do in a dream?
Letting out a frustrated sigh, he takes a step back from you, hands raised.
Brushing past him to the bookshelf that blocks your door, your fingers running over the spines, some titles you know others you don't and you try to take a mental note to look them up when you wake.
“So this is the future.”
He's rotating the remote control in his hands inspecting it like something’s hidden inside.
“Kind of. I guess.”
“I expected more.”
“Like what.”
“More, Sci fi shit.”
“Robots in the shop, sorry”
He tsks
“Massive TV's though.” he falls heavily down onto the couch and you can't help but laugh at his impressed expression at the 30 inch second hand TV.
You pull your phone from your pocket and throw it over to him, it lands with a soft thud beside him and he flinches away.
“Electrics seem to be dead, so there's not a lot to show while we're here.”
“What is it?”
“A phone.”
He pulls a face between impressed and confused as he inspects it closely.
You turn to the drip, blackness now sliding down and puddling on the linoleum, inching towards the darkness where your kitchen cabinets should be.
That can't be good
His head turns to watch you as you follow the scar, no signs of a drip anywhere else. Your hands smooth over where it runs down the wall.
“Don't you think we should stay away from that?” he says standing up, still keeping his distance
“Why?”
“Why? Because it looks like a cavern to the underworld,” he says incredulously.
“What do you think’s past it? The light is your apartment so there must be something past it right?”
You lean forward and he rushes towards you catching your elbow just as the darkness hisses.
You both stumble back.
“Okay yeah no that was stupid.”
“You think.”
“I'm just trying to work this out.”
You shake yourself free of his grip and turn to go to the front door, but it's blank where it should be.
Had it always been gone?
You smooth your hands over where the frame should be, no sign it has ever been there or will be.
“What's wrong? “
You push your head through the light squinting as the room comes into focus, his door sits where it should.
“Your doors here. Mines. Not.”
“Your door would be .” he waves down to the abyss.
“No my doors here it-”
Doesn't look like it should be though.
Eddie's eyes search your face.
You move through the wall quickly opening his door as Eddie scrambles behind you.
The noise is deafening, all consuming blackness and screeching static howls as you recoil away, Eddie's arm curling round you as he kicks the door closed.”
“Can you stop?” he says, taking you by the arms and turning you to face him.
“We're trapped.” your mind's racing scrambling to be awake.
His face softens.
“Until we wake up. Right? You get the whooshing?”
His arms flail around his head and you nod mutely, heart in your throat.
It's just a dream.
“So let's just attempt to not piss off the overlords of this place until then, ‘kay? Obviously we're not meant to leave.”
It's just a dream.
“So what brought you to the apparent entrance of the nether realm with me,” he asks, turning to look back at you as you enter the hallway.
He walks through the frosted glass door and you trail behind following him through dust that dances in the strips of light, you're struggling to get your breathing right, lip crushed between your teeth.
You avoid eye contact walking into his room and inspecting the models that sit on his window ledge.
“It was cheap.”
He bounces as he goes to lay back on his bed, hands scrubbing his face.
“Yeah, wonder why that was. Cursed apartment, half price.”
“Comes with a free undead roomate.” you murmur, lips quirking up despite the quiver in your voice.
He gives you a deadpan look, but he's not as subtle as he thinks he is when his hand searches his neck for his pulse.
“What about you, no roommates, pretty big place for one?”
He bristles but you're too busy pressing the point of a tiny sword into your finger to catch it.
“Yeah, uh no just me.”
“Really? How do you afford it?”
“Anyone ever told you you're nosy?”
The sudden change in tone makes your face fall, his words causing heat crawl up your neck.
“Sorry.”
You walk quickly out, leaving to the quiet sanctuary of your room and sitting on the edge of your bed.
You hate how the words crawl around your head, like you're a bother, a pain in the ass.
You make things so difficult.
He appears out the bathroom door in your peripheral, his body leaning against the frame.
“I can't afford it”
You risk a glance, chewing the inside of his cheeks he stares at your partially blocked door.
“No?”
He stands upright about to speak when his hands fly to cover his ears.
Just as the rushing starts in your own.
Bent in half looking up to you, you manage to send him a grimace and a half wave, before you're gulping air.
Everything's quiet but the blood’s still rushing in your ears, sheets a tangled mess around you as you try to steady your breathing.
At least you're awake.
Two quick knocks come from behind you.
You're frozen, any intention of trying to make yourself believe this was all your subconscious leaving you in an instant.
Hesitantly, your body moves shuffling up onto your knees and you stare at the back wall.
Your hand hovers.
Knock.
Knock.
The sound of distant traffic murmurs from outside.
A headache brews behind your eyes.
What the fuck is going on.
Next.
Tag list: @munsonburn3r @winchester-angel let me know if you would like to be added <3
#eddie munson x reader#eddie x reader#eddie munson#stranger prompts#knock knock#eddie x you#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x afab reader#my writing#stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson series#Spotify
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Call From a Payphone at the End of the World
Eddie Munson x Reader
18+ONLY, mention of smut, yearning, gender neutral reader but a few pet names are used, alcohol consumption, no Vecna, new crush, star-crossed lovers, strange things happen. Reader and Eddie are over 21.
word count: 1.6k
This a mix of several fic ideas that all blended together somehow. One being a road trip fic where Eddie falls for an older reader that I hope to finish one day, plus something for the Stranger Prompts list. Several of the prompts are used in this, but I wanted to keep them a secret. I wouldn't say this is a hurt/no comfort fic, but there will be a hint of that. It is a hopeful, star-crossed lovers story at its core.
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After Eddie pumped a few bucks worth of gas into the tank, he couldn’t get across the parking lot to the payphone fast enough. He was sure his heart would explode if he couldn’t talk to you again as the few hours of highway seemed to roll out for an eternity.
He punched numbers into the metal key pad and then held a hand over his heart, waiting. Just after the second ring, there you were with that voice he’d come to adore with every fiber of his being.
“Hey you,” his smile was so big it made his cheeks hurt. “It’s Eddie. Wanted to check in, you know, make sure you made it home okay.”
At the other end, butterflies exploded in your stomach. “Hey there stranger,” you ached to reach out and hold him. “I was hoping it would be you.”
He played with the metal cord attaching the receiver to the phone box, tucking his chin so that his next words were mumbled. “What would you say if I told you I missed you already?”
He felt as if he no longer existed in this reality, as if time and space and whatever the hell else didn’t matter as long as he was connected to you somehow, as long as you were real. The words kept bubbling up in his chest, and if he didn’t let them out and tell you how he felt, he might suffocate.
You put down the stack of mail you were holding and sat on the nearby chair to calm your buzzing head. “I’d say you got it bad for me, Munson.”
“I think you might be onto something there,” he chuckled, turning his head to make sure no one from the isolated gas station was lurking nearby. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“I wish we could do more than that,” you said, grinning.
“Glad I’m not the only one,” he pinched the front of his Megadeth shirt and brought it to his nose. “I’m never gonna wash this shirt ever again, just so you know. It smells like you.”
“I almost kept it,” you started to doodle spirals on the pad in front of you with a red pen.
“I would’ve let you,” he smirked, remembering the way you straddled him in nothing but that shirt in the back of his van for one final quickie before parting ways. The feeling of being inside of you, that sense of completion and connection, would be his main masturbation fodder for the foreseeable future.
Holy shit, he was crazy about you.
Having such intense feelings for someone after barely 24 hours of knowing them was not reasonable, he knew that, but he also didn’t care.
He’d been on his way home from visiting his friend Ronnie when the storm hit, and some of the roads were blocked off due to flooding. The rain crashed down all night, lightning cracked the sky, and all he could think of as your bodies writhed tangled and sweaty, was that he could die a happy man.
He called Gareth that night, told him he wouldn’t make it to practice, and decided to slink into a dark bar for a beer. There you were, looking all sorts of futuristic and out of place. You had a device in your hand that resembled something out of Star Trek, but you said it didn’t work, that it was “dead” and you couldn’t find your “charger”. You fascinated the fuck out of him. He asked if you were an alien, and without missing a beat, you responded, “would that be a problem?”
Not at all, sweetheart. Not. At. All.
“I kinda want to get in my car and race back to you,” you spoke softly.
Eddie tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Man, that’s all I could think about the whole way was turning around. I feel like I left my heart on the road back there.”
“I’ll keep it safe,” you whispered, making his entire body shiver with longing.
“When can I see you again? I mean, when do you think…should I come to you or—”
The automatic operator’s voice cut him off, asking him to deposit 25 cents.
“Are you calling me from a payphone?” You sounded astonished. “I didn’t even know those things existed anymore.”
“They’re all over the place, sweetheart,” he huffed, distracted with searching his denim pockets for change. “Not all of us have strange little pocket calculator things we speak into.”
“I love an old school man.”
Hearing the word “love” roll off your tongue in relation to him made him want to reach out and take you in his arms so bad he could scream.
“Hey, I left all my change in the van, this is going to cut me off, but I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”
“Please do, I don’t care how late it is.”
“Okay I will, and also—”
But then the line went dead.
You pulled your iPhone away from your cheek and stared at the screen with a sad frown. You hoped that one day he’d let you bring him up to speed with the age of technology. Until then, you found it charming as fuck that he didn’t own a cellphone, and loved to act oblivious to anything involving computers.
You had your cell charging on the countertop when one of your friends texted you a few minutes later, demanding the details of the mystery man who’d swept you off your feet in some dive bar out in the boonies.
Usually, you avoided one night stands at all costs. You had to care very deeply about someone in order to be intimate with them, and for some reason, you felt bonded to Eddie after the first hour. It was thrilling, but also scary and uncomfortable all at once.
“What happened to the dude you were supposed to meet there?” Your friend Tina asked. “The one from the dating app?”
“Oh, he never showed,” you chuckled, thinking that you’d totally forgotten why you’d driven almost two hours away to another town in the first place. “But it was for the best. If he hadn’t ghosted, I never would have met Eddie.”
“What was the name of the bar again?” She asked after you dished all of the details on your new crush.
“Wait, I think I have one of their matchbooks in my bag—” you dug around, finally holding it out in front of you. “I guess it’s called The Upside Down? Never heard of it before, but the address was correct, I’m sure of it. My GPS was acting weird, so who knows.”
The bar hadn’t been updated since the 70’s, it seemed. Wood paneling, sticky tables, peanut shells on the floor, and one of those vintage jukeboxes that played nothing but oldies. Eddie remarked that it reminded him a lot of one of the bars he did gigs at with his band.
Corroded Coffin, you doodled the name down, reminding yourself to google it later. Eddie said he wasn’t on social media, and pretended not to know what it even was. Just one more quirk of his that charmed you to death and made you smile to yourself.
You fell asleep on the couch that night with the phone on your chest, and woke up the next morning with a kink in your neck and a dry mouth.
Nothing from Eddie, not even a missed call.
Maybe he got in late and didn’t want to wake you. It was almost 9:00 in the morning when you tried the number he’d given you for his uncle’s place.
The number had been disconnected or was no longer in service.
Panic swelling in your throat, you scrolled back to the number of the payphone he’d called you from.
Also not in service.
Glassy eyed, you sat up and stared at the wall for a long time.
Soon after, you wiped away frustrated tears and got on the internet to search.
“That can’t be right,” you whispered at the screen, looking at a photo of Corroded Coffin at a bar called The Hideout in 1985. Eddie Munson, graduate of Hawkins High in 1986.
You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.
Zooming in on the few photos you found, you couldn’t help but notice the insane similarities between your Eddie, and 1980’s Eddie. The one you knew was maybe a few years older, but that was definitely him.
Could it be a relative? No.
All of the odd conversations you’d had that night began to click together. Had his perplexity with the idea of you carrying a phone been legit? You figured he was just being silly.
There wasn’t much you could find about him, but one final news snippet caught your eye:
“....Hawkins native and Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson has not been seen or heard from since the fall of ‘89 after leaving a cryptic note for his uncle, Wayne Munson. “He had a bunch of letters he wanted me to pass out to his friends,” Wayne explained. “He said he hoped that he would be able to come back to Hawkins, but he wasn’t sure how it all “worked”. That he loved me, but he had to go and find someone.”
You gulped, tears rolling hot down your cheeks.
“He went back,” you sniffed, choking on a sob. “He went back to find me, he…”
You trailed off, looking up at the clock, and then over to your car keys on the table.
What if Eddie circled back to find you and you weren’t there? What if that bar you’d met at never even existed?
But Eddie, he was real, and he was coming for you.
You left a note too, texted Tina, and then you were on the road again.
Pedal to the metal into the gathering storm.
—-
Thank you for reading, I love you.
#stranger prompts#stranger things fanfiction#Eddie Munson#eddie munson fanfic#Eddie Munson fluff#Eddie Munson smut#twilight zone inspired#Spotify
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Steve likes to take dates to the carnivals and he always tries to win them stuffed toys because he’s cheesy and romantic and proud of it thank you very much
Only, he’s absolute ass at the carnival games. He’s only ever managed to win an ugly little cap, and Tiffany had not been amused when he’d presented it to her. It never stopped him from trying of course, but it’s a little discouraging
Fast forward to now, when he’s recruited by Claudia Henderson to drag the party out to the carnival. Robin refuses to join him because “I finally have a date Steve, I’m not going to spend it chaperoning your walking headaches”. So he recruited Eddie
Of course, the party doing want to be chaperoned and they’re really old enough to go to a carnival by themselves, so he agrees to let them go off by themselves as long as they stay out of trouble.
So he and Eddie go on a few rides and grab a bite to eat, and Eddie eats like three ice cream cones and feels too queasy for more rides. So Steve decides to practice carnival games so he can win something for the next babe he brings on a date.
With Eddie cheering him on as obnoxiously and flirtatiously as he can, Steve starts playing. And he starts winning. Not just the little prizes either. Along with normal sized stuffed bears and bats and what-have-yous, he also gets a comically large stuffed rainbow unicorn wearing sunglasses, a long dragon plushie that’s taller than he is, and other oversized paraphernalia
Since he isn’t here with a date, Steve just gives all his winnings to Eddie. Eddie jokes about how this was the most romantic date he’s ever been on (only it’s not really a joke, this not-date is more romantic than any of his trysts). Then Eddie starts complaining that Steve needs to stop winning because how is he supposed to carry all this? By the time they meet up with the kids, Eddie isn’t even visible behind the mass of prizes in his arms. He stumbles over, guided by Steve’s hand in his back, wrapped in the giant dragon, and the kids mock the both of them ruthlessly
Eddie keeps all the toys and names then after the party just to bug them. Steve delighted with that, and together they always tease the kids (“wooow, rainbow unicorn Dustin would never do this” is a favourite because it makes Dustin apoplectic)
When they start dating, Eddie keeps telling people that Steve “gave me 6 kids before finally putting a ring on it”
#steddie#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#prompts#ficlets#This ended up more rambling than expected
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steddie fake dating au that starts because robin’s mom keeps pushing for her and steve to get together and robin gets so fed up that she yells, “it’s not gonna happen because some people are gay, mom!”
and upon seeing the utter horror and fear on her face, steve swoops in and says he’s the one who’s gay. cue mr. and mrs. buckley, local hippies, attempting to show how supportive they are, and all the while steve gets eddie to agree to fake date to get the buckleys to prove they’re safe, so that robin will feel comfortable enough to come out to her parents.
#steve using his puppy dog eyes to get eddie to agree bc “it would mean so much to robin to know that her parents would accept her”#eddie agreeing because. it’s STEVE.#robin not knowing about ANY of this until steve and eddie show up to her house holding hands#mr. and mrs. buckley just want their daughter to see that they’re totally cool with her gay friends#they aspire to be the cool parents#bonus points if steve is aware of his own sexuality the whole time#bonus bonus points if nobody else had been#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#steve x eddie#robin buckley#steddie fake dating#prompt !#feel free to use it tbh i’d love to see it#i might also use it. actually yeah i’ll also use it at some point
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from @skepsiss: Steddie (obviously), prompt = one of them is trying to convince the other to go to the hospital for a minor thing (needs stitches from a fall, stomach bug).
"Stevie, please."
"Oh my god," Steve sighs, wrapping the gauze tight around his hand. It blooms red with blood. "It's fine, Ed."
"It really isn't." Eddie is a little pale when Steve looks up to glare at him. "Steve, please baby, I saw the bones in your hand."
"You're being dramatic."
"See," Eddie whines, high pitched and panicked. "I do understand why you're saying that. I know this is a case of boy who cried wolf. But I am begging you here. Please, let me drive you to the hospital."
Steve wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't that deep, I promise you."
"Steve."
"Ed—"
And then Eddie does this thing—where he pulls himself up to his full height, crowding up into Steve's space, until they're nose to nose, his eyes wide and intense—and it shuts Steve up every time. It's stupid, and horribly embarrassing, but it works and Eddie uses it to his advantage, pressing Steve into the edge of the counter and boxing him in, his hands tights against Steve's hips.
"Steve," he says, low and serious. "You can bitch at me all you want in the car, but I'm taking you to the hospital. Okay?"
"Okay," Steve says, against his will, face burning as Eddie pulls away. As soon as he has breathing room to think, he scowls at him. "But if I don't need stitches, you're on the hook to do dishes for the next month."
Eddie doesn't even grimace—he hates doing dishes—and gently starts herding Steve out the door. "You got it, honey," he says, distractedly. His face turns green when a line of blood drips down Steve's wrist from beneath the bandage. "Whatever you say."
Steve ends up getting 15 stitches. Eddie's stuck doing the dishes until it heals anyways.
#asks#ficlet fill#stranger things#steddie#domestic steddie my beloved#I HOPE YOU LIKE THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT!!!!#my steddies
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makeup artist youtuber steve who gets famous and does interviews with celebrities while doing their makeup
rockstar eddie who released a grungy eyeshadow palette and does a video with steve to promote it and their chemistry is crazy and all the comments are shipping them
the kick is that eddie didn’t even know he’d be going on steve’s show, jeff asked their manager to set it up because steve did a solo review of eddie’s palette and they’ve all been teasing eddie about watching steve’s video over and over
now they’re all watching eddie get flustered as steve softly touches his face and holds him by the chin, complimenting his eyes and letting him ramble about music and what he likes to wear on stage because steve is actually a really good interviewer
and his last question comes after the cameras shut off and he asks for eddie’s number
#or just something you know#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie ficlet#prompts#meet cute#makeup artist steve#rockstar eddie munson#youtuber steve harrington#stranger things
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after eddie introduces a demogorgon to one of his hellfire campaigns, the kids get a little squirmy. they're nervously looking at each other and aren't engaging as excitedly as they usually do. when he calls time, he watches dustin rummage through his backpack and produce a walkie talkie.
he watches, a bit dumbfounded, as the kid demands a 'check-in'. all at once, multiple different voices come over the channel. stating a name and then saying 'safe.' ("nancy, safe." "robin, safe." "max, safe.")
"steve?" dustin demands. there's only static. "steve!" a little more frantic this time.
"he left to pick you up." a female voice replies, "he's probably fine. you'll see him soon."
none of the kids look particularly pleased, and pack up hastily. eddie and the other hellfire members all share confused glances. he, more morbidly curious than anything else, follows the little sheep as they hurry out of the school.
dustin is fucking restless as they all stand in the empty parking lot. he won't stay still and none of them are answering any of eddie's questions. and he only gets more confused when a brown beemer pulls in, windows down and playing depeche mode through the speakers. dustin goes to sprint towards it, and he has to hold him by the collar to stop him getting run over.
the beemer pulls up and steve harrington, in all his glory, steps out, frowning. dustin wrenches out of eddie's grip and all but bodies the guy, wrapping arms tightly around his midsection. steve, still looking puzzled, hugs back. lucas and mike trail after dustin.
"we called a check-in." dustin says, a bit muffled from where his face is smushed into steve's shirt. steve goes sort of pale, and- and presses a goddamn kiss to the top of henderson's head before tightening the hug.
"shit, i'm sorry." and eddie believes him. he sounds so guilty. "i meant to replace the batteries before i left. sorry, i'm okay." dustin pulls back and scrubs at his eyes. lucas takes his place, though the hug he gives is more like one of those bro-hugs jocks seem to love. steve smiles regardless. he just ruffles mike's hair, who pouts in response but looks relieved nonetheless.
"asshole." he mutters. "rule four, walkies on at all times." steve nods as the kid half-heartedly waves goodbye to eddie and hops in the backseat of the beemer. lucas follows. dustin seems reluctant to walk around the car, to take his eyes off steve for even a second.
"you wanna stay over tonight?" steve asks, warm and gentle. he folds his arms and in that moment eddie thinks they look sort of like brothers. "robin and me were gonna watch some films. we can call your mom from mine."
the kid nods, looking a bit happier. steve slaps him on the back and motions him to get in the car. dustin swivels to hug and say goodbye to eddie (who sort of forgot he was physically present in this moment) before doing as he was told.
steve turns to eddie. which- whew! hi pretty eyes.
"sorry." he smiles and eddie can't for the life of him figure out what he's apologising for. "they, uh- yeah. them." he gestures vaguely at the car and eddie just chuckles.
"hey, man, no worries." he says, a little breathless that he's having a conversation with the steve harrington. "they okay? never seen henderson look so rattled." steve nods, then seems to think better of it and just shrugs. cocks his hip to the side (stop fucking staring at his hips, munson, lord!)
"they will be." he glances back at the beemer, which is now full of childish bickering. pauses to think and then asks, "you using demogorgons in your campaign right now?"
eddie blinks at him. "yes? yeah. what the fuck- how do you know what that is? what-" steve just laughs.
"long story." there's a haunted look in his eyes before he continues, "just, uh- that's probably what upset them. demogorgons and us- them, i mean-" he waves his hand. "bad memories. hard to explain, but... if you could..." he doesn't need to ask, seems like he doesn't know how or even if he's allowed.
"got it, ill tweak the campaign." harrington smiles at him, something small and genuine, and murmurs a thanks. offers him a fucking lift, which eddie declines, motioning to his van. harrington just nods, tells him to get home safe and then clambers back into the car, yells at the kids to put seatbelts on with all the exasperation of a single dad, and pulls away.
eddie watches them go, having seen a side of harrington he'd thought dustin had been lying about. steve harrington, the caring babysitter, everyone's older brother, a changed man.
he starts escorting the kids to the parking lot more often.
#steddie#steve harrington#stranger things#eddie munson#prompt#steddie fic#steddie prompt#imagine#steve and eddie#steve and dustin#dustin henderson#hellfire club#stranger things prompt#steve x eddie#mike wheeler#lucas sinclair#babysitter steve#good babysitter steve#this ended up longer than i intended#i get carried away
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“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve says as he collides with someone as he’s turning the corner. There’s a split second where it’s just that— just two bodies colliding. And then the iced coffee the man is holding is dumped all over him.
“Shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry,” the guy says, using the one singular napkin in his hand to try and mop up the freezing liquid from Steve's shirt.
It’s winter. It’s cold out. “Who the hell gets an iced coffee in the winter?” he asks, pulling his wet shirt away from his skin.
The one day he doesn't zip his jacket up because it’s not as frigid as it was yesterday is the day this happens of course.
“Gay people,” the guy says, deadpan.
Steve looks up and—
“Oh,” he says.
He’s cute. And almost exactly Steve's type— curly brown hair, eyes large and dark.
Steve’s still chilled to the fucking bone because of the coffee spilled on him, but he still has to shoot his shot.
“I’m bi.”
The guy’s mouth stretches into a wide grin. “Well, hi Bi. I’m Eddie,” he says and Steve knows it’s over for him, there’s no way he stands a chance now.
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Eddie and Steve have been friends for a while now, and they’re getting pretty close. With the revelation that Steve isn’t actually a major douchebag comes the revelation that Steve is actually pretty great
Except for one thing
Anytime Eddie says something incredibly nerdy, Steve closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. Eddie cannot figure out why he does this, especially since Robin or Dustin might say the same things and get no reaction.
It bums him out a little, kind of makes him think that Harrington’s not quite let go of the whole King Steve thing.
Until one night where they’re hanging out and Eddie says something incredibly nerdy. Steve takes a deep breath, puts his face in his hands, mutters “God you’re such a dork” and hauls Eddie into a searing kiss
#steve harrington#stranger things#eddie munson#stranger things 4#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steddie prompt#Steve thinks Eddie is really cute when he gets excited and passionate#So he has to steady himself so he isn’t being a huge homosexual(tm) in public#juicepost
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-:“We just got together but I already love them” Wholesome new couple prompts:-
(AHH I RANDOMLY GOT THIS IDEA AND HAD TO DO IT. please tag me if you write any of these :’)
By @me-writes-prompts
“Can I…may I hug you?” They ask softly, when you’re done ranting about an exhausting day you had. (🥺❤️🩹)
Planning a picnic and making them food even if you’re an amateur cook, in hopes you’ll impress them more🫶🏽
^^ “Did you make this?” “Yes…is it not good? I’m sorry.” “No, no. It’s good, heck, it’s great!”
The way their eyes light up when their partner comes to them.
Leaving little notes by their bedside with a kiss on their forehead. AHHH
“Ok…so, umm I made this playlist for our first month anniversary. I hope it’s not too bad!” “Omg, this is- I can’t believe it! I always wanted someone to make me a playlist!”
Getting them way too many gifts for their birthday.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, baby.”
The little kisses they share throughout their day, and getting absolutely flustered over it because it’s all so new
Cuddle session every. Other. Night.
Cooking their favorite meal together
Constant compliments and the little things they notice about each other as they grow together
Baking cookies for their families as it’s their first Christmas!
^^ “Your cookie looks better than mine!” “No, your does!” “No, yours!” “No-” And they just pull them in a kiss to shut them up with a smile already forming on their lips.
#writers on tumblr#writeblr#prompt list#writing prompts#imagine your otp#writing#otp prompts#dialogue prompts#story prompt#otp#otp stuff#otp meme#otp tropes#otp ideas#otp ships#fluff#fluff prompts#fluff prompt#prompt#writing ideas#writing inspiration#writing advice#creative writing#ao3#fanfic prompts#romance prompts#friends to lovers prompts#enemies to lovers prompts#strangers to lovers prompts#me-writes-prompts
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Sleepwalkin'
written for @steddiemicrofic april prompt ‘fool’ wc: 454 | rated: T | cw: implied sexual content | read on ao3
🛌🛌🛌
Eddie stirs at the sound of shuffling footsteps and gets jolted awake as Steve drops face-first onto the bed.
"Mhmph. Where've you been?"
"Sleepwalkin'."
"Do anything fun?"
"I got into bed with Wayne." He mumbles into the pillow.
"Wait. What?!" Eddie sits up with a crazed grin, suddenly wide awake, "Steve, sweetheart, that's fucking hilarious."
"Yeah, Wayne thought so too," He rolls onto his side to face Eddie," I, on the other hand, am slightly mortified."
"Baby, I'm sorry but that is actually so funny. What did he say when he woke you up?"
"That's the thing! He didn't! So I obviously woke him up when I, y'know crawled into his bed and cuddled up to him-"
"You cuddled him?! Stevie, be careful, that's the most action he's gotten in years, he's gonna fall in love with you!"
"Fuck off," He reaches across to slap Eddie's shoulder, "Anyway, he just left me to sleep! I woke up to him snoring with his arm around me, and I was so fucking confused."
"How long were you there? I woke up earlier and you were gone but I just thought you were in the bathroom or something. Didn’t realise you’d deserted me."
"Probably like half the fucking night. I went back to sleep after I’d woken up because his bed’s comfier than yours. I only came back in because he went to work and I got cold."
"Is a bed warmer all I am to you, Stevie?" Eddie pouted, "I thought you loved me for my wit and charm and dashingly good looks, not because I keep you toasty."
"I love you for many reasons, including how warm you run, but if you don't like it," Steve shrugged, "I guess I'll have to go to Wayne next time I'm cold. I'm sure he'll warm me up."
"Please don't leave me for my Uncle."
"Well, you better give me a good reason to stay then."
"Nobody can go down on you as well as I can."
"Oh really? Might have to let you prove that you’re the best then."
Eddie just smirks as he slides down the bed.
—
Wayne’s just gotten home from work when Eddie clears his throat and nudges Steve in the ribs.
"Stevie. Don’t you have something to say to Wayne?"
"Huh? Oh, right," Steve looks at Wayne as sincerely as he can possibly manage right now, "I’m so sorry, Wayne, but we were fools to think it’d work out between us. I’ll never forget our wonderful night together though."
"Well shucks, son, you’re breakin’ my dang heart here but I guess I just gotta move on," Wayne gives Steve a wink, "You know where to find me if you change ya mind."
#i worked very hard to squeeze in the joke prompt words in this lmao#steve harrington#eddie munson#wayne munson#uncle wayne#uncle wayne my beloved#steddie#steve x eddie#stranger things#steddiemicrofic#steddiemicroficapril#bigboywrites#mine
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Knock, knock.
Eddie Munson x Neighbour Reader.
Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.
Authors note: Thank you for all the love on the last part of this fic. I promise more Eddie is coming. As before all my love to @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird little world I'm making.
6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.
Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you bye.
Part 3- Accusations made in barely lit corridors.
Nobody lives there.
Nobody lives there. But they will send someone around in the morning to check out the scar.
Nobody lives there, but there is very much somebody living there and you aggressively hammered on their door.
At night.
Alone.
Oh god.
The realisation that there could be a murderer living next door and you just swanned up offering yourself on a platter, hits you fast, a sudden wave of nausea making the bitter taste of bile coat the back of your throat.
Rationalising thoughts pitter patter through, few and far between the spiralling dread and self deprecation as you hold your head in your hands.
If they were in hiding they were not being very subtle.
They brought people around.
More likely squatters passing through.
Or a ghost.
Or whatever peers through the bathroom door at you when you're under the cloak of sleep, trapped in your bed and unable to move.
Shit.
Shaking legs take you to the kitchen, the faucet spluttering cold water into the tall frosted glass tumbler and in the back of your mind, a voice says you were meant to get that fixed.
The cold drink makes your chest feel less tight, lets you breathe a little easier as your weight leans against the countertop, you try to concentrate on the feeling of sunlight warming your cheek through the window. But a door slamming shut next door forces you upright.
Adrenaline prickles the ends of your fingers and sends your glass of water skidding over the worktop, you scramble to stabilise it, thoughts tumble quicker than you can collect as you stare at the adjoining wall.
You can hear him moving around and curiosity makes you slowly creep over and press your ear to the wall then, like it so often does, music blares to life on the other side.
A soft curse.
The music lowers.
Footsteps move behind you and your eyes track the sound up and down the room, now sparsely filled with furniture and nicknacks. It's laughable that you thought they would soften his sounds.
The music doesn't have the definition it usually does, it's softer, and you have to strain more than usual to catch what song it is.
You press your ear back to the wall, the music there clearer.
He moved it.
Radio, speakers, whatever. He's moved it further away.
The notion softens your thoughts.
He has a life set up there.
He could be hiding.
Could have found a dry place to call home for a while.
Could just need a break.
You quickly grab your phone, typing out an email back to your landlord.
Tomorrow will be fine, it would have to be early because I have work. I only assumed it was number 5, but realistically it could be from above or outside, maybe number 7?
You chew on your thumb staring at the screen, a silent argument of conflicting thoughts steamrolling you until you finally press send, quickly locking your phone tossing it away.
He starts to sing and the sound accompanies you as the mottled yellow paper rips from your notebook at an angle, to-do lists and numbers you need to call come Monday revealed and quickly forgotten as you push it back into its drawer.
Hey, it's no6.
Still, no way he's getting your name.
Someone's coming around tomorrow morning to take a look at some things in my apartment.
Just a heads up they might need to come round your place, if whatever is wrong crosses over onto your side.
Thanks for keeping the noise down, appreciate it.
It's a white lie, you don't even know if they will need to go around if your email works, but just in case, it gives him a chance to move on without getting in trouble.
Less chance of him thinking you complained and holding a vendetta against you.
Silently staring down at the note, you run your nail down the fold until the crease is crisp, the thickest corner sharp, pressing into the pad of your thumb.
It's broad daylight, this was fine.
You try and open the door as quietly as you can but she's stubborn, the yank needed to open it causes you to stumble and you just catch it from announcing your movements.
The corridor’s empty but doesn't hold the cloying silence that was last present when you approached next door, lazy murmurs of life on a Sunday quietly audible.
You quickly crouch and stuff the note under, your hurried movements scrunch the paper at an angle where it won't slip through and you start to panic, quietly begging it to behave, scrambling quickly away when it finally slips past the threshold.
You latch the chain, the lock clicking behind it and back away slowly, holding your breath as you wait for a sign that he's gotten it.
Nothing comes through, his singing has receded off and you're left with the dulcet tones of.
Metallica?
You laugh gently at yourself.
Jesus christ.
Settling back onto the couch the TV that's long gone into standby winks back to life, and you frown as you try to pick up where you left off.
Sign in.
Password or username is incorrect.
Try again.
He doesn't come round and the rest of the evening and your lives move in tandem, your ex had changed all passwords on your shared accounts Spotify, Netflix anything you shared even though you always paid half.
That petty son of a bitch.
You refuse to speak to him and ask him to give you the login details, that’s what he's hoping. You can manage until you get paid.
So you get out the old stereo, set up some old CDs and it hums away until sleep finally takes you.
You're roused from sleep sometime later, consciousness trickling in as you toss and turn in soft blankets, the bed creaking weakly below you.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Stilling, you listen. The sound seems closer than it should like it doesn't drift from its origin, just an empty echo in the air around you.
You look to the bathroom, the doors closed but the bedroom doors ajar, light just beyond it and you let the sheets slip from you as you make your way over.
You wince at the thud the door makes when you try to open it, the sound abnormally loud as it hits against something, a bookshelf blocking the way.
Squeezing yourself out you're faced with an uncomfortably familiar scene of your few belongings now crowded and warped on a backdrop of shadow.
An inhale sticks in your throat as you watch the scar still drip, the small puddle now completely coating the countertop, the carpet around it sodden and inky black.
It ripples as you walk towards it, watching how it inches over the linoleum floor towards the looming black.
The sound of your bathroom door opening behind you is unmistakable and you turn, eyes wide as the darkness hums behind you, the floorboards creak in your bedroom.
Light dances like last time over the wall and you rush over hoping for the relief of consciousness as you push against it only to fall straight through.
Starburst's dance across your vision and you hiss from the ache in your knees as they hit the murky green carpet below.
The small room feels instantly claustrophobic bathed in a light much softer than the glowing wall behind you should emit.
It's crowded, cluttered with belongings, discarded boxes and flyers, bags, shoes and jackets. A sideboard with a lamp and an old record player are all stuffed inside the small space.
A frosted glass door is your only exit and you wipe the dust that coats your hands down your clothes as you quickly move through it. Turning, you wait for any silhouettes to appear but only the light behind it glitters.
Your back hits a refrigerator as you step away, alphabet magnets clattering to the floor below and skittering away into the galley kitchen where you now stand in.
Take-out cartons and empty glass soda bottles litter the side with the makings of meals and dirty dishes, a layer of dust beneath them remains thick and untouched. There's no drip here that you can see but you can still hear the sound, although it's garbled like it's struggling to find you.
The stillness of the room makes you jumpy as you travel down to the end and turn to a small hallway with two doors.
The wall at the end dances with light.
You look back over your shoulder, wondering where the weird corridor of rooms is taking you and hoping that you'll wake up soon.
The doors are ajar and you peek inside, the first’s a bathroom, small and dark, but the second opens to reveal the rose hues of a sunrise that stem from a dark window.
It's a bedroom.
Lived in and yet somehow like it's been untouched for years, the paint peels from the walls and dust kicks up around your footsteps, but the bed's unmade, guitars in the corner catch the light, polished and well kept.
Models sit along the shallow windowsill, and your fingers run against the dents and notches where the gloss is applied too thickly.
“Shit!”
The voice is followed by a crash that has you spinning and exiting the room quickly, the door slamming closed behind you almost of its own accord.
Footsteps fall in tandem with yours as you rush to the end of the hallway, the wall gives way and your legs catch something and you fall. Harder than before, awkwardly and you wheeze as the air is knocked from your lungs.
You can hear them approaching, an outline of a body appears above you pressing against the curtain of light, blood rushes in your ears and you gasp as your body suddenly comes crashing back to earth.
You try to make yourself look as unphased as possible at the fact that there's a complete stranger standing in your home at 7 am.
Your bedroom’s filled with the soft light of early morning and all is quiet.
Charlie, the maintenance guy. As he introduced himself.
He refused your offer of a drink after greeting you and unprompted, spent his first few minutes in your home showing you pictures of his grandkids on his phone.
You remind him of his eldest, he told you with a broad smile and with a clap of his hands he rubbed them together and asked what we were looking at.
You pointed to the ceiling, his eyes trailing up and a low whistle escapes him as he walks below it, hands on hips.
“Rupert said there was a hole but thats-”
“A scar.” you say.
And he gives you an amused smile as he nods.
The small silver ladder clacks as he climbs it and you watch on as he makes non-committal grunts and noises at it.
“Can you do anything?”
He shines a light into the places where the plaster never took, darkness peeking through and then promptly clicks it off, rubbing his chin he climbs back down the ladder.
“You said you've been hearing neighbours through it?”
You stutter a little, “Well yes, I think, I'm not entirely sure where, but like, it echoes sort of as if it's through a vent?”
He hums to himself again, arms crossed, eyes following it down the length of the room.
“Not a whole lot I can do if there's a vent coming through there, but the cavity isn't deep enough to house one I wouldn't think. It shouldn't have been left like that.” he tsks.
“Some cowboys will of charged him arm and a leg.”
He slips on the small glasses that have been hanging around his neck as he jots down notes on a small notepad.
“I'll see what the big man says, can't promise anything though, it's a big job going to be pricey”
He gathers his things and leaves you his card in case you need anything done, because ‘Rupert is useless'.
Alone in the room, you stare up.
You feel like it knows.
“You brought this on yourself” you whisper to it as you collect your belongings.
Walking through the door you pause finding the man who you'd just left hunched over in the doorway of No. 5.
Changing the locks. You frown to yourself as you prepare to say a polite goodbye but the words get caught in your throat.
The doorway opens to a small room, with green carpet, a frosted glass door to the left glittering with the light coming in behind it.
“Hey. Can I take a look?” you don't recognise your own voice, words coming out of their own accord.
He looks up at you and you try to make a face of indifference, he shrugs.
“I guess so, just watch out it's been empty for a while. It'll only be a minute. ”
A horrible sense of deja vu washes over you as you make your way into the kitchen.
It's a snapshot of your dream, but void of all signs of life.
Dust, dirt and debris line the room like you remember but there's a gap where the refrigerator should be, the sink empty. You turn the faucet and it moans spurting murky brown water with a wheeze before clean water runs freely.
The windows are stained with the same sepia tint that you scrubbed from yours.
The corridor looms dark to your right no dancing walls of light only the two doors slightly ajar.
Bathroom. Bedroom.
You creep slowly towards them holding your breath your mind screaming that this isn't right.
But you need to see something different something that doesn't line up with your vivid memory of this place.
Your stomach drops at the sight of the bathroom.
Small and dark.
And as you push open the bedroom door, it makes you feel motion sick, like your brain can't quite take in what it's seeing.
It's the same no bed or posters or guitars. But it's the same room and as you approach the window frame you swallow harshly as your fingers touch the same notches and grooves that you had seen before.
“Done.”
You almost fall to your knees, your heart leaping into your throat.
“Didn't mean to scare you,” Charlie says chuckling from his place in the doorway.
“No, sorry it's fine.” you brush past him quickly and into the corridor.
He locks the door behind you and you look over it for a moment.
Thoughts finally falling away from the surreal past few minutes.
“I can see him now. Stupid smug bastard”
You hope he finds somewhere better to sleep than there.
Janet's squinting face is suddenly moving as she picks up her phone and moves you along with her.
You'd managed to thoroughly freak yourself out as the day wore on, and due to your lack of familiarity with your coworkers, it meant she was now your escort back to the apartment tonight.
“Jesus, get away from the window.”
“I could let his tires down.”
“I feel like that's slightly extreme.” You laugh but when she doesn't respond, still squinting out her living room window at your ex your tone changes.
“No, property damage.” you hiss quietly looking around at the other passengers on the bus “He changed my login he didn't kill my dog. I'll sort it all when I get paid.”
She hums unconvinced.
You spent more time next door at hers than you did in your own home to the end of your relationship. She was the only one who stood behind your decision to leave. She always hated the guy.
“You spoken to him? ”
“No, blocked him the day I moved, after the 30th missed call.”
Her attention is suddenly back on you, a frown deepening the creases in her brow.
She shakes her head, scowling through the window once more, before your being whisked away with her again “How far are we?”
“Mine's the next stop, thank you again by the way.”
“Don't worry about it darling, it seems I'm your protector from obnoxious men.”
“Janet the protector.” the last syllable is lost to a yawn and you open your eyes to see a tender expression on her face as she looks back at you.
“You okay?”
“I'm just tired, nightmares, it's been a lot.”
“I'm proud of you, you know.”
“Don't.”
“What? I am.”
“You're going to make me cry on the bus”
When you finally arrive at your stop, a sea of black umbrellas and hurried footsteps accompany you as you retell your dream as the rain steadily soaks you.
“It was just so weird. It was the exact layout” you say opening the door to your building.
“Maybe you lived there in a past life? Or was the original floor plan on the website when you were looking?”
“Maybe?”
The entrance is looming as you close the door behind you. You're stuck in place and Janet must catch the look on your face.
“Here we go, you got this.”
You don't feel like you have this.
The elevator rattles to the third floor, the metal gate creaking as you open it up and walk down the corridor to your apartment.
“Nobody's waiting.” You whisper.
“I told you.”
Your steps quicken as you pass his door, fumbling with your keys and pushing harshly, the door slamming into the wall and you quickly shut it behind you.
There's no noise and Janet stares at you as you pause for any signs that he's around.
“We clear?”
“I think so," you say quietly walking to the kitchen and propping her up against a bottle of oil on your counter.
“Good, can I finally get the tour of-” . She pauses frowning at you as you shrug out of your drenched jacket.
“ What are you wearing?”
“ Work clothes?” You say looking down at the rigid clothing you'd put on this morning.
“You look like a bit of a cunt.”
You bark a laugh, grimacing at yourself as she smiles brightly at you.
You're not fully awake.
“Yeah I know.”
But your heart’s pounding in your ears.
Music's blaring from the other room.
You're instantly up, stumbling in the dark through the vague outline of your room, unfocused and pixelating darkness leading you out of your room.
You slap the wall, finally catching the light switch.
The stereo is blaring and you wince at the volume as you walk to it, aggressively turning it off.
The music stops.
On your side.
But the same song continues on the other side of the wall, pacing footsteps echo out behind you.
Back and forth back and forth
No.
You back away from the sounds, stomach-churning, then dropping.
Yellow mottled paper sits at the foot of your front door.
Trembling fingers pick it up, unfold it, it's your own note.
Tacked onto the bottom a reply.
Are you dead?
Next.
#Stranger Prompts#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x female reader#Eddie Munson fluff#eddie munson angst#Eddie Munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie stranger things#stranger things fic#eddie x reader#eddie x you#stranger things#my writing#Spotify#SoundCloud
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Danny was annoyed. Who were these people? Vlad hadn't even been dead for a week before these people with cameras began stalking him. He could understand paparazzi in any other city. But this was Amity Park. Nothing ever happened here...except the ghosts but that wasn't too unusual compared to other places like Metropolis and Gotham.
Speaking of Gotham, most of these reporters seemed to be form there. What were people from New Jersey doing all the way in Illinois? And why were they crowded around his house? Why were they asking about Bruce Wayne? Did Vlad do something before his death that put him at odds with the Gotham Billionaire playboy?
Danny heard the security system shoot another one of the reporters and sighed before activating the Baba Yaga protocol. It was hilarious to see the looks on thier faces when the house grew legs and walked away.
Dannys parents had long since chased off any potential babysitters, so they just made an AI to babysit him when they were away. Said AI was taking care of him for the two weeks his parents were away and his older sister was at summer camp. Danny actually preferred this because the AI could cook way better than his mom and better at driving than his dad.
With everyone gone and the AI hacked by him and his elementary school on summer break, this seemed like the perfect time to go to this Bruce guy and ask him whats going on.
Aka one of the bats has a kid out there and the press learns about it before the bats do. Danny is an overconfident little kid who feels untouchable in his parents mad science house.
Is Danny still Phantom in this au? Who's son is he? Was vlad still obsessed with him and maddie and made him his heir? So many questions. You decide.
#prompts#fanfiction prompts#dpxdc#danny phantom#danny fenton#batman#more of the moving house au#danny is small in this#like he doesnt fully understand stranger danger yet
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“Oh shit, what’s wrong?”
Steve watches, horrified, as Eddie reaches up with his free hand to swipe at the moisture gathering beneath his eyes.
“Nothing, man,” Eddie croaks, and Steve doesn’t believe him for a moment.
“Did I hurt you? Is the bandage on wrong? Too tight?” Steve becomes aware as he speaks that he’s all but clutching Eddie’s hand in his own and makes a conscious effort to loosen his grip.
This only seems to make things worse; Eddie makes a noise of protest and grabs more tightly to Steve’s hand and then looks twice as mortified as before, and that’s not at all what Steve wants.
Changing Eddie’s bandages is a goddamn ordeal; there are so many of them, and they seem to be everywhere, and Eddie doesn’t have the good drugs anymore, just Tylenol, and he’s always exhausted and sore by the end of it all. Steve doesn’t want to make him feel worse.
He would start fixing it, if he only knew what he’d done.
“Eddie,” he says softly, “please tell me what’s wrong.”
Eddie shakes his head, swiping under his eyes again. “It’s seriously nothing, it’s stupid. It’s just…” he hesitates, and Steve squeezes his hand encouragingly. “It reminded me of my mom, what you did, with the little – like, the little kiss on the bandage when you finished putting it on. She used to do that.”
“Oh – shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, overstep, or–”
“You didn’t–”
“I thought it would make you laugh or something, not drag out some sad memory, and–”
“Steve,” Eddie cuts in more firmly, “you didn’t. I’m not fuckin’ sad, it just – kinda hit me weird. That’s all.”
Steve purses his lips, staring up at Eddie from the kitchen floor, where he’s been kneeling in order to work at the bandages. He’s not sure if he should get out of Eddie’s space now, maybe give him a minute to himself, because Eddie is still holding onto his hand, and Steve still has another bandage to change out, and then Eddie rolls his eyes at him.
“Stop looking at me like you ran over my dog, man. I swear to god, I’m fine. It was kinda nice, actually, alright?” Eddie huffs. “Like, I forgot about that, until you did it, so it was– it was kinda nice.”
“Oh,” Steve says.
“Yeah. So do you think we could just…” Eddie gestures at his cheek with his free hand, and Steve nods.
“Yeah, lemme– I’ll finish up.”
The bandage on Eddie’s cheek is the last to change out, and Steve tries to make it quick. He has Eddie hold his hair to the side as he works, mostly to give him something to do with his hands – there are a million hair ties still floating around the house from before Robin cut her hair (Steve finds more every time he vacuums, he swears the things multiply in the dark), but Steve’s found that giving Eddie some kind of task keeps him still while Steve deals with disinfectant and gauze.
He's gotten the process down to something simple and efficient, and it feels like he’s done too soon. Eddie takes a sidelong glance at him when he takes his hands away, though he’s obediently holding still until he’s given the all-clear.
“Done?” he asks.
“Almost, yeah,” Steve says. “One last thing.”
Slowly, in case Eddie wants to pull back, Steve leans in and presses a featherlight kiss to the center of the bandage, holding his breath in shivery anticipation of Eddie’s reaction.
“That alright?” Steve asks quietly.
“Uh.” Eddie drops his hair and turns to look at Steve, eyes wide but dry this time. “Yeah. That’s– Actually, no.” Steve’s stomach drops when Eddie shakes his head, but then Eddie goes on, “I think you should do it one more time. Just, like, to make sure it works.”
“Yeah?” A slow grin curls over Steve’s face as his stomach makes its way back up from where it had landed near his ankles. “I think you’re right. Better safe than sorry.”
Steve leans in again, giving the bandage a quick, gentle peck. Then, because he can’t quite help himself, he presses another kiss to Eddie’s chin. And then, because they’re right there, pink and inviting and slightly parted as Eddie watches Steve with rapt attention, Steve presses one last kiss to his lips.
Eddie barely has time to return it, but he laughs when Steve pulls away. “Pretty sure my mouth was never injured, Steve.”
“You sure?” Steve shoots back.
“I mean– Well, you could check,” Eddie offers.
“Yeah, I could,” Steve says, leaning back in for another kiss – one that he thinks should be much more thorough.
All in the name of proper care, of course.
[Prompt: Kissing your partner's wounds]
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#eddiesteve#stranger things#you don't even wanna know how many versions of this prompt I started and abandoned#this is what I finally ended up with#solar wrote
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based off this post i made a couple days ago lmao
words: 2.1k
Generally speaking, Steve Harrington is a pretty good boyfriend.
He takes Eddie out, never lets him pay for stuff if he can help it—hell, he’s even bought Eddie flowers before. And Eddie’s not complaining, because it’s hard enough to find another queer man in Hawkins, let alone one willing to date him. So Steve is his first boyfriend, and Eddie hasn’t had much (read: any) experience with dating.
But he’s pretty damn sure by the time they hit the three-month mark that Steve’s staunch refusal to hold his hand is unusual.
It’s not like Steve isn’t affectionate. More often than not, Steve’s arm will be around his shoulders or his waist, and there are no shortages of kisses anywhere and everywhere. But Steve won’t hold his hand. And he hasn’t let Eddie give him a handjob. Which—the latter isn’t as much of an issue, because maybe Steve’s just not a fan of handjobs, and that’s fine, Eddie’s not an asshole, Steve’s more than entitled to say no to stuff like that.
Though, Steve’s got no problem putting his hands to work, so what is it about the idea of holding hands or Eddie touching him in the same way that makes Steve so weirdly uncomfortable?
Eddie’s first thought had been that Steve might just not like holding hands. That the clamminess of another palm in his gives him the same kind of sensory ick that Eddie gets from getting adhesive residue on his hands. But Steve holds hands with Robin all the time with no problem, so it can’t be that.
His second thought is that Steve might be so used to being the ‘man in the relationship,’ so to speak, that he doesn’t think Eddie would want to be as handsy. But, again—doesn’t explain the hand holding thing. Because Steve had definitely held hands with girls he’d dated in the past, if Eddie’s high school memories aren’t failing him.
So what the hell is it?
What’s so unthinkable about being touched by Eddie?
And Eddie tries not to read too much into it, because he’s more than aware that both he and Steve have some internalized stuff about being queer, and maybe Steve’s just working through that. He tries not to read too much into it because Steve is a good boyfriend, save for this one weird thing, and maybe they’ll get to a point where Steve will tell him why he doesn’t want to hold hands or have Eddie’s hands on his bare skin for more than a minute or two.
They’re making out on Steve’s couch one night, Eddie’s hands on Steve’s waist and Steve’s hands already halfway through undoing the button on Eddie’s jeans. Eddie starts to tug at Steve’s shirt to get it untucked from his jeans. “C’mere, wait, lemme touch you,” Eddie breathes, and Steve grins against his mouth before backing away. Eddie blinks, utterly confused. “What? What is it?”
Steve just laughs, shakes his head, and dives back in for another kiss. “You’re funny,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie feels a weird tug in his gut, because something’s wrong, and Steve’s acting weird again about Eddie touching him.
He thinks it’s funny.
Thinks it’s funny that Eddie wants to touch him.
Well, firstly, ouch. Secondly, that’s a real jerk move, but he’s torn between telling Steve off and getting off. He ends up going with the better option, because Steve might be acting like a jerk, but he’s a jerk that’s jerking Eddie off, so…better than nothing, Eddie supposes.
He doesn’t bring it up again for another three months, resigning himself to have his hands redirected from Steve’s bare skin and remaining steadfastly un-handheld. And, sure, y’know, he might be able to attribute it to the fact that they spend a lot of time with people who don’t know they’re together yet, but that possibility is quickly eradicated when Steve suggests that they tell the rest of the Party about them.
“You sure you wanna do that?” Eddie asks, brows raised skeptically, because for a guy who won’t hold Eddie’s hand, Steve’s pretty gung-ho about airing their business to the rest of the group.
Steve just tilts his head, a cute little look of confusion on his face. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, like the idea of him not wanting people to know about him and Eddie is crazy. Steve blinks, the confusion turning to concern. “I mean, unless you’re not ready. I don’t want to pressure you—”
“You can tell them,” Eddie cuts in, fidgeting with his rings. “I’m—yeah. Yeah, you can tell them.”
Maybe this will finally give Steve the push he needs to get over himself and hold Eddie’s goddamn hand before Eddie goes crazy and gets shipped off to Pennhurst.
Or…maybe not.
Because Steve still won’t hold his hand. Or let Eddie touch him.
The one time Eddie had managed to get his hands on Steve’s bare skin, he’d spotted Steve itching at the spots Eddie had touched in the bathroom later that night, the door only open a crack. Which is pretty dramatic, even for Eddie’s taste. Is the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him really so awful? Christ, Eddie’s getting sick and tired of this shit.
Eventually, nine months into their relationship, Steve blatantly moves a hand away from Eddie’s during a movie night when Eddie tries to take hold of it. In front of their friends. Eddie sucks up his wounded pride and corners Nancy in the kitchen later, after the first movie is over and they’ve been sent to get snacks while Steve and Robin argue over what movie to play next, wondering if he should even be asking her.
“Something on your mind?” she asks, because he hasn’t come up with anything to start with yet, and Eddie sighs.
“Is—okay, did Steve ever—when you guys were dating, did he ever, like, not hold your hand?” he asks, and Nancy tilts her head.
“I mean, sometimes…? It was only because I was wearing rings, though,” she says, like that makes perfect sense, like Steve just has some ring-phobia or something, and Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. Nancy gives him a little smile. “You wear yours all the time, so I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”
Okay, so, weird ring-phobia it is.
That’s the new working theory, and when he and Steve bunk in Steve’s room for the night, Eddie makes a show of carefully pulling his rings off and setting them on the bedside table. There’s a couple of green marks on his fingers where the clear nail polish he’d coated the interiors in has chipped away, and he rubs at his bare fingers absentmindedly as he climbs under the covers. He takes a deep breath and laces his fingers with Steve’s, ready to have Steve pull his hand away for the umpteenth time.
Instead, he’s met with a surprised, pleased little hum. “You took your rings off,” Steve notes, relief clear in his voice, and Eddie nods, trying not to let the feeling of triumph show on his face too much. Steve grins at him and presses a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “That’s a nice surprise.”
“What, you don’t like my rings?” Eddie teases, keeping the genuine curiosity in his voice to a minimum, and Steve’s brows furrow.
“What? No, no, I love your rings, Eds,” Steve tells him. He lowers his voice. “I think they’re pretty hot, actually.”
Okay. Okay, so a wrench has been thrown into the ring-phobia theory.
“What, are they too cheap for his majesty’s royal fingers?” Eddie jokes, putting on a goofy, poorly-done British accent, and Steve’s nose wrinkles slightly.
“I mean, they are costume jewelry,” Steve says. “Nickel-plated, right?”
Ah.
So…it’s that Eddie looks, or even feels, too cheap.
Jesus. He hadn’t thought Steve would be that shallow.
Eddie swallows. “Uh, yeah, they—they are. I can stop wearing them, if you…” he trails off, not really sure what to do with this new information. Cheap to the touch, apparently enough to make Steve wrinkle his nose at the thought of Eddie touching him with his rings on.
“What? No, no, you don’t have to. I’m good, I can deal with it,” Steve says, like it’s supposed to be reassuring, like it’s such a big sacrifice for him to deal with how inexpensive Eddie’s taste in jewelry is, like their relationship isn’t serious enough for Steve to get over himself.
It’s just his rich boy upbringing, Eddie reminds himself. Even Wheeler’s upper-middle-class jewelry wasn’t enough to beat that expensive taste.
Evidently, the conversation had stuck in his boyfriend’s brain, because on the morning of their first anniversary, Eddie is given a long, velvety black box with four Sterling silver rings. They’re exact replicas, design-wise, of their nickel-plated counterparts, and Steve looks so proud of himself, so pleased with his gift idea, and Eddie barely stops himself from frowning.
“Oh,” Eddie says, a little hollow, “um, thank you.”
“You like ’em?” Steve asks, and there’s such a hopeful look on his face that it just pisses Eddie off more. “I just figure—y’know, because, I mean, I can’t hold your hand if you’re wearing costume jewelry, so—”
“Yeah, no, I, uh—I got that,” Eddie says with a strained smile. “Thanks, Steve.”
Steve’s brows furrow. “I feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, and he says it with humor, but there’s genuine worry behind it. “Did I screw up your present that bad? Were you dropping hints and hoping for something else?”
Eddie’s jaw clenches. “It’s…the present is fine, Steve,” he says.
“You don’t like them,” Steve mumbles, gnawing on his bottom lip. “I mean, it might take me a lot longer to save up, but is—would you, like, prefer titanium or steel or something? I didn’t really think you were a gold kind of guy, but it’s fine if you are, I just didn’t know—”
“Why do I have to prefer anything?” Eddie snaps. Steve blinks at him. The look of pure confusion on his face is a little infuriating, like he can’t even fathom why Eddie might be upset, and Eddie’s eye twitches. “Look, just because you’re all high and mighty about what jewelry is worthy of being seen near you—”
“Woah, woah, what are you talking about?” Steve asks, alarmed.
Letting out a frustrated groan, Eddie slams the box down on the coffee table and stands up to stomp around the living room, pacing back and forth. “You won’t let me hold your hand o-or even touch you, like you’re so above cheap shit that you can’t bear to let it touch you, and I’m so sorry that I’ve offended the sensibilities of his highness with my ‘costume jewelry,’ but Jesus, Steve, you can’t even get over yourself on our anniversary? I’ve seen you act like me touching you with my rings on gives you hives or some shit, like it’s just so terrible that it makes your skin crawl—”
“It does,” Steve says, a little subdued, eyes wide with shock, lips parted, “I’m allergic to nickel.”
Eddie pauses mid-stomp.
“You’re what?” he squeaks.
Steve blinks, and a long silence stretches between them. “I’m allergic to nickel, Eds, everybody knows I am,” he says. “I can’t hold your hand if you’re wearing nickel-plated stuff, but you really like your rings, they’re important to your look, so I wasn’t gonna be a dick and tell you to take them off just so I could.”
Recontextualizing every interaction of his year-long relationship he’d tried not to read too hard into is…a lot to experience in a little under thirty seconds.
“Oh, dear God, I’ve been an asshole,” Eddie mutters. “I thought you wouldn’t let me touch you because—but it was just—”
“Yeah, an itchy dick is not a good feeling,” Steve says, a nervous little laugh bubbling out of him. His face falls a little. “I—did you think—?”
“I’m so sorry,” Eddie blurts, horrified. “I am so sorry, Steve, oh my God—”
“No, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t—I must’ve seemed like a total jerk, Eddie, I should’ve told you outright, but I guess I figured you already knew,” Steve says, shrugging helplessly. “But, no, it’s nothing like what you said, I promise, I’m just—I’m allergic.”
Eddie immediately yanks the rings from his fingers and fumbles to get the box open, swapping them out for the silver ones, which he jams onto his fingers as fast as humanly possible. “If I got my head out of my ass sooner, I swear I would’ve found replacements the second I knew,” he says, and Steve laughs.
“I know you would’ve,” he says, all fond and soft, “you’re good like that.”
“Let me make it up to you? I can touch you all I want now,” Eddie says, waggling his silver-covered fingers in front of Steve’s face.
Steve interlocks their hands and leans in to kiss him, slow and sweet. “Looking forward to it, Eds.”
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#stranger things#my fic#also my prompt#i guess it's a prompt?#it was more like. a passing idea#but still
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Prompt 112
Once again, you know who is underutilized in DCxDP crossovers? Battinson. Skrunkly shivering boi. Who we should definitely give children to care for.
Did you know that Jason canonically had a brother named Danny? Well you do now, and it should also be used more.
We all want to give Battinson a robin, so why not give him four for the price of two. He of course gets Dick from the circus- he’s never going to go into public again, this was the first time he’d gone to do something out of his comfort zone for a while and look how that turned out.
And on one of the nights that Dick has to stay home (Alfred insists he must finish his homework if he wants to go out on patrol) Bruce returns to the batmobile to find not one child, but two. Is Danny reincarnated? Just appeared one day? Who knows, but he’s here now and going to protect his little brother.
Bruce might have tears in his eyes when they both hit him in the kneecaps and bolt because even with the armor it still hurts. How he manages to grab both kids he’s not too sure, but he ends up getting them food after they put the tires back. He also doesn’t understand how he’s convinced them into the car but they’ve both conked out and maybe he’s panicking and needs Alfred-
D-Dick why is there another child here? He’s the neighbor, cool cool. W-what do you mean he’s home alone, he’s like, 4?? What do you mean he’s been alone for a week now???
…
Alfreeeeed-
#dcxdp#dpxdc#prompts#battinson#Bruce is a skrunkly lil meow meow the kids feel bad about hitting#Danny felt bad the moment he got a taste of the dude's emotions#Selina returning to Gotham covered with cats clinging to her:#Bruce covered with several small children:#“I have a problem with strays”#Alfred is so tired#He comes back from getting groceries for dinner to three new children#all sprawled out on the couch with Dick and Bruce and a movie credits on in the background#they were watching Gray Ghost and eating shredded cheese#Dick a ten year old: Hi there tiny neighbor you are alone and that is bad so come with me please I have snacks#Tim a five year old who has never been taught stranger danger: omg sure Robin#Dick: What#Tim holding his hand: :)#Danny looking at Batman: He gonna cry :(#Jason: No he aint#Danny: You can feel the misery#Danny: It's like kicking a puppy :(#Jason: Shit u right#Both of them looking into the Batmobile now that the door is open: Why is there a box of coloring books and a kid carseat#Omg it's bat themed#There's also a blanket#Why yes it is for long patrols#Also random but I feel like Battinson would be aided by a longer cape#Let battinson become a batblob and disappear into a corner
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