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ghost-proofbaby · 3 months

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the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending.

It was always going to end this way.

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her?

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows.

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars.

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October.

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him.

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure.

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside.

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly.

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go.

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.”

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?”

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.”

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?”

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.”

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle.

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.”

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.”

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.”

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.”

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis.

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting.

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face.

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?”

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.”

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.”

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong.

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start.

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use.

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance.

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood.

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went.

That was only the first night.

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat.

“Come over.”

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense.

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door.

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you.

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night.

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you.

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring.

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch.

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.”

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.”

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him.

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him.

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception.

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough.

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem.

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year.

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you.

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake.

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys.

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie.

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out.

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it.

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by.

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear.

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again.

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure.

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby.

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same.

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?”

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his.

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.”

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.”

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows.

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night.

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner.

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid.

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.”

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson.

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside.

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature.

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you.

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be.

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie.

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes.

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?”

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness.

You shake your head.

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised.

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.”

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans.

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs.

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief.

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.”

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter.

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry.

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas.

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light.

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you.

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance.

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.”

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night.

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?”

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?”

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further.

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.”

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet.

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him.

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss.

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement.

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months.

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him.

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?”

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town.

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were.

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours.

To feel like enough.

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register.

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat.

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner.

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name.

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do.

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.”

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own.

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?”

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?”

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up.

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?”

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected.

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them.

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again.

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy.

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about.

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt.

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes.

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind.

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out.

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?”

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames.

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.”

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up.

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.”

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.”

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling.

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself.

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least.

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring.

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing.

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?”

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to.

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?”

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it.

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson.

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful.

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides.

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.”

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay.

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with.

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose.

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him.

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would.

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised.

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected.

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged.

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you.

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room.

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough.

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you.

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it.

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side.

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known.

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had.

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover.

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.”

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs.

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.”

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously.

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you.

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder.

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days.

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known.

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard.

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon.

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to.

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?”

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room.

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze.

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter.

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step.

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas.

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all.

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill.

“It never does.”

Stay with me?

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#my writing #ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #i could certainly be persuaded to write a part 2 :)

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momotonescreaming · 4 months

Text

Part One | Part Two

Jeff felt like he was the only one who actually tried to do some study during his free period. Granted, this was mostly because he didn’t share his free period with anyone, but hey. He’s still counting it. It felt easier than studying at home — no mom to knock on his door every few minutes to ask him something, no annoying younger brothers. Just annoying students constantly getting shushed for talking too loud in the library. At least they listened when the librarian scolded them, unlike a pair of certain younger brothers.

So every day he could, he claimed the same table off to the side of the library, spread out his books, and tried to get some work done. Work on an essay, do some math sheets, sneak in some DnD research when he had the time (and wasn’t worried about the other teens trying to vandalise his papers). It meant he had more time at home to do things he actually liked. DnD. Guitar. Watch some TV.

It was calm, it was routine. No one else sat at his table, and it was better that way. No one wanted to hang out with one of the freaks. It was better when the cliques of Hawkins High didn’t interact. It was also easier said than done. A voice clears — light, high, and almost tentative. Right next to his table. Jeff looks up and sees the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Chrissy Cunningham.

His heart skips a beat, butterflies flutter in his stomach, every single lovesick cliché. Jeff felt them all. Feelings swirling in his stomach like honey. Sticky sweet and coating all of his insides. It was inescapable. Unavoidable.

She was cute, and he could swear he could smell her floral perfume and strawberry shampoo. Chrissy was that close and it was a silly little thing he had dreamed about. Being that close to the head cheerleader, his unattainable crush.

Her hair was tied up in a lilac scrunchie, ponytail perfectly curled, with matching lilac eyeshadow. He was close enough that he could notice these things, could see how the colour matched the purple tint in her ruffled plaid skirt.

Jeff smiled at her, almost unconsciously, trying not to seem too much like a freak. Just another normal guy. He didn’t want to scare her off. He listened to Eddie rant about conformity all day, but smiling at a pretty girl to make her more comfortable doesn’t seem so bad.

“Hi, um,” Chrissy starts, clutching a stack of books to her chest. There’s a subtle flush to her cheeks, rosy red, and Jeff can’t quite tell if it’s makeup or if it’s just her flustered over him. She continues before he can start over thinking about whether it’s a good flush or not. Does he make her nervous. “Can I sit here? Everywhere else is taken.”

Jeff looks over, and finds that Chrissy’s right. All the other tables are full, students littering the tables with books and papers with no room for anyone else. All tables, except his. It’s sort of telling, that the only table free is his, and no one else's, but he’s trying not to think about it too hard. Not when it’s led Chrissy to him, cutely and shyly asking if she can sit.

“Of course,” he replies, a little hurried, maybe a little too desperate sounding. He bites back a wince, and moves some of his textbooks out of her way. “Totally.”

And she smiles, something soft and small, just for him — as she thanks him and slides into one of the seats opposite. He smiles back, heart fluttering within the confines of his ribcage. Looking back down at the notes he’s been working on for his English essay, it suddenly doesn’t seem a appealing. Not in the way that it normally does. The words blur into one another, drift across the page, as Jeff tries to keep his gaze firm on the page and not sneaking upwards to glance at Chrissy.

At her perfectly coordinated outfit, preppy and cute, without looking too frumpy. At the way her bangs frame her face, highlighting her cheeks, her shining eyes. At the subtle gloss on her lips, tinted a faint pink. Jeff wonders what it tastes like. What it would feel like against his lips. Is it cherry flavoured, or strawberry — to match her hair. Would it be sticky as their lips meet? A thread of lip gloss and saliva stringing between them as they pull apart.

Shaking his head, willing that particular train of thought to leave his head, he closes his English notes and pulls out the math sheets that Mr Mundy gave them this morning. Grips his pencil tight and tries not to think about how Chrissy is right there. He can hear her organise her books, unzip her bag and take out her things. The scratch of pen on paper. The flip of the pages turning.

It’s sort of soothing, the soft sounds of Chrissy working, a nice noise overlaying the background noises of the library. And not just because it’s her. It’s nicer than the other teens whispering and giggling about being told off by the librarian, it’s better than the annoyances he gets at home. The subtle noise of someone working in tandem with him. It’s nice. Just keeping him company. Even if Chrissy just wanted an empty table, and not him specifically.

Jeff tries to concentrate, and works on his math sheets. Tries to speed through them without totally beefing it. Math isn’t his favourite subject — that would be English Lit, funnily enough — but he’s not totally terrible at math. DnD has admittedly, helped. Which was part of the reason his parents let him continue with it (the other part, of course, being that he enjoyed it).

So he thinks of DnD, and of math, and tries to focus on Mr Mundy’s worksheet. Except it doesn’t go all that well, because of course it doesn’t. He’ll work through a problem, sneak a glance at Chrissy, at the matching purple shade she’s painted her nails, and look back at the worksheet only to find he’s worked through the problem all wrong. Sighing, Jeff erases what he’s done, and looks at the equation.

“Excuse me, um,” Chrissy starts quietly, whispering as to not invoke the ire of the already stressed librarian. “Do you have a spare pen, mine’s ran out of ink.”

Jeff looks up, throat hitching, lungs holding air as he locks eyes with Chrissy. Clear blue, deep and inviting and looking at him. He tries to hold himself back, to try not to smile like a loon, and he’s not sure if he’s successful or not.

“It’s Jeff,” he starts, clearing his throat, before digging through his pencil case for a pen he can spare. “And sure. Hope blue’s okay. I know O’Donnell can be a real stickler about black pens only.”

"Blue’s fine,” Chrissy giggles. Fucking giggles. Pressing a hand lightly to her mouth, her soft lips — the other reaching out for the pen Jeff retrieved. “It’s not for O’Donnell.”

“No worries then,” he replies, automatically holding his breath as Chrissy takes the pen, her fingertips brushing against the skin of his hand. Her skin is soft, moisturised, and feels like silk against his. What would it be like, Jeff wonders — retracting his hand, not letting himself linger — if she were to hold his hand. Not just a mere brush of fingertips. Would she entangle their fingers, clutching tight? Would she link their pinkies, swinging their arms in between them as they walked? Would she hold his hand over the table, where everyone could see, so they could work and stay connected at the same time?

“Thank you,” She says, shaking him out of it, uncapping the pen. She jolts a little, eyes widening. “Oh! I’m Chrissy by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff replies, smiling and tilting his head at her. He can feel all his insides melting inside him, conjoining into one horrible feelings-filled blob settling in his stomach. Clawing up his ribs, growing likes vines. It was everywhere, it was growing, no amount of smothering was going to kill this crush anytime soon. Not when Chrissy was there, looking the way she did, smiling at him so sweetly. Being kind to him.

—

At the end of their free period they went their separate ways, shaken out of their quiet camaraderie by the ringing of the bell. She had smiled at thanked him as she left, face flushed and ponytail swinging behind her.

Jeff felt like he was going to melt into a puddle, but he still, tragically, had class to go to. So he quickly packed up his things and headed to his next class. He shared it with Frank, which was nice as they actually got to sit next to one another. But the guy was scarily perceptive, and Jeff kind of wanted to keep that moment to himself for a little bit. Wrap it up in tape and hold it close, tucked into his chest. Just him, and Chrissy, and the way that she smiled at him.

But if Jeff knew Frank (and he did), he’d read Jeff like a book. Hopefully he could read him enough that he knew Jeff wanted it unsaid, just for the moment. Not counting Eddie, of course. He was his best friend, and he got it, with his insufferable crush on Steve Harrington.

He’d tell Frank eventually, of course he would, but not now. Definitely not on school grounds, while everyone was still there. If a cheerleader or god forbid — one of the basketball jocks — heard Jeff say he had a crush on the head cheerleader? He’d throw himself into the deep end of lovers lake, never to be seen again.

So he sighs, and enters his next class, hitches his bag further up his shoulder and heads towards his assigned desk. Frank arrives shortly after, messenger bag slung on one shoulder and they lock eyes. He tries to keep it casual light, but he’s sure he sees something on his face. See the like and love and ooey gooey feelings seeping out of his pores.

“Did Kaminsky quiz you again?” Jeff asks, hoping to draw the attention away from his traitorous heart. Frank immediately groans in exasperation, tilting his head to the ceiling, and Jeff just laughs. A wash of relief rushing over his tangled emotions.

—

School dragged on, as it always did at the end of the day, and all Jeff wanted to do was go home and lock himself in his room. Maybe wallow in his emotions for a bit, let them settle, and learn some love song on the guitar. Use it to work through his feelings. Sort through them like puzzle pieces. Pick them up one by one, and carefully slot them into place. There’s gotta be some good metal ones he can learn.

Jeff lets his mind drift, thinking of songs, and of guitars, and of learning a song just for Chrissy. Lets the class wash over him, absently writing down notes, entirely without thinking about it. He should care about this stuff, should want to take notes, should want to pass. But all of a sudden it really doesn’t seem like it matters. Not when Chrissy sat with him, had talked to him, had borrowed his pen. She forgot to give it back in the end, in the rush of the bell, but Jeff didn’t mind. Not when his crush now had something of his.

Ripping his gaze back towards the blackboard, towards the teacher, he lets the subconscious smile he was sporting drop from his face. Drifting his way through the end of class until finally, finally, the end of day bell rings and he’s free. Packing up his things as fast as he can, absently chatting with Frank as they exit class along with the flood of students.

It’s not Friday, so there’s no Hellfire. There’s no Corroded Coffin practice, he doesn’t have to drive his brothers across town to soccer, or some other lesson they’ve been begging their parents to go to. He just needs to get them, go home, and then he’s free to lock his bedroom door and melt into the carpet.

“You need a ride?” Jeff asks Frank, furrowing his brow as he turns towards his friend. The pair of them slowly walking to the student car park.

“Nah,” Frank replies, hitching his bag further onto his shoulder. “My mom’s picking me up so she can take us shopping for my dad’s birthday. Thanks though.”

“All good man,” Jeff replies, and he can’t help but be quietly relieved. That he doesn’t have to make more small talk, that he won’t politely have to invite Frank in to hang out (because he would, of course he would). That he can leave the school day behind, go home and spend some time alone. He needs it, every now and then, to centre himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Frank claps him on the shoulder as he says goodbye, before heading over to the pick up zone. Jeff sighs, lets all the air out of his lungs, before going to wait by his car.

It used to be his dads — an old white ford — but passed onto Jeff when he upgraded on the condition that he help them drive his brothers around. Jeff had agreed, was desperate for his own car — just little bit more freedom — but he was not a fan of being asked to cart his brothers around like a chauffeur.

So at the end of school Jeff would loiter next to his car until bis brother Vincent came over from the middle school, before driving through the truly terrible pick up line at Hawkins Elementary for Kenneth. It wasn’t that bad, usually. If Vincent didn’t take his sweet time chatting to his friends and being annoying. Making Jeff late. Because of course he did.

He had some time, is what he was saying. Absently scans the parking lot, seeing if there’s anyone he knows, anyone interesting he can people watch. If Chrissy is out here somewhere.

Does she take the bus? Does she walk? Is she staying late for cheer practice? Does she drive, or get a ride from someone else? Her mom, her best friend, Jason. Does he walk her to his car after school, does he hold her books or open the door for her? Does he drive her home with his hand resting on her thigh?

Would she let Jeff do those things. Smiling at him out of the corner of her eyes, giggling when he turns to look at her too. Would she hold his hand over the gear-stick, letting her hand be moved along with his?

“Why are you smiling like that?” Vincent says, entirely too close to Jeff for his liking, making him jolt in place — just slightly. “Weirdo.”

Jeff frowns, looking down at his younger brother to find him giving him a look. Jeff knows that look, he’s seen it on his shithead brother’s face entirely too often. He’s thinking he knows something, is jumping to conclusions, is being a know it all. And if his brothers start talking about how he’s lovesick, has a crush, a girlfriend — it’s all over. He won’t hear the end of it. So he deflects.

“Nothing you need to worry about Vinnie,” Jeff replies, ruffling his brothers hair — because he knows he hates it. “Grown up stuff.”

“You’re not a grown up!” Vincent exclaims indignantly, just as predicted, as they both get into Jeff’s unlocked car. It’s all too easy. A good distraction. “You’re still in high school!”

“I’m closer than you, squirt,” Jeff retorts easily, buckling his seatbelt and starting the engine. Drives off to the sounds of his brothers ranting, and thoughts of Chrissy.

Tag List@goosesister @scarlet-malfoy @mavernanche @manda-panda-monium @yoriposts @grtwdsmwhr

Part Four | Part Five

#Stranger Things #Jeff Stranger Things #Chrissy Cunningham #Unnamed freak #(he's named frank in this)#Jeffingham #Jeff/Chrissy #My Writing #Teenage Dream

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

Bad For Business: Level Five

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.7K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

Staff parties weren’t exactly illegal, per say, but they were definitely hidden from Murray and the plugs to the security cameras always accidentally got yanked out. It wasn’t breaking and entering if several of you had keys, right?

Those last on shift would open the back door after closing, the fire exit left ajar with a piece of broken brick, letting in the crowds of older kids that had nowhere else to let loose in small town Hawkins. It was almost perfect, no windows, the arcade room big and already dark, the neon glow of the machines providing dark corners for people to hide in and do god knows what.

The smell of old popcorn and Axe body spray was overtaken by smoke, tequila and too sweet perfume, weed and cheap beer. The cars that would no doubt be left overnight were hidden around the back, parked precariously close together, sitting waiting for a lucky make out session or more.

You were already there when Steve came in, a little before midnight, carrying crates and kegs with Argyle and Jonathan Byers, all of them laughing at something the pounding music was covering up. The front desk was covered in mixtapes, empty cassettes and random sets of car keys, a lighter or five, the beginnings of a rolled joint. Some people were playing on the machines, the coin slot jacked open by Robin so no one had to pay, others were in the spaces between the games, dancing, grinding, drinking. There were couples in the photo booths, lip locked and lovesick, hands under shirts and their intertwined legs visible from behind the curtain.

The stained carpet got sticker as the night grew later, spilled drinks making the air smell sweet, lukewarm beer in red solo cups forgotten about, a condom packet on the console of Mario Bros, some girls underwear hanging from the joystick of the Asteroids machine.

Maybe it was the bubblegum vodka Robin was pouring you, maybe it was the way Eddie was coaxing, teasing, pulling you into the circle. Maybe it was the way Steve hadn’t spoken to you all night but he couldn’t stop his eyes from finding yours in the low light.

“Truth or Dare, my dudes!” Argyle announced, tanned cheeks flushed under the lights, the small group of you gathered at the back of the arcade. “Join or forever be a pussy,” he declared.

The group groaned, nudging each other so drinks spilled over wrists, overheated skin, bodies pressed together in the hazy smoke. People lounged against the machines, girls against boys, hands around waists, cross legged on the old sofa that Murray had never had a chance to get rid of.

It’s where you were, perched on the arm of the cracked leather cushion, body leaning into Eddie’s shoulder as he laughed at the way you were pulling on Robin’s belt loops, vying for details about her and Nancy’s last date. But then the game began and suddenly Billy Hargrove was downing his drink and stripping off, hands cupping his junk as he made a sprint around the arcade, grinning at the whoops and cheers he received.

Robin had to raid the staff office, finding the grossest thing she could in the tiny kitchenette everyone forgot about, pouring three day old yoghurt into her drink to chug.

Eddie had to admit to whether or not those Prince Albert piercing rumours were true. (They were and he announced this into his can of beer with red cheeks, overwhelmed at the sudden attention Chrissy Cunningham was giving him.)

You had to steal some screws from Murray’s desk chair, the outcome unknown until Monday but you already knew the creaky, old thing would collapse to the floor if anyone even touched it.

And then Eddie was calling Steve’s name and asking him, “Harrington, truth or dare?”

Maybe it was the way Steve was frowning at Eddie’s arm over your shoulder, maybe it was the way there’d been a red headed girl lingering by his side all night, but suddenly, all your attention was on him.

He looked unfairly good, hair soft and messy, a blue crew cut sweater rolled up to his elbows, jeans on the edge of too tight. He was cocky about it, eyes glancing lazily to Eddie, a small smile on lips that he hoped told the other boy he wasn’t intimidated by him. Or the arm he had around you.

Steve took a slow drag of the joint Argyle had handed him before answering, chin tilted up, blowing out the smoke to the painted black ceiling, his gaze still on Eddie, like he was sizing him up. From beside you, Eddie smothered a laugh, leaning into your shoulder only to whisper, “you’ll thank me one day.”

Before you could ask what the fuck that meant, Steve was passing the joint to Jonathan and grinning at Eddie, that same wide, pretty smile he gave you when you were doing your best to piss him off.

“Dare.”

Eddie beamed, dimples on show and looking too smug. He pulled away from you, slouching back into the couch cushions, thighs spread wide, making a show of it all. You rolled your eyes, wondering what had happened between the two of them that was causing such a stand off.

“Feelin’ brave, lover boy?” Eddie asked, eyebrows raised. Steve narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Kiss the girl you’re most attracted to.”

The room rippled with amusement, soft laughs and sniggers, tittering from the girls who hoped they had a chance. Steve tried to play it off, head tilted as he appraised Eddie, still leaning against the Dig Dug machine. The lights made him glow peach and sunshine yellow, the loading screen had your name still at the top, Steve’s just below.

“What?” Steve asked and something told you that he was trying to stall. You watched him lick his lips, a nervous habit, a hand running through the front of his hair.

“I think he wants you to kiss the girl you think is the prettiest,” Argyle decided to clarify, eyes reddened and another joint rolling between his fingertips. “Lucky for you, my brother, you got plenty of options.”

Eddie grinned as Steve faltered, eyes locking once more. Eddie shrugged, teeth flashing. “You heard Rapunzel, who’s got your panties in a twist Harrington? Why don’t you show her some love, huh?”

The group tittered again, whispers floating between the smoke and the lights, bets exchanged and several girls dug around in their purses for their lip glosses. The redhead who’d been keeping close to Steve the whole night set her cup of wine down on top of a machine, readying herself.

Instead, everyone fell silent when Steve took a few steps towards you. The music was still playing, a faint pop hit from the boombox someone had sent up on the front desk. You stared at the boy, wide eyed and incredulous whilst Eddie let out a low whistle.

“Damn, would you look at that?” He tutted, smiling wide. “Harrington is feeling brave.”

You were frozen, bewildered as he came to stand in front of you at the couch, your knees pressed to his thighs. You stared at him, lips parted as he seemed to hold his breath, wary.

“What’re you doing?” You muttered, far too aware of the eyes on you, Eddie grinning, Cheshire catlike beside you, Robin gawking from behind Steve.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Steve mumbled back, gaze flicking from yours down to your lips and back again. “You heard what your friend said.”

“You think I’m the pret-”

Steve groaned, eyes rolling, like it pained him to admit to it. “God, shut up,” he said gruffly, but his cheeks were tinged pink and he placed his hands on the tops of your knees, a more gentlemanly touch than you’d expected.

His hands were warm, ridiculously large, spanning your entire kneecap, fingers and thumb curling around the sides of your thigh. You watched him swallow, his breathing short. Someone whistled, a low, playful sound that had you feeling too warm, like you’d been caught in the playground, behind the bike sheds with your crush.

Steve squeezed slightly, body burning under his touch, but you brought your gaze back to his and you saw him lift his brows, just a little, just enough. You got the meaning, brown eyes steady on yours.

‘Can I?’

You tried to ignore everyone around you, the way their breaths were held as the tension in the air crackled and fizzed. It’s as if there was an electric current running round the circle, wires ripping through ribs and hearts, starting and ending with you. It made your skin buzz, a tingle you wondered if Steve could feel too.

His thumb pressed into the inside of your knee and you thought that maybe, he just might.

You nodded, your heart in your throat.

It was like the music had stopped as Steve leaned in, your legs spreading just slightly, enough for him to edge closer, one hand skimming a little bravely up your thigh. You heard someone swear, a shocked thing, just as your eyes closed. Steve's nose nudged yours, his breath a little shaky and smelling like smoke and spearmint gum as it landed on your lips.

You tilted your head up, chin lifting, just a little. Just enough for your top lip to catch Steve’s bottom, a shocking touch, a barely there thing but it made your heart jump and your lips part, expecting more. Wanting more.

Steve’s hand squeezed your knee, bracing himself, holding onto you before he could take the next step and dip his face closer to yours, pushing his lips against—

The front door banged against the wall as it burst open, flashlights shining through the low light, cutting into the haze of smoke and neon as the music was abruptly cut off. Hopper, chief of police, and some of his officers were standing in the doorway, framed by the flashing lights of their patrol cars parked out front.

Blue and red flashed over the walls and someone found the light switch, killing the atmosphere as the yellowing overheads flickered on, buzzing from age. People groaned, stubbed out joints kicked under arcade machines, half empty bottles clattering as those underage tried to hide them behind the desk, in their bags and between machines.

Hopper looked less than impressed, moustache twitching as he took in the sight. He swept his flashlight over the wide eyed faces, sighing heavily.

“Okay, party's over,” he announced. “Everyone line up.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington one shot

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keerysquinn · 22 days

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ship: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson wc: 7.9k A/N: First hellcheer fic and feeling the pressure for it to be a good one. This one is dedicated to all of the lovely ladies in the hellcheer server but especially @slumped-in-the-arms-of-fiction and @justhere4thevibez for giving me the inspiration <3

If there was one thing that the members of the Hellfire Club could count on, it was that Eddie Munson was one of the most overdramatic people on the planet, and he was going to put all of those theatrics to work in his carefully crafted campaigns. Some of them had been playing with him as their dungeon master since middle school, and by now, they were all used to his personal brand of immersive storytelling. Typically, this meant that they were going to encounter a sidequest or two that revolved around whatever it was that Eddie was struggling to deal with at the time.

When he was struggling to pass chemistry, they met a potion maker who’d lost his touch, and they set off to find the witch that cursed him, the master potion book that she’d stolen, and the ingredients they needed to brew the cure that would give him his skills back. When he struggled to find a legitimate part time job so he could afford to buy the miniatures and cassette tapes he wanted without worrying his uncle about his potential arrest because none of the businesses in town trusted a kid from the trailer park that looked like him, they were tasked with clearing the good name of a young farmhand who had been wrongfully accused and banished based on nothing more than his unsettling outward appearance. And anytime that he was particularly worried about his uncle overworking himself or going without to make sure Eddie was taken care of, they encountered the same young squire whose only goal in life was to give back to the knight that had taken him in when no one else would and sacrificed so much to raise him. The boy wore his heart on his sleeve, and the ever-changing NPCs that inhabited Eddie’s fantasy world told them everything they needed to know about what their friend was going through.

However, the most common recurring theme to Eddie’s sidequests were acts of true love. There was the humble minstrel who fell in love with a beautiful mermaid and longed for a way for them to truly be together despite the fact that they came from different worlds. They met a thief whose truest love had been kidnapped by a man who he’d stolen from in the past, and they had to find a way to rescue her. And nobody could forget the time that Gareth’s character almost died when they had to fight off an army of goblins in order to save a lost princess for her betrothed. Each and every time one of these quests came up, the girl was exactly the same. She may have had a different name and upbringing each time, but she always looked the same, and she always had the same temperament. Eddie thought he was being subtle enough about it, but it was obvious to his friends: she was always Chrissy Cunningham.

Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her at that middle school talent show, he’d been smitten. He could pretend that he wasn’t interested in her all he wanted, but his friends saw the way he looked at her. They noticed that he never lumped her in with all of the other cheerleaders and jocks. But the most damning piece of evidence was the fact that every time he bumped into her in the halls or saw her out in public, one of these special quests popped up in the middle of their next gaming session.

It only got worse when Eddie started his third attempt at his senior year only to find that he and Chrissy shared Ms. O’Donnell’s third period English class. And while Jeff, Gareth, and Greg had privately agreed amongst themselves to put up with Eddie’s lovesick antics as long as none of their characters came close to death as a result again, the new group of freshman party members had made no such agreement and were too perceptive for their own good.

“Would you just grow a pair and ask her out already so we can do something other than run errands for some lovesick knight?” Mike asked after the third session in a row where the game play was overtaken by sidequests that had very little relevance to the main plot.

The rest of the players around the table froze. Nobody spoke to Eddie like that, and nobody brought up his crush on Chrissy. Not unless they had a death wish.

Eddie leaned back in his throne and looked in Mike’s direction with an expression that was eerily calm for the situation.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he replied. “Are you saying that you have a problem with the way I run my game? Because I'd be happy to step aside and let one of you run a campaign for once if that's the case. But, if you're not willing to put in the work to provide the epic entertainment that this group has grown accustomed to, I’d suggest you let me continue telling the story that I'm trying to tell without the complaints.”

“That's not what he's saying at all,” Dustin interjected, elbowing Mike in the ribs with enough force that the other boy groaned. “It's just that we thought we were still working on overthrowing that corrupt king, and it's been a few sessions since we've encountered anything that had a connection to that. We were all really excited to see where that story was going, and we feel like that's been abandoned in favor of minor quests that aren't really adding to our character development. That's all.”

“I see,” Eddie said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And here I thought that you all enjoyed my side quests.”

“We do,” Gareth told him. “We would have quit ages ago if we didn't. But, if we're talking about this, we've been thinking that you've been using these side quests to avoid acting on the feelings that you have for a certain someone. And while it still leads to some pretty cool story elements most of the time, it would be nice if we didn’t end up ignoring the main plot for multiple sessions in a row, you know?”

“And you're all feeling this way?”

The group nodded and mumbled their various statements of agreement.

“Fine. While I have no idea what you're talking about when it comes to my feelings, I suppose that I can put an end to the side quests for the good of the group. On one condition.”

Eddie reached into his bag below the table and pulled out a small locked chest that he then placed on the table before them.

“I was planning on putting this into play at the end of today's session anyway. Your quest, if you choose to accept it, is for the party to go on one last side quest. This chest belongs to the knight who knows each and every one of the locations of the seven sacred items you'll need to defeat the corrupt king, but it's been stolen away by a band of thieves who are only slightly weaker than you are. The chest doesn't contain any riches. Instead, it holds a secret that the knight would desperately like to keep hidden. If you can retrieve the chest for him, he'll gladly help along the journey that you actually want to be on. It won't be an easy quest by any means, but I believe the rewards outweigh the risks. Do you accept?”

The group debated whether or not the quest was worth it for a few minutes before making their decision.

“We accept,” Gareth announced on their behalf.

“Excellent,” Eddie replied. “We'll start our next session with the beginning of that quest. If you're lucky and the dice gods are on your side, it might only take you one session to get the chest back. You're dismissed.”

The younger members of the group might not have picked up on it, but Jeff, Gareth, and Greg figured there was more to this chest than meets the eye. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the secret that the knight had was some sort of connection to a secret that Eddie was trying to hide from all of them, and they'd be even less surprised if that secret was somehow related to Chrissy. All they wanted was for their friend to be happy, so they knew that they had to do something. That's when they came up with what they thought was the perfect plan.

They were finally given the opportunity to put that plan into action the day before their next gaming session. The group was talking about the upcoming quest while waiting for Eddie to finish putting his stuff in his locker before they headed to lunch together when they were approached by none other than Chrissy herself. She offered up a smile and a quick hello to the others before turning her full attention towards Eddie.

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to spend lunch in the library getting a head start on our project?” she asked. “I know we have almost a month to get it finished, but I'd rather get it started now so we're not rushing to finish it later. It's so much less stressful that way, you know?”

“You guys are working on a project together?” Jeff asked.

“Yep. Ms. O’Donnell randomly assigned partners today,” Eddie told the group.

“We have to choose a book from her approved list and give an oral report with visual aides. It counts for something like a third of our grade this semester, and I'm determined to help this one finally pass her class,” she said as she gestured to Eddie before hugging her binder to her chest.

“Third time’s the charm, right?”

“It will be if we get started on this project now. Please say yes?”

“Mrs. G isn't going to get on my case if I'm eating in there, is she?” he asked.

“I don't think she cares as long as you're not getting food all over the books. And we can always sit at one of the back tables that she can't see if you think she'll give you any trouble.”

“Then I'm in,” he told her as he shut his locker. “Give me a couple minutes to finish filling these guys in on tomorrow's campaign, and I'll meet you there.”

“Campaign?” she asked.

“It's a dungeons and dragons thing,” Gareth told her. “That's what the different stories you play through are called. We're actually starting a new one tomorrow if you're interested in checking it out.”

“Oh, I don't know if you'd want me to join you. I'd have no idea what I was doing, and I'd just end up holding you all back.”

“Nonsense,” Greg told her. “We'd all be happy to help you out, and Eddie’s always happy to welcome new players into the party. He's got this whole speech about how the world would be a better place if more people would just give the game a chance. Don't you, Eddie?”

“I have said that before. Yes.”

“So, he'd love it if you joined us,” Jeff insisted. “Wouldn't you, Eddie?”

“Oh yeah. It'll be fun.”

Their usually animated dungeon master was standing there frozen, and the guys were thankful for Chrissy's presence if only because they were pretty sure one of them would be getting strangled if she wasn't there.

“You have study hall last period, right?” Gareth asked her. “Because I just so happen to also have study hall last period, and I'd be happy to help you create a character if you want to join us.”

“You're sure I won't be intruding or messing anything up if I join?”

“I can honestly say that every single member of the party will happily welcome your presence,” Gareth told her with Greg and Jeff nodding in agreement.

“Alright. I'll give it a shot,” she told them. “I guess I'll see you in the library last period, Gareth. And, Eddie, I'll meet you there in five minutes?”

“Can’t wait.”

Chrissy said her goodbyes and headed off in the direction of the library.

“I hope you all have your affairs in order because I might actually have to kill you for that,” Eddie said once he was positive Chrissy was out of earshot.

“Whatever do you mean?” Gareth asked, feigning innocence. “You're always saying you want more players because you'd be able to throw stronger monsters at a larger group. We were just giving you the opportunity to do that.”

“And, if my math is correct, adding Chrissy to the party means that we'd have seven people. One to wield each of the seven sacred items we need to defeat the king,” Jeff added.

“Yeah, but did you have to invite Chrissy of all people?”

“Why would inviting Chrissy specifically be a bad thing?” Gareth asked. “You don't secretly have feelings for her or something, do you?”

“I have no idea what you're up to, but I'm not dignifying that with a response. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book report to get started on.”

With that, Eddie turned and left for the library.

“If this doesn't get him to finally ask her out, I don't know what will,” Jeff told the others.

***

“She's a halfling rogue armed with a crossbow and the typical thieves’ tools. We came up with a pretty extensive backstory about her family and why she became a con artist if you want to weave it into a plotline at some point in the future, but we have a planned party connection for her already.”

Gareth handed the character sheet and the couple of pages that Chrissy had filled out with her character's history over to Eddie who started to scan through the information provided there.

“Calpurnia Amaranthe? How'd you come up with that?”

“It’s all symbolically linked to the backstory I wrote,” Chrissy told him. “Specifically her lost love and her motivations behind becoming a con artist.”

Chrissy leaned over and pointed to a specific passage in her backstory.

“If you look here,” she started, “you'll see that this wasn't her given name. It was a name she chose for herself after her truest love passed away to separate herself from who she was before she lost him. I didn't write the symbolism into the backstory, but the globe amaranth is a flower that has been used to symbolize immortality and represents a love that will never fade or die. And Calpurnia comes from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. She was Caesar's wife, and she had a dream that predicted her husband's death. Much like how my character had a dream that her love would be murdered. She didn't place any significance in her dream, and the name is a badge of guilt she wears for not trying to save him. It all ties back to the fact that she was forever changed by losing her greatest love, and everything she does now is an attempt to still have the life that he always promised her that she would have.”

“You did research to come up with a name that symbolizes your character’s motivations?” he asked.

“Oh, I didn't have to do any research. This is just stuff that I already knew. Gareth told me how seriously you take your campaigns, and I know that this might just be a one time thing for me, but I wanted to show that I'm taking my participation in this game seriously as well.”

If he wasn't already harboring a secret crush on this girl, that statement would have sealed the deal. It was only her first session, and she was putting this much thought into her character's motivations already? He was a goner.

However, having her join in on this specific campaign filled him with dread. The guys just had to invite her into the session where they were retrieving the chest that held the knight’s biggest secret. If any of them managed to open the chest and take a look at what was inside while she was there, he'd have to leave the country.

He tried to push those thoughts aside and stay focused on the conversation at hand.

“So you're just that well-versed in Shakespeare’s plays and the language of flowers? I wouldn't have pegged you as such a nerd,” he teased.

“There's a lot you don't know about me.”

“Well, color me surprised. I look forward to learning more.”

“So, are there assigned seats?” Chrissy asked. “Or can I sit anywhere?”

“Well, the throne is Eddie’s,” Jeff told her. “But other than that, we pretty much just sit wherever.”

“You should sit here though,” Gareth said as he pulled out the chair next to Eddie’s throne. “That way you're between me and Eddie, and we can help you out since it's your first time playing. You have an extra set of dice she can use, don't you Eddie?”

“Sure. Let me see what I've got in my bag.”

Everyone took their seats around the table, and Eddie dug through his dice bag to find a matching set of bright blue dice for Chrissy to use.

“So, did Gareth cover any of the gameplay basics with you, or did you guys just go over character creation?”

“He told me a little bit, but he also said it would be fairly easy for me to learn as we go. You'll help me if I get stuck, right?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. Whatever you need,” he told her before turning his attention back towards his bag and pulling out the small chest from the week before. He set it on the table and then leaned back in his throne to address the group.

“When we ended our session last week, you'd just been informed about the existence of this chest which contains a secret that Sir James would desperately like to keep hidden. Over drinks at the tavern, he told you that the chest had been stolen by a roaming band of thieves when he'd recently been robbed. The gold and weaponry he lost no longer matter to him, but he's willing to do anything to get that chest back. If you can retrieve it for him and keep his secret safe, he'll happily accompany you on your journey to find the seven sacred items and aid you in overthrowing the corrupt king that has brought down chaos and destruction in the land that you've called home for many years now. All he asks is that you keep his secret from falling into the wrong hands.”

“Do we know where the thieves have run off to? Or are we going into this blind?” Greg asked.

“Sir James has heard rumors that this particular band of thieves has a permanent camp set up in the middle of the woods about a day’s walk from the town you found him in. He can send you in the right direction, but you have to make this journey alone. Where would you like to begin?”

“Are we assuming that Calpurnia has already joined the party?” Dustin asked. “Or should we have Chrissy roleplay introducing herself and convincing us to let her join?”

“Gareth and I actually wrote a connection between our characters into my backstory, and we were hoping that his character could introduce me to the group if that's alright with everyone else,” Chrissy told them. “But I'm happy to participate in any way that works the best for what's already been established.”

“Let Ryker introduce her,” Eddie decided. “I'm curious to see what the two of you managed to come up with.”

“Should we say that the rest of the party is at the tavern preparing to leave, and Ryker approaches with Calpurnia at his side?”

With agreement from the rest of the party, Gareth leaned forward in his seat and started to embody his character.

“Good morrow, brethren,” he began. “I come before you today with a story to tell and a new ally to introduce. Due to no real fault of my own, I found myself surrounded by an army of goblins. And while I fought valiantly, I was outnumbered and was certain to be overtaken by the vicious hoard. When all hope was nearly lost, two of the goblins nearest to me were struck with arrows and fell down dead. I had no idea where the arrows were coming from, but with their aid, I was able to defeat the goblin hoard. It was only when the last one was dead that my companion dropped down from a nearby tree and announced her presence with a crossbow sling across her back.

“I owe my life to this woman, but I had nothing of real value to offer her, so I invited her to join us instead. A seventh adventurer will only help us when it comes to welding the seven sacred artifacts designed to break the bond that the evil king has on our beloved homeland, and I feel she’ll make an excellent addition to our party. It is my honor to introduce Miss Calpurnia Amaranthe to all of you.”

“But how can we trust her?” Mike asked. “We know nothing of this woman or where she came from. How do we know she's not on the side of the king and actively working against us?”

“Bite your tongue,” Gareth sneered. “She is a woman of few words, but from the little she has told me, I believe that she has the purest of intentions for joining us on our quest. I owe her my life, and I don't think she would stoop so low as to betray me with everything she's promised. But, if it helps to dissuade any uncertainties you might have about working with her, I will swear on the good name of Ryker Stormsworn and the honor of The Raven Queen that she will not betray your trust.”

The party whispered amongst themselves before Dustin turned to Chrissy.

“I get up from the table, cross over to Calpurnia, offer her my hand, and say ‘Welcome to the party, Cal. Hope you enjoy food that tastes like ass and mediocre lute playing after too much mead.’”

“Hey! My lute playing is phenomenal no matter how much mead I've had,” Jeff yelled.

“Keep telling yourself that, Leafshade.”

After the rest of the party took their turns introducing themselves to Calpurnia, the group set off into the woods. While Eddie was excited to see how Chrissy was going to fit into their group, this was not the campaign he would have wanted to bring her in on, and while he was normally a fair and impartial dungeon master when it came to letting the party make their own choices on how to live in the stories he created, the urge to sabotage their mission grew stronger the longer he sat there. Specifically, he wanted to keep Chrissy from succeeding in anything that would allow her access to the chest. It was hard enough for him to mentally prepare for the possibility of his friends learning what was locked away in that chest. He'd already come to terms with them knowing. Chrissy knowing was a different animal entirely, and he didn't know if that was something he could handle.

But he was going to keep his cool. He was going to continue being a fair and impartial dungeon master and put his own interests aside in favor of making this an enjoyable experience for everyone involved. It did cross his mind that if Chrissy enjoyed this session, she might decide to keep playing with them, and he would've been lying to himself if he said that he didn't want her to stick around. He just had to find a balance between making this session fun for her and keeping her from getting inside that chest.

With Eddie painting a picture of the world around them, the party journeyed through the woods. Occasionally, a low level monster or two would jump out at them, but with seven party members, they were defeated pretty quickly. Soon, their adventure led them to the edge of the thieves’ camp which was smack dab in the middle of an open clearing in the woods.

“How big is the camp?” Lucas asked. “Do we need to roll a perception check to figure that out or learn how many people are in the camp?”

“It's after nightfall, but the camp is well lit at the moment, and it's small enough that that isn't necessary,” Eddie told them as he set up his miniatures on the terrain before them. “It's a fairly small group. There are three tents positioned around a roaring fire. From this distance, you can only see five men, but there could be more in the tents. As of right now, you're far enough away from them and hidden in the shadows, so they don't know you're there. How would you like to proceed?”

“I say we just run forward and ambush them,” Greg said. “We outnumber them, and the camp is small enough that we'll easily be able to find the chest after we win this fight.”

“We don't know how many men are still in the tents though,” Lucas countered. “If we just rush in, it'll alert anyone in there, and then we'll be the ones getting ambushed. We have to come up with a better strategy than just running in.”

That's when Chrissy - who had remained mostly silent this far other than asking about loot - spoke up.

“You said they don't know we're here?” she asked.

“You're completely hidden. As long as you don't start screaming, you won't alert them to your presence until you're ready to do so.”

“And are we close enough that we can make ranged attacks? I mean, if I climbed one of these trees, would I be able to hit one of them with my crossbow?”

“I might make you roll with disadvantage because of how dark it is outside of their camp if I'm feeling like giving you an extra challenge, but you're close enough that any crossbow or ranged weapon could hit them.”

“I think I have an idea then. Who else uses a ranged weapon besides me?”

“I have a crossbow, and Lucas uses a short bow,” Jeff told her.

“Perfect. May I move our miniatures to illustrate my idea?”

“Whatever you need to do.”

“Okay, here's what I'm thinking,” she said as she pulled the seven player miniatures into her hands. “Those of us with ranged attacks can climb separate trees to get a better vantage point on our shots. I assume there'll be some sort of athletics check to do that? And will we need to do a stealth check as well before we take our shots?”

“You'll need to do an athletics check to get into the tree, but there are a lot of low hanging branches, so it would be an easy check to pass. The only way I'd make you do a stealth check, too, is if you fail your athletics roll just because falling out of a tree would be loud enough to let the thieves know you're there.”

“Okay, so assuming we all pass our athletics checks, would we all be able to get a shot in before the thieves would counterattack?”

“Since this is your first session, and you're doing some pretty creative thinking on the fly for a newbie, I'll allow it.”

“Fantastic. Here's my plan then.”

Chrissy lined up her halfling rogue, Lucas's human ranger, and Jeff’s elven bard along the tree line. She then took Dustin’s dwarf artificer, Greg’s half-orc barbarian, and Gareth and Mike’s human paladins, placing them in a line closer to the camp.

“So, what I'm thinking is that Jeff can stay on the ground, and Lucas and I will have our players climb the trees. Then, we can fire off three shots into the camp. I'm hoping we'll all hit, but even if there's a miss, the main goal is to cause a little chaos within the camp.

“What I'm thinking will happen next is that anyone who's currently in the tents will come out of hiding when they hear the commotion happening around the fire.”

“But how do you know they'll come out?” Mike asked. “You might just alert them to the fact that there's someone hiding in the trees, and then they'll have the upper hand by staying hidden until we're right there.”

“I highly doubt that's going to happen,” Chrissy continued. “These thieves are clearly morons.”

“How do you figure?” Eddie asked

“Well, just look at where they set up camp. They have to know that someone is looking for them at this point after robbing a knight, and yet they chose to set up camp in such an open area. Sure, it's an open area in the middle of the woods, but they're still really exposed. If it were Calpurnia, she would have hidden somewhere deeper in the woods. It might have been more dangerous for her, but at least she would've been better hidden from attackers. The thieves didn't consider the risk of staying in the clearing, so I doubt they'd think before rushing out of their tents.”

“An interesting theory,” Eddie said as he leaned back on his throne.

“One that you wouldn't be careless enough to confirm or deny?” she asked.

“You're pretty smart for a newbie, but no, I won't be confirming or denying your theory.”

A blush started to bloom on Chrissy’s cheeks, and it took everything in Eddie’s power to keep from telling her everything she wanted to know. He wasn't going to give her special treatment just because he'd never been more attracted to her than right in this moment where he realized that she would be a formidable player in any campaign that he crafted with the way she was thinking.

He didn't have to hold out for long though because she was soon diving back into her plan.

“Whether Eddie will confirm my theory or not, I think I'm right,” she told the group. “After everyone exits the tents, Gareth, Dustin, Greg, and Mike can all rush forward and attack in the confusion. Even if the newly revealed thieves get to attack first, we'll have potentially incapacitated three out of the five we already know about, and I like our odds of outnumbering them after that.

“Plus, this keeps our healer from taking immediate damage since Jeff is hidden in the trees and out of the fray. Lucas and I can keep it up with the hidden ranged attacks from our trees no matter what, and he can run forward if anyone ever needs healing. You're all at a higher level than the people we're fighting, so this should be a relatively easy brawl. And, this keeps me from taking too much more damage since my hit points aren't nearly as high as yours. I'm fairly confident that if we try my plan, we'll all make it out of this fight without any major injuries, and we'll be able to claim whatever loot they have in the camp in addition to retrieving Sir James's chest. What do you guys think?”

Chrissy bit her lower lip and looked over to the rest of the party in search of their approval. The boys looked between themselves, but Gareth snuck a quick glance over at Eddie and saw that their dungeon master was gazing at Chrissy with hearts in his eyes. If it wasn't already obvious that Eddie had been harboring a crush on this girl, hearing her plotting out the perfect attack strategy had clearly worked some sort of magic on him.

“I think it's brilliant,” he told the group. “I say we give her plan a shot. What have we got to lose?”

The rest of the group agreed, so they put their plan into action. Everything fell into place exactly as Chrissy had hoped it would. She and Lucas passed their athletics checks with ease, so their characters were able to fire their arrows from the trees and injure two of the thieves surrounding the fire. Jeff ended up missing his shot, but his arrow went through the fire instead and ended up setting one of the tents ablaze which injured two of the three thieves that had remained hidden. The chaos that that caused allowed the four remaining players to ambush the camp, and the battle was won easily without any party member taking on too much damage. They raided the camp and divided the gold and gems evenly amongst the players, and a few people walked away with extra weapons. And, if there happened to be the perfect set of halfling armor for Chrissy’s character, that was purely a coincidence and definitely not an incentive for her to keep playing with them.

Jeff’s character ended up being the one to find Sir James's chest, but he immediately offered it to Chrissy.

“I think Calpurnia should carry the chest back to Sir James,” he said. “It was her strategy that helped us win it back, so she should have the honor of presenting it to him.”

“I couldn't agree more, Leafshade,” Gareth replied. “Our new companion has proved herself a worthy addition to this group, and I think it would suit us well to secure her position as a trusted ally in that way.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes in their direction. He didn't know what they were up to, but he knew that he didn't like whatever it was.

“I would be honored to present the chest back to Sir James,” Chrissy told the group. “What’s in it anyway?”

“No clue,” Gareth told her. “All we’ve been told is that it holds his greatest secret, but that’s the only clue we’ve been given.”

“Is the chest locked?” she asked, turning to Eddie.

“Of course. You think he’d leave his greatest secret somewhere easy to get into?”

“I’d like to roll to open the chest. That’s something I’m allowed to do right?”

“Yeah, you could try to do that, but is that something you really want to do? I mean, if you open it, and he finds out that you betrayed his trust, he might not want to help you on your quest any longer. And if he doesn’t want to help you out, how are you going to find the seven sacred artifacts you need to overthrow the king? That seems like a pretty big risk to me. You definitely don’t wanna open the chest.”

Eddie knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want anyone to know what was in that chest. Especially Chrissy.

“But what if his secret is that he’s loyal to the king?” she asked. “Then I’d be saving the group from aligning ourselves with someone who only wants to sabotage our mission.”

“That’s true,” Gareth chimed in. “We have no reason to believe that Sir James is even on our side. I think she should open it.”

“And, if I’m staying true to my character, I feel like Calpurnia would want to open the chest. She doesn’t trust people easily, and knowing for sure that Sir James isn’t secretly loyal to the king will go a long way towards helping her trust him as an ally in this quest.”

“Then I think you have to open it,” Jeff told her. “You’ve gotta stay true to your character.”

“What kind of check do I need to make for that?” she asked.

Eddie dug through his dice bag and set a single black die with red numbers on it in front of Chrissy.

“Dexterity,” he told her. “But you should use this one for it. For good luck.”

“Isn’t that the D20 that’s in permanent dice jail for never rolling anything higher than a six?” Dustin asked.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Eddie couldn’t watch as Chrissy picked up the die and rolled it, but he knew from her squeal of joy that he wasn’t going to like the result.

“That’s a nat 20!” Gareth called out. He offered up a high five that she gladly returned.

“So what’s in it?” Chrissy asked, excitedly turning to Eddie. “What’s in the chest?”

He said nothing as he opened his wallet, pulled out a key, and then used said key to unlock the small chest sitting on the table. He slid the chest over to Chrissy and could feel his stomach twisting up in knots as she opened the chest and pulled out the envelope that was hidden inside.

When she opened the envelope, he couldn’t take it anymore. He got up from the table and walked out without another word. Chrissy almost didn’t notice his exit. She was too focused on the contents of that envelope. Inside, she’d found a simple silver charm bracelet with a single cheerleader charm and a handwritten poem.

More beautiful than the lushest red rose

And more comforting than a warm embrace

The one thing every poor sap surely knows

I was a goner once I saw her face

Bright blue eyes and waves of strawberry blonde

No one around is more lovely than she

This sweet girl of whom I’m overly fond

Deserving a love far better than me

Try as I might we were doomed from the start

Someone more worthy shall win her favor

Destined forever to be torn apart

While I still can, these moments I’ll savor

For all the world could not help but adore

The only fair maiden my heart beats for

She didn’t want to be too presumptuous, but she couldn’t help but think that the poem was written about her.

“What was in that chest that made him leave like that?” Lucas asked. “I’ve never seen him be that quiet before.”

“It’s nothing,” Chrissy said as she tucked the items back into the envelope and tucked the envelope into her sweater sleeve. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Should one of us go after him?” Greg asked.

“I’ll do it.”

Chrissy was up and out of the room before anyone could stop her. It didn’t take her long to find Eddie. He was pacing back and forth not far outside of the doors to the building. She could tell that he was mumbling something to himself, but he was being quiet enough that she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She moved to sit perched on the edge of the brick planter near the door and cleared her throat. Eddie whipped around to face her and froze in his tracks.

“You ran out of there pretty quickly,” she told him. “I figured you would have wanted to explain the knight’s secret after I opened that chest.”

“I figured it was pretty self-explanatory.”

“It’s a lovely poem. Really.”

He couldn’t have this conversation with her. There was a ‘but’ coming. He just knew it. It’s a lovely poem, but he shouldn’t have written it. But she didn’t feel the same way. But she thought it was creepy and so was he for writing it in the first place. But, but, but, but. It didn’t matter what the but was. He couldn’t stick around to hear it.

He turned on his heel to start heading towards where he’d parked his van, but she was moving to stop him before he could make it very far. She grabbed the cuff of his jacket and started to pull him back over to where she’d been sitting. Once she’d taken her seat again, she patted the space next to her, and he joined her in sitting on the edge of the planter.

“When did you write it?” she asked him.

“You’re gonna think I’m even more of a freak than you already do.”

“Don’t say that. I’ve never thought you were a freak.”

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor,” she said, holding up three fingers in the typical Girl Scout salute. “I just want to make sense of what was in that chest.”

“You remember that middle school talent show?” he asked her. “You did your cheer thing, and my band played. After the show, you came up to me and told me you thought my guitar playing was neat, and you had the biggest smile on your face when I let you hold it even if the one note you played was completely out of key.”

“I remember.”

“Well, a week later, my English teacher taught us about sonnets. I wrote the first draft then.”

“How many drafts are there?”

“I don’t know. Dozens probably.”

“And the charm bracelet?”

“Probably around the same time, I guess? I saved up my comic book money for weeks and any other spare change I could scrounge up doing random chores for people around the trailer park just so I could afford it. I had this whole plan where I was gonna give you the poem and the bracelet - maybe some flowers if I could find some nice ones growing in the park - and tell you that you were the nicest and prettiest girl I’d ever met.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I chickened out.” He couldn’t look at her as he spoke, choosing to stare down at his hands instead as he fiddled with the rings that adorned his left hand. “Then the school year was over, and we weren’t at the same school after that, so I thought it would have been weird. And then, when we were at the same school again, we were hanging out with such different people, and it felt like too much time had passed, so I just didn’t say anything.”

“Oh.”

Chrissy was silent for a moment before pulling the envelope out of where she’d hidden it in her sweater sleeve.

“One last question,” she started, turning the envelope over in her hands a couple times. “You said that you’d written more than one draft. When did you last rewrite it?”

“Truthfully? I changed the last couplet after we had lunch together yesterday. Spending the period with you kind of inspired me.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You think so?”

He looked up at her for the first time since he’d admitted his crush, and he noticed her cheeks were tinged with the faintest of blushes as she nodded. But then she offered him the envelope back, and his heart sank. Of course, she didn’t want it. She thought it was sweet, but she didn’t feel the same way about him, so she couldn’t accept them. She was going to turn him down, tonight would be her only session with the party, and she’d probably ask Ms. O’Donnell for a new partner because she couldn’t bear to spend anymore time with him after he’d made things awkward with his confession.

“You don’t want them?” he asked, taking the envelope back from her. He was waiting for her to put him out of his misery - or plunge him into it depending on how you chose to look at things.

“No, I want them.”

That definitely wasn’t the answer he expected from her.

“You do?”

“I do. I just have this feeling that you really, really didn’t want me to know they exist let alone give them to me tonight, and I only want them if you actually want to give them to me.”

“That’s fair, I guess.”

“But, if me saying that I want them isn’t enough, let me just say this: I don’t care that we’re in different social circles. That kind of thing doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is the kind of person you are.”

“Oh, yeah? And what kind of person am I other than the school freak?”

“Stop saying that about yourself. You're not a freak. Don't you realize that you're the very best kind of person? I saw how you took those freshmen under your wing and how you gave them a safe place in a school that really doesn’t value what you guys bring to the table. You’re nice to me on both my good days and bad when the people that are supposedly my closest friends only want me around on the good ones. You even let me join your club tonight when you probably really didn’t want to given the result of that quest. Plus, I think you have the best smile, you make me laugh without even trying, and I still think your guitar playing is really neat.”

“You haven’t heard me play since middle school,” he said, trying to change the subject from all of the nice things she’d just said about him. “How would you know it’s still neat?”

“Whenever I need to get away from my mom, I spend time with my grandma who just so happens to live two doors down from Gareth’s house, and you guys aren’t exactly quiet.”

“I was not aware of this.”

“Well, now that you are, maybe I could come listen to you play in person instead of through the open window of my grandma’s guest room?”

“I'm sure we could work something out,” he told her.

He moved to hold her hand, and when she gave his hand a little squeeze instead of pulling away, he knew his fears about her rejecting him had fully disappeared.

“So, if I were to give you the things in that envelope willingly, you'd accept them?”

“Gladly.”

“Wait right here.”

Chrissy watched as Eddie got up and raced over to the grassy area next to the parking lot. When he returned to sit next to her, he was holding a small bunch of bright yellow dandelions.

“They aren't exactly the tulips I was picturing, but they'll have to do for now,” he said as he offered them to her.

“They're lovely,” she said with a small giggle as she made a show of smelling them as if he'd given her a large and fragrant bouquet.

He pulled the charm bracelet out of the envelope next.

“May I?” he asked.

She held out her hand, and he clasped the bracelet around her wrist before moving to hold her hand in his again.

“So, I wrote you this poem,” he told her as he handed her the envelope. “When I was in middle school, I just wanted you to know that you were the nicest and prettiest girl I'd ever met. Now, I want you to know that that's still true, but you're also one of the very best kind of people. Better than anyone else in this town even. And I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out with me sometime?”

“I’d really like that,” she replied. “So, you wanted to give me tulips?”

“Yeah. I have no idea why, but I always pictured bringing you a big bouquet of tulips in a rainbow of different colors.”

“Do you know what tulips are supposed to symbolize?”

He shook his head.

“Over the years, they’ve come to symbolize a lot of different things, and typically, the different colors all have different meanings. But, the longest lasting and most well known meaning tulips carry is a deep and perfect love.”

***

If any of the guys noticed the way Chrissy was clutching a handful of weeds as if they were a precious bouquet or the smear of lipgloss against Eddie’s cheek when the pair reentered the room, they all chose to remain silent on the matter. They didn’t know what had happened while they were outside, but one thing was certain: their gaming sessions wouldn’t be featuring anyone pining over an unattainable love anytime soon.

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer fanfic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #my writing

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inourtownofhawkins · 9 months

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Ｂｕｆｆｙ＇ｓ２６ｔｈｂｉｒｔｈｄａｙｃｅｌｅｂｒａｔｉｏｎ　（버피의 26번째 생일 축하）

Holy moly, I can't believe I'm 26 already (time to check myself into an old folks home innit). This whole year has been incredibly life changing and I truly appreciate everyone who's been with me on this journey and have stuck by my side.

So to celebrate both becoming 26 and a super late 300 followers; I'm gonna host my very first eventttt! Rules are as follows;

Celebration is from 14th August (Monday) until 20th August (Sunday).

You can send in any request during that time but please be patient as I do take my time with these things. So please don't spam my inbox demanding your request or I will just block you and delete your original request.

You can send multiple requests! Just please send them separately in different asks!

You don't need to be following me to request anything although a follow is always appreciated. Just please don't send in something marked for mutuals only if we are not mutuals.

I can write for Chrissy Cunningham, Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington!

My actual birthday is 17th August, but feel free to send birthday messages in before then, I just won't post them until the 17th. If you do not wish to see any of these messages, please block the tag #buffy-turns-26.

All posts will be posted under #26th-birthday-celebration.

As usual; minors DNI.

👢 Super Yuppers! - send me this emoji for a moodboard based on your blog!

🐰 Cheer Up - send me this emoji for simply a message of love and support. If you need cheering up or simply just an affirmation that all hope isn't lost, send this my way. If you'd prefer it in a DM or answered privately please specify.

🐍 Black Mamba - send me this emoji for a handwritten letter from yours truly (mutuals only!)

🩷 Into the New World - send me this emoji if you'd like me to check out your work or of an author you love and who needs more support.

🫰 Lovesick Girls - send me this emoji to request any kind of fic from these prompts here! Just be sure to specify who you want it to be about, which specific prompt it is and which masterlist it is from!

🍒 Limbo! - send me this for a personalised playlist! (mutuals only!)

Tagging some mutuals who've been so incredible during this journey; @changemunson @spicysix @lunatictardis @the-bat-ive-become @corroded-hellfire @comfortcharactercraze @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @keeponquinning @hellfiremunsonn @eddiemunsonsmum @pedgito @binickmiller @rosesgrownbytheseaside @keerysquinn @heroeddiemunson @quinnkeerys @roykentt @heartscoops @finalgalnancy

#buffy turns 26 #26th birthday celebration #also yes all the options are named after kpop songs suck my butt #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #chrissy cunningham #nancy wheeler #chrissy cunningham fanfiction #nancy wheeler fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #chrissy cunningham x reader #nancy wheeler x reader

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madnessformunson · 2 years

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You Belong With Me

Part 1

Summary: you’ve been Eddie’s best friend and neighbor for years. You’ve had a crush on him for a long time but he has his eyes set on Chrissy.

Note: you are Max’s older sister so in this fic you have red hair like her, not proof read

Warnings: Unrequited love, Eddie being a jerk, Lovesick reader, cussing

You can read Part 2 here

You wave to Eddie from your window, you’ve been neighbors since you were 8 years old, your bedroom windows face each other. He waved back pointing for you to come outside. You grab your bag and take off at the door calling for your sister Max, “Maxine let’s go!”

“I’m coming I’m coming” she said rolling her eyes.

You both walk over where Eddie’s van is getting ready to jump in. He takes you both to and from school everyday so you don't have to ride the bus.

“Are we hanging out tonight? It’s Friday so you know what the means!” You smiled at him.

“I really want to Red but I have a really big deal going on after school. What if I stop by afterwards?” Eddie says as he rubs your thigh.

“What? We always do this as a tradition! Every Friday night!” You pouted and pushed his hand off your thigh.

“I know sweets but we aren’t canceling just moving it back. I really need the cash”

“Fine, but you have to buy me some sour gummy worms”

“Anything for my sweetheart!” Eddie says smiling at you.

“You guys are so gross,” Max says from the back with a fake gag.

You turn up Black Sabbath as you and Eddie laugh.

Evening came and you waited in your room for Eddie to show up. It was getting late and you were starting to worry. You look out your bedroom window to see Chrissy on Eddie’s lap in deep conversation. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t. Then you witness Chrissy lean down and kiss eddie. Your heart broke right then and there. You could never compete with Chrissy freaking Cunningham. She wore a tight cheerleader outfit and listened to girly music. She was the definition of Dainty and you just… weren’t. Eddie never came over that night and you didn’t see him the rest of the weekend. Monday finally rolled around and you and Max made your way to his van for a ride. You hop in no one saying anything. You noticed Eddie driving a different way to school.

“Hey Eds I’m not sure if you are still high but you are going the wrong way to school” you tried to let out a laugh with it.

“Yeah I know I need to pick up Chrissy first”

“Chrissy as in Chrissy Cunningham? As in the Chrissy Cunningham you did a deal with Friday night?”

“Yeah y/n, she’s really nice, you would like her. We are going out on a date this weekend”

Your stomach twisted. Date? This is more serious than you thought.

He pulled up to Chrissy’s house and looked nervously at you.

“Would you mind getting in the back seat?” He said not making eye contact.

“Oh..ok” you climbed over to the back seat squished next to Max.

As the days went on Eddie ditched you more and more. He no longer took you to and from school, he was obsessed with Chrissy. Everything she did he loves. She was the picture perfect girl, you could never complete with that.

As you sat at the hellfire table, your typical seat being taken by Chrissy, the decision for the next campaign was making all of the party go wild. Until Chrissy cleared her throat, “Eds I thought you were gonna come watch me cheer Friday night” she pouted.

“I’m sorry Chrissy but there is no moving hellfire, I love it. I can come to the next game” Eddie defended.

Chrissy rolled her eyes, “it’s not the same! You never want to come support what I do”

“Eh sorry guys I have to cancel I need to be there to support my girl” he smiled at Chrissy making you cringe.

The party started discussing if they were going to move the campaign and to when.

After school you decided to go for a walk, you put your headphones on and turned up Dio. That’s when you saw Chrissy storm out of Eddie’s trailer as he sat on the front porch with his head in his hands.

“Hey…” you said as you passed by him.

“Hi”

“I’m going for a walk, want to come?”

Eddie jumped up and started walking beside you. He seemed really upset but you didn’t want to pry.

“Everything alright in lovers paradise” you chuckle but he didn’t.

“I like Chrissy I really do but I just don’t feel like she gets me you know? She’s always upset with what I do or say. I feel like she’s trying to change me inside of letting me be me” he confined in you.

“Aw I’m sorry Eds” you said back unsure of how to address this new territory.

“She’s just doesn’t get me how you do y/n”

He pulled you in and held you close. You felt your stomach twist into knots.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a bit when you decided to break it, “well I know what will make you feel better, Harrington is having a huge party tonight. You should come with me, we could have a lot of fun annoying the shit out of Steve”

“Don’t temp me with a good time sweetheart” Eddie said back with a huge smile.

You got dressed in your favorite outfit. High waisted black shorts with a black Dio tee. You had on little makeup and your hair was pulled back. You walked out of your trailer to spot Eddie.

“You look amazing y/n! Are you ready!”

You nodded hopping into the front seat like old times.

You entered the party and it was already insane. People were everywhere.

Before you knew it you were tipsy and lost track of Eddie. You finally spot him sitting on the couch completely wasted.

“Y/N! Look everyone it’s my sweetheart” Eddie called out.

You laughed a little, “should we start making our way home sir?”

“I love you y/n so so much” Eddie stated as he grabbed your hand.

“I love you too Eds”

“No I like really really love you y/n with all my heart”

Your stomach twisted a bit. As you pull Eddie up to stand and make your journey home.

As you get to his door you tell him, “well this is your stop”

He grabs onto your face with his thumbs on your cheeks, “I’m in love with you y/n you are all I ever wanted. Chrissy doesn’t know me like you do”

You blush

“I swear I’m breaking up with her tomorrow so you can be mine forever.”

“That sounds good Eds I’ll see you tomorrow”

You get him into his trailer than go to your butterflies filled your stomach. This is what you wanted for years, for him to finally notice you.

The next morning you got up excited to see Eddie, hoping he meant what he said the night before. But as you pull your curtain open you see Chrissy’s figure getting out of his bed and pulling a shirt on.

Your stomach drops. He was still with her. He didn’t mean what he said, he doesn’t want you.

#fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #madnessformunson #stranger things #chrissy stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #stranger thing fanfic #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x mayfield!reader #max mayfield #mayfield!reader

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consttellatio · 2 years

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Leather and Lace (Chrissy x Eddie)

Life’s easier when you’re taken as a joke rather than a threat. It’s easier not to care when no one cares for you. It suited him well, living without care, living by his own rules. That is until she waltzed back into his life. And now Chrissy-freaking-Cunningham made him want to break every one of them.

Read on Ao3

Trigger Warnings: mentions of EDs and unhealthy relationships, please don't read if you find this upsetting.

-----------------------------------------------------

He’s not really one for conforming. That or niceties. It’s one of the only rules Eddie keeps, and God knows he’s broken so many of them in the past. It starts young, you see, when you can’t walk through a corridor without someone slamming you into a locker, or cracking your head against a tiled floor, you tend to not want to be your nicest self to the world. He comes across as mean because life is easier if people think you’re not scared of them. He’d rather be an asshole and labelled a freak than go home with several more stitches.

At least he gets to keep his dignity that way. High school comes and Eddie enters with a leather jacket two sizes too big, fists that have finally learnt how to fight and the realisation sometimes it's better to be cruel than to be nice. It’s better to play off bitterness and anger with a humorous quirkiness that places you in charge of your dnd group, mostly because everyone knows that’s as far as you’re ever going to get in life.

Life’s easier when you’re taken as a joke rather than a threat. It’s easier not to care when no one cares for you.

It suited him well, living without care, living by his own rules.

That is until she waltzed back into his life. And now Chrissy-freaking-Cunningham made him want to break every one of them. He scoffs, staring out at the pitch from the seclusion of the trees. Years upon years of calling out everyone with a pulse in this school for being conforming puppets of society and one cheerleader manages to undo all of it.

And right now there’s nothing more he wants to do than to sweep her up in front of all their shitty classmates, her blonde hair falling out of its tie as he lays a kiss- Or a hundred- On her. A whistle is blown, clearing his thoughts. He breaks his gaze and shoves his hands into his pockets. It doesn’t take long before his eyes are drawn to her again, he doesn’t really understand why she needs to attend practice, there’s no one else to who it comes more natural than her. There’s a certain joy she finds in cheering that’s similar to the one he finds in music; she’s laughing as she jumps and soars, even outright yelling as she throws herself into handstands. It’s precious.

Her usual anxious self disappears and her cheer practice is the only time when there's nothing else on her mind. When Chrissy walks the halls she's bundle of nerves and insecurity, so he can’t really shit on cheerleading when it feels as though life finally seems to cascade through her limbs once more. He leans further against the tree and watches her from the shade. He's grateful no ones noticed him, and yet, at the same miserable that she hasn't. He knows what they'll say if they do see him watching. Freak Eddie Munson. Would be worth it though, if she did happen to glance his way.

Not that it matters, it’s not as if he picked this particular field on this particular day at this particular hour just to see her. And he certainly had not arranged for a drop-off at the exact time as her cheer finished. Absolutely not. He'd just happened to remember after the deal that she'd still be at practise as he walked the long way back. That's all.

Oh God, he groaned, you’re so lovesick.

There's nothing more he wishes he could do than to go back and never arrange that deal with Chrissy who-

who was coming right toward him-

and tell her to-

Oh shit.

'Eddie?' She asks, softly. 'You look lost?'

Light, bouncy curls cascade from her tied-back hair down her jacket, unzipped enough to see peaks of golden, sun-kissed skin. There's a smile on her face, and he forgets to breathe at the thought of her being happy at the sight of him.

‘Fancy a walk?’ She asks, already knowing the answer. ‘With you? Nah,’ he teased, enjoying the way she rolled her eyes at him. He dramatically bows, inviting her to lead the way. She giggles and runs her fingers through Eddie's, as she'd been doing every second she could when her boyfriend's back was turned. Sourness burns in his face at the thought of Jason but it's gone as soon as Chrissy smiles up at him. 'You have no idea how glad I am to see you,' she says, twirling herself under his arm. Weeks, weeks he's been seeing her like this and he thought the initial fluster would disappear the more time he spent with her. He's no better now than he first was when they started these walks. ‘You must be pretty messed up to be looking forward to seeing me.’ ‘Accept the compliment, Munson.’ Her hand rubs his in comforting little strokes, unaware of what torture it is.

-o-

‘This is bullshit,’ Jason shouts once everyone has scattered and the hallway is empty.

‘Not so loud,’ Chrissy whispers, futilely.

‘Bullshit!’ She’s slumped up against the lockers, having not mustered up the strength to meet his gaze yet.

It’s crude and cruel and even though the hallway is empty it feels as though everyone is here witnessing it. She wants to run away, and she can’t because she asked for this.

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ Chrissy shrinks, angry and embarrassed. ‘I’m not doing anything,’ she says, because acting dumb is better than admitting the truth; she’s unhappy, uncomfortable and deserves better.

There’s no point in getting angry back. He doesn’t fear her, he doesn’t respect her; he doesn’t deserve her rage. So she slinks against the cool metal and lets his rage hammer through the halls, his words shattering any courage she had.

‘You’re killing me, Chrissy! You’re actually killing me.’ ‘It’s just for a few weeks. All I’m asking for is a bit of space.’

‘Bullshit.’ ‘Stop this, please just-’ His fist collides with the locker next to her head.

She watches as the soft flesh of Jason’s skin breaks - bursting and splitting - against the silver metal. All she sees is twisted lips, heaving shoulders and white-knuckled fists and she starts sinking to the ground.

Even though she hasn’t been struck, she still tastes the bitter tang of blood in her mouth and sourness in the back of her throat. For a moment she thinks he’s going to apologise. Then Jason’s attention is no longer on her, it’s on the end of the hall. Henderson, one of Eddie’s friends she thinks, stands at the edge of the hall, not sure whether he should stay or turn the other way.

Embarrassed, or guilty (she’s never quite sure with Jason), he stumbles away. ‘Bullshit,’ he repeats one last time because apparently, that’s all that’s in his vocabulary.

She runs into the girl's toilets before Eddie’s friend can say anything, hides in her usual spot, and cries until the bell rings. No matter how fast she runs, no matter which toilet stall she hides; there are some things Chrissy will always carry with her, this is just another to add to the list.

She doesn’t eat dinner that night.

-o-

Eddie tries to remember if she’s always been this way. He’s seen her since middle school, surely? A few brief glimpses of them passing in the hallway come to mind, her blonde ponytail swaying and getting caught in a cheer jacket. Him hurtling past, Doc Martins thumping against the ground until the bell signalled his escape.

She squeezes his hand.

'How was your week?' 'Oh, you know, the usual,' he shrugs, 'you?' 'Shit.' Well,' Eddie grins, pulling out his tin of paraphernalia. 'We can't have that, can we?'

Chrissy hasn’t quite gotten the hang of rolling yet, so he sits by her side on their bench talking her through it step-by-step. His fingers put careful ease into rolling, Chrissy's are curled into a fist resting under her chin. He offers her a light when they finish.

She licks her lips slowly and-

No, no - inappropriate, he wasn't going to continue that thought. 'You got plans this weekend?' He asks, lighting both their joints. 'I said I'd go prom dress shopping with Mom, we were supposed to go weeks back but...' she wrinkles her nose. 'I've been trying to get out of that.'

'Thought girls liked shopping?'

'I do, but..' she pauses, then takes a deep breath. 'I said I'd drop two dress sizes by now and well...' she trails off, casting a piercing gaze down at her stomach as if she could make whatever weight that was there disappear just by glaring.

'Hey,' he says softly. 'You don't need to do that. You know that, right?'

She takes another drag.

'It's gonna suck anyway,' she said with the voice of someone who, despite saying that, still very much wanted to go. 'I'm just going to be posing for pictures all night until we're crowned King and Queen, then there'll be more pictures until the afterparty. I think I might ditch.'

'Really?' He's selfish, can't hide the joy in his voice at the idea of her doing that.

'No,' she sighs, sinking hs hope. 'I want to go so bad, but it would be different y'know, if I could choose my own dress and date. I think I'd enjoy it if I were going with you.'

With you.

She'd go with you.

You.

He sputters out ash and before he can think up the courage to ask her, she rattles on.

'We're good friends, y'know? I feel like I can talk to you about anything.'

‘Right,’ he says turning away and taking another drag. ‘Friends.’ ‘Why do you say it like that?’ Tendrils of smoke twirl upwards. ‘You feel like you can talk to Jason about anything?’ ‘Well… yeah,' she says before sitting up straighter. ‘I can talk to him about anything.’ ‘Sure,’ Eddie replies through an inhale of smoke, drawing it out long and hard. ‘You can stop being sarcastic and pulling those faces, it’s over anyway,’ she snaps. ‘Over?’ ‘Yeah, I mean… no… maybe? I don’t know. It’s complicated,’ she sighs, flicking ash onto the bench.

There is a part of him that wishes he didn’t care about how others felt. Wishes that he could just pull himself up from their bench and go ‘ah, well, sucks to be you, Chrissy! Good luck with that!’ and then Adiois and C’est la vie!

He’d do it to Henderson and Wheeler. Hell, the rest of his party and even his band, no question about it.

Or... he’d like everyone to think he would. And why? Because he has an image to protect? Because he doesn’t like that there’s a vulnerability he hates in being open? Maybe because he’s just an asshole?

He’s going to do it, he’s going to get up and leave because fuck pining over someone who isn’t-

Oh.

He hates the look on her face.

He hates how tight her shoulders are, hates how her nails are digging into her arms and especially hates how she’s looking around them scouting someplace to hide. ‘Surely over just means over.’ He says, staying right by her side. ‘Not for Jason,’ she tries to laugh, but it’s more of a huff and it doesn’t meet her eyes. ‘He’s … stubborn. He treats us like he treats his basketball games, it’s not over until he says it’s over.’ It's Eddies turn to huff this time, and it’s an ugly little thing. ‘I think the referee has the final say on that.’ ‘Yeah,’ Chrissy rolls her eyes, ‘tell me when they do relationship referees.’ ‘I believe they’re called the police.’

Chrissy’s eyes meet his and he’s really beginning to hate how when they're this close they appear so blue it feels like he’s going to start drowning. She waits, rolling her nails against the wood. She looks at the bench, its warped wood, and the cracks in its frame, before going back to face Eddie's tired eyes. ‘I’m not going back,’ she whispers, not breaking his gaze. That’s what you said the last time, is what he wants to say but instead, he waves the white flag and reaches below the bench for a handful of leaves. ‘I’m serious,’ she says louder. ‘This time, it’s over.’ Mmm, he mumbles aloud before raining (more like pelting) old autumn leaves upon them. Mostly to change the subject, secondly because he misses her smile.

She shrieks, before a wicked grin spreads across her face. It's all toothy and wide and she tries to swallow it down before diving to throw handfuls back. A pinecone hits him square in the chest, which results in him staggering forward quoting (more like butchering) a Shakespearan tragedy, before flailing hand on head to the ground.

Alright, he concedes as her giggles turn into uncontainable snorts, maybe it was mostly to see her smile.

-o-

She thinks it starts as a means of control. Or, that’s what counselling tells her.

She can’t control her home life, she can’t control what her mother's next cutting remark will be, and she can’t control that Jason is as likely to coddle her as much as he is to scream at her.

She can control her weight, however.

She can control purging, she can control fasting. I am in control.

Or… so she thought.

She’s crying into the toilet seat, cheek pressed against the plastic and nostrils burning from disinfectant when her mother knocks.

‘Chrissy? You’ve got a visitor.’

She brushes the smell of vomit out of her mouth and wipes any spit from her dress, only to make her way down the stairs to want to run back up them again.

Jason stands in her hall with a bouquet of flowers almost bigger than her.

Jason isn’t a bad guy, he can be kind. He teaches her brother how to shoot hoops, he even scares some of his middle-school bullies off. When her father said no, absolutely not, no way, to her learning how to drive; Jason had taught her, spending hours in empty parking lots taking her through it step-by-step. And when her mother complained about her lack of dieting and how her thighs were getting as muscular as a wrestler's, Jason had been the one to stand up for her.

‘Cheerleading is a sport Mrs Cunningham, she needs protein if she doesn’t want to snap a leg doing a high lift.’

Mom wasn’t happy that Jason had spoken back to her, but she also didn’t say anything for weeks and Chrissy thought that was heaven.

Jason can be kind, yes. But he’s only kind when he's happy, and he’s only happy when he’s winning. Chrissy said yes to dating him when he was at the top of his game, now he thinks he’s been dealt the wrong hand which means they’re both losing.

‘I’m so ashamed,’ he cries, his words broken up by sobs. ‘I should never have gotten so angry.’ He makes promises of how he will never raise his voice like that again, how he’s going to get better and can Chrissy ever forgive him?

Eddie’s pick necklace hangs around her neck, hidden beneath her summer dress. She must have stolen it when they were high. It feels like it’s burning, it feels like Jason’s eyes can see straight through her and already knows that she’s going to go to sleep tonight wearing that cheap plastic around her neck.

Wearing only that necklace.

‘Forgive me,’ Jason cries.

And she does, she does it as best she can.

‘I still want space,’ her fingers trace the outline of the pick through her dress. ‘I need time.’

He nods, but she recognises the whirlwind of emotion in his eyes. ‘You can drop me to school tomorrow?’ She offers, mostly because she’s so used to him being her ride and partly because her mom is watching through the door.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he nods, more to himself than her. ‘That sounds good.’ She lets him kiss her goodbye on the cheek and passes the flowers to her mother as soon as the door closes.

‘You put him through so much grief,’ her mother tuts, unaware that if Chrissy had uttered no he would have had another one of his tantrums before deciding to make the rest of her life hell until she gives him what she wants. She skips dinner and goes to bed with Eddie’s pick squeezed tightly in her fist.

-o-

He has no right to be angry.

It’s not like he and Chrissy are dating. If anything, jealousy’s the only right he has as he watches her and Jason pull into the parking lot.

‘Such a dick,’ Jeff mumbles as Jason beeps at everyone and anyone who he deems in his way. Chrissy slides further down into her seat, hiding deep under her cheer bag, opting to make herself as small as possible.

‘You hear what Henderson said happened?’ ‘No, what?’ Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and when Gareth finishes he wishes he’d never asked.

He has no right to be angry, it’s Chrissy’s life, not his. Easier to not care, it’s easier not to care, easier not to-

He's going to slash Jason’s tyres. Then he thinks of Chrissy, thinks of how Jason is a walking timebomb ready to implode at any second. How Chrissy will be the first casualty in the aftermath, how she's the one who's forced to pick up the pieces.

Eddie walks away.

-o-

‘You got any plans coming up?’

They’re sitting at their bench, Eddie figures out very early on in their friendship that Chrissy tends to disappear at lunch. So he trails along with her, he likes keeping her company, even if it is just her watching him roll. ‘Corroded Coffin are opening for a touring band next month. I mean, it’s only going to be to the same crowd of like… five people but, y’know, it’ll be nice to hear some fresh blood.’ ‘Six.’ ‘What?’ Eddie asks, confused but not enough to stop his fingers from working. ‘Six,’ Chrissy repeats. ‘I’m going.’

His fingers halt. He wants her to. There’s nothing he wants more than to look out at that pitifully empty crowd and see her right there in the front. Then he thinks of how much he’d hate for that to be a reason for Jason to hurt her. ‘No, you’re not.’ ‘Yes, I am,’ she argues. ‘I want to see you play.’

She’s wearing her bright coloured eye shadow again. The blue one that makes her eyes appear bigger and brighter than they’ve ever been. He’s drowning again he thinks, and it’s taking all his strength to stay afloat across the roaring tides. ‘You’ll hate it,’ he retorts holding the paper to his lips. It's the truth, where they’re playing is what’s referred to as a ‘toilet seat venue’. The floors are so sticky that you have to peel your shoes off with each step you take, and the toilets probably go against five health and safety laws which would definitely get it to shut down. He’s not even going to mention the regulars. ‘It’s a dive, an actual dump. The toilets have been blocked for three years now.’ ‘Well, it’s a good thing I’m there for you, not the toilets.’ Chrissy uncurls herself from his side, stretching out like a tired feline. ‘Toilets won’t matter when I’m front row.’ ‘You’ll be on your own.’ ‘I never liked crowds.’ ‘You’ll be the only girl.’ ‘Then I’ll be the first groupie you go to,’ she winks, mid-stretch. ‘Only groupie,’ he replies, the cigarette hanging out of his mouth causing him to mumble. ‘Good,’ she leans back into his left side. ‘I hate losing.’ He scoffs. ‘Like there’s a competition; you’d win each time.’ Another laugh huffs from him after he says it, because the idea that he’d want anyone else but her is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and looks down to offer it to her. Her eyes are already looking up, locked on his lips.

It’s not the first time she's done that, and it’s not the first he's thought about kissing her either. He’s never brought it up, it feels inappropriate to remind her of ‘almost’s’ when she’s waltzing down the halls hand in hand with another guy.

But if she were to kiss him, he think he'd let her. And if she asked for more he'd give her more, despite all the reasons he should not.

And because he's a coward, he turns away.

-o-

He’s screaming at cars again. Screaming at cars because Jason knows he can’t scream at her.

Chrissy leans her head back, staring up at the roof, wishing that some hole would rip it open and swallow her whole. Sometimes she thinks about jumping out. The passenger lock is faulty, the only thing wrong in his otherwise perfect car.

Apart from her.

As if sensing her thoughts, he blasts the horn once, twice, three times before screaming at the traffic in front.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ She asks, mostly because she’s starting to get scared, partly because she’s so tired of placating. She’s tired of pretending to be smaller just so her identity suits his image better, she’s tired of being a shell of herself just to keep his own boring identity safe from threat.

‘What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?’ He snaps as if she’s the unhinged one. ‘We’re going to be late.’

‘It’s just a game.’ ‘Shut up, just shut the fuck up.’

Alright, she thinks. I can do that.

All the cars in front begin to move, clearing the traffic in front of them. All except Jason’s.

‘Jason? It’s clear, you can-’ ‘You don’t get to talk to me like that.’ He spits, still seething. Cars are coming up behind them, inching forward expecting them to move.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers, mostly so they can go. ‘Do you know what I was told yesterday?’ She shakes her head. ‘People are saying you’re ditching lunch.’ She’s been ditching lunch since they’ve been together, that’s nothing new. ‘They say you’re with freak Munson.’

The plastic of Eddie’s necklace burns hot.

Jason's lips twist as if he's bitten into some vile, gruesome thing.

‘They said he was waiting for you after practice.’

‘They? Who’s they?’ ‘People.’ ‘People?’ A car overtakes, honking as they pass. It manages to pull Jason out of his rage, she can hear his teeth grinding as he speeds the rest of the way there.

When he parks, he twists in his seat, ready to go for round two. ‘I’m breaking up with you,' the words spill out of her before he can even open his mouth. He starts raging, raging and thundering until Chrissy realises that she no longer has to sit here and weather his storms.

She puts her hand on the lock.

‘Forgive me?’ He bawls, realising that he can’t get his way this time.

And she does. She does it the only way she can.

By throwing his door open and not looking back.

Jason calls her mom, tells her that Chrissy has fallen into a bad crowd, that she’s blowing all her savings on getting high, and that she couldn’t make it to his last game because they had an argument over her "snorting shit". Her mother believes him and is wailing why and how could you and all the things you owe this family.

Chrissy sits, crying as she takes it, and goes to bed without supper.

-o-

'You ever think anyone has made one of these with Sherbet?' They’re lying on Eddie’s living room floor, and Chrissy’s pointing at the joint in his hand. ‘Explain,’ Eddie motions, before throwing the stubs of what was left away. ‘Like, if someone has sprinkled something nice like sherbet.’ She snuggles up close, closer than any friend should have. ‘I think it would taste nice.’ Her arms are wrapping around him tight, instinctively he pulls her in tighter. Her eyes are locked in on his lips again and-

She wants. She wants and he wants and yet-

He rolls his neck to stare up at the ceiling, resulting in a sigh from the blonde at his side.

Couldn’t happen, he’s not going to let it happen.

'Your high has definitely kicked in.' 'Seriously, it could be cool if we tried it. I’ll sprinkle, you roll.' 'It doesn't work like that.'

'Yeah,’ she mumbles, trailing her fingers over his chest. ‘I guess you're right.'

He was very, very aware that they’re starting to get more physical with one another, and knew that if he wants to keep her as a friend then he should push her hands away. What he should do is pull them both off of the trailer floor and offer to drive her home. Instead of holding her closer and having conversations that only made him so much more aware of what they can’t have.

He refuses to get up, he refuses to let go.

Instead, she starts humming to the tune of a Stevie Nicks song, her fingers trailing up and down, then up and down again on his chest. The lyrics go dry on her tongue when she pulls an inch of his shirt away to reveal ink. ‘Tell me about your tattoos?' He shrugs, much preferring that they go back to her singing than the sound of his own voice. 'Too many to explain.'

'What are the meanings?' 'There aren't any.' There are, or there were when he first started getting them, but he misses her whispery vocals and wants them back.

'There's got to be a meaning,' she argues, leaning back on her elbows. 'No there doesn't,' and with that, he pulls his ankle out to show a shitty stick-and-poke of a shitty pineapple, much to her delight.

'Do you even like pineapples?' 'Nope,' he says, popping the ‘p’. 'I'm allergic.’ 'See!’ Chrissy exclaims through a fit of laughter. ‘There is meaning!'

When her laughter dies down they return back to silence, in which he says nothing and she says nothing, mostly because he’s reaching forward for her hand. He’s pulling her down beside him, a bit too hyper-aware of the slight hitch in her breathing when he wraps his arms around her waist.

'You do them yourself?' She asks, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. 'Yeah, or a friend does.' He’s only actually paid for one of his tattoos, his first. Since then he’s made do with a sewing needle and ink.

'Will you do mine one day?' She’s hidden behind the cloak of his unruly hair, he can’t actually tell if she’s serious.

'Only if you're sure. Your mom might freak though.' That was putting it lightly; it's been weeks and Chrissy's mom still isn't speaking to her for dumping Jason. If Chrissy’s mom didn’t have an excuse to not kill Eddie now, she definitely would then.

Chrissy leans in close and presses her lips against his ear. 'I can think of a place or two where she won't see it.'

'Chrissy Cunningham!' he exclaims, a low-whistle breaking through his laughs. 'Are all cheerleaders as freaky as you?'

She rolls out of his embrace to jokingly pout at his laughter. 'I'm not freaky,' 'Cmon, smoking pot, wanting tattoos and hanging with me?' He leans over her, poking at her cheeks to wipe off that pout. 'You're officially a freak now.'

She's grinning at that, her smile is so wide that he thinks her face will split open.

‘Freak’ is no longer a bad thing to be. Being a freak to Chrissy means being free, it means not having to be perfect and not having to please everybody all of the time. If that’s a freak then count her in. His hands are at her waist, there’s a heat that coils inside of her as his grip tightens. She wonders how his hands would feel if there was not the constraint of clothes in-between them. How he would look under the glow of the trailers lights, her hands kneading against the ink on his thighs. If he could end her hunger, fill this hollowness that came with freedom and end her suffering. ‘Not until you tat me.’ ‘You’d be comfortable with that?’ ‘I’d be comfortable with you touching me anywhere.’

Eddie gulps. Heavy is the silence that settles between them, it is thick and suffocates any thoughts he may have had prior to her admission. He pulls away and is painfully aware of how without her touch, the cold breeze whistles through the trailer door harsher, forcing her to cradle her bare arms. ‘You don’t mean that.’ ‘I do,’ she says calmly. ‘I’ve been hitting on you this entire time.’ ‘No,’ he says, this time ripping his hand from hers. ‘Yes,’ she responds, reaching back for it. ‘It’s the high talking,’ he argues. ‘You’re high.’ ‘You don’t believe me?’ ‘No,’ he laughs, but there’s no humour in it. ‘No, not at all.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because look at you,’ he says pointing to the mirror. ‘Now, look at me. It doesn’t make sense.’ ‘You’re telling me, that this,’ she retorts, not taking one look at the mirror and instead, pointing between them, ‘this doesn’t make sense.’ ‘No, we really don’t. You’re Chrissy-freaking-Cunningham.’ ‘And?’ She yells. ‘And that means my opinion doesn’t matter?’

Before he can explain that’s not what he meant, she puts a finger up, silencing him. ‘I’m going to bed. I’m going to bed and I’m going to wake up, come straight into this living room and I’m gonna ask you out even though I’ll smell like sweat and weed just to prove that this isn’t the high. And if that fucks up our friendship then alright, but atleast you know I’m serious, and that I’m serious about you.’

They’re back to that heavy silence, something Eddie has never felt comfortable in. Perhaps that's why he's always had a profound love for music and the way it fills up the dull quiet in mundane life. He's not used to the nothingness in the air, it's an open wound festering and weeping over the two of them. His foot begins involuntarily tapping, his boots drilling a migraine into their heads.

It lasts until her eyes land on the chain around his neck.

‘I’m tired,’ she grumbles and pulls the necklace over his head. 'I’m keeping this with me.’ ‘But I only just got it back.’ ‘Mine,’ she mumbles and he’s not quite sure if it’s the necklace or him she’s referring to. He yields and acts as though he's not watching her make her way to his room.

There is a hole in his uncle's roof, big enough that Eddie could (theoretically) poke a finger through. Through it, you can see that the sky above is a thick curtain of ink, no stars able to poke their way through. He thinks of how many times he'd passed out staring up at that hole, his uncle nudging him awake after coming home from a night shift. He wonders how disappointing it must have felt, to find your nephew night after night high or wasted, wishing that he could go back to that old routine of solitude, because being alone is better than being with Eddie. Then he remembers the way Chrissy looks at him, actually looks at him and makes him feel seen. He thinks of how much it will ache to never have her look at him like that again.

When she wakes the next morning, she does exactly what she said she would. She stumbles into his kitchen, wearing an oversized Dio shirt, prepared to give the speech of her life.

Eddie spins at her entrance, wearing a stained oversized apron and holding two plates. ‘Voila, breakfast is- oh shit,’ he cuts off at the sight of her in his clothes. What he wants to say is: ‘that’s hot, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.' But, because he’s a fucking idiot, all that comes out is: ‘You’re right, you really do stink.’ She laughs, which he’s grateful for because he was this close to slamming his head on the fryer. She waits until he’s sat by her side before curling into him.

‘Can I take you on a date?’

It’s the worst time to have a mouthful of beans.

‘Surely,’ he says mid-swallow. ‘The guy should be asking the girl?’ ‘Sexism will get you nowhere.’ ‘Have you heard of politicians, Chrissy?' Her eyes roll into the back of her head. ‘Alright,’ he concedes, ‘only if I get to take you out too.’ ‘I was thinking the movies,' she murmurs, fingers tracing her place. 'Would that be… is that alright?’ ‘Yeah, sounds great. I know a record store, I was wanting to take you to get a Fleetwood record you might like.’ ‘Dammit,' she moans. 'That’s way better than mine.’ ‘No way,' he exclaims. 'You, me, in a dark room where no one can see us? That's my biggest fanta-’ ‘Don’t!’ She warns, pointing the knife toward him. ‘Woah, woah! Get your mind out of the gutter, Cunningham.’

He's already halfway through his plate, Chrissy on the other hand hasn't had so much as a taste. He's about to point this out before she's leaning back in. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she hums into his curls. ‘Yeah, well,' he says, gently nudging her back to her place. 'Eat your grub.’

She hesitates for a moment, and he thinks there might be something genuinely wrong with his cooking. Then slowly, she picks up her fork and takes tiny, bitesize pieces. She finishes every bite.

-----------------------------------------------------

This is copied and pasted from Ao3 so apologies if there are formatting errors!

Thanks for reading! I am extremely tired after a heavy counselling session so the ending is pretty rushed. Will be writing more in the future for this adorable couple who deserved way better (and at least a first date c'monnnnn duffer brothers...)

Here's a link to a playlist I made whilst writing this fic, for all your Eddie x Chrissy needs!

Car scene is inspired by the one in Evelyn Hugo.

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no-mercy-bby · 1 year

Text

Chrissy dumps Jason a week before prom, and it shocks the whole school- even Eddie. He who had intended to ask her to prom then, considering she wouldn't be going with Jason. Yet Eddie overthinks it and chickens out.

He spills his guts to Steve Harrington of all people with his face smushed against the Family Video counter. Next day, he runs into Nance in the hallways while skipping class(just the one) and she sympathizes with him. Steve apparently told Nancy, Nancy who knew Chrissy, Chrissy who he chickened out from asking to prom. Eddie proceeds to skip the rest of the school day, ashamed he couldn't work up the courage to ask the prettiest girl in school to prom.

But he didn't want to ruin the friendly limbo that they had gotten into after Spring Break. Although Eddie sulks all that day at school, the other seniors in Corroded Coffin practically drag him to prom by his bangs. Suit blazer, slacks, and all. Even a stupid tie.

Ever the black cat, Eddie lurks in the corner while a Duran Duran song plays. And then the worse thing happens. He finds Chrissy. She's all shiny gold sequins and... pink. Little pink clips in her strawberry hair, pink bracelets shaking on her wrists as she dances timidly in her pretty pink heels. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her chest was too. Dear Lord. Eddie feels like he's been sucker punched, staring at her in shock and unblinking. Hell, he must really look like a freak now, frozen in place.

Then Eddie sees him. The guy Chrissy Cunningham is dancing with. Steve fucking Harrington. Eddie feels like he's just been gut punched, betrayed, and sold out all at once.

He doesn't even realize he's standing in front of Steve until Chrissy hugs his side with a smile.

"Eddie! I didn't think you were coming! Oh, I love your tie," Chrissy bubbles, moving in front of him to carefully reposition it from where he had tugged at it,"We're practically matching."

It was Wayne's tie, gold and probably from the 70s, but Wayne had told him a formal dance needed a tie. Eddie was now more than glad to wear it.

"Yeah," Eddie laughs nervously, staring down at her dress again," uh, you look amazing, Chris."

Chrissy flushes more while Steve has the audacity to clear his throat.

"Hey, I'd like to continue dancing with my date now." Steve says blankly and Eddie sputters.

"Date??" Betrayed again by The Hair, didn't Shakespeare write something about this?

"I only said yes if Nancy said no, and she said yes, so I'm not your date, Steve." Chrissy explains to him, almost annoyed. It was cute. Eddie wanted to giggle at her nearly angry expression but decides against it.

"In that case, dance with me instead, Cunningham." Eddie grins probably like a lovesick fool, pulling one of Chrissy's hands up to his shoulder.

They dance and then ditch prom to get milkshakes. On opposite sides of a booth, they stare at each other. Chrissy pulls off her heels, complaining about how they ache. Eddie doesn't hesitate and pulls her feet up to rest on his legs before starting to massage her feet.

"Eddie!" She gasps in shock, as if they'd gotten caught in the act or something.

"Yes, my queen?" Eddie bows his head, ever the respectful jester.

"Don't call me that," Chrissy pouts before pulling off the crown, she had won prom queen after all," And stop touching my feet."

Eddie rolls his eyes before massaging the arch of her foot more. Chrissy's hand flies to her mouth.

The waitress scoffs when she sets down the milkshakes and plate of fries, muttering,"there's a bathroom for a reason."

Eddie and Chrissy both blush then.

#*chrissy and steve dancing to rio by duran duran*#eddie: *seething hissing and growling in the corner"#hellcheer #chrissy cunningham x eddie munson #eddissy #i wrote da #enjoy goodnight

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every-dayiwakeup · 2 years

Text

For @magellan-88

Sense & Silhouettes

For the second time in the span of an agonizing three minutes, all of which she's spent staring at food she could not eat, Chrissy Cunningham fights the urge to ask her father, the Duke of Sussex, if she could rip off the skin-tight white gown that was made entirely of feathers, and hide in the bathroom until after the event.

Actually it was more than just an event. Chrissy was supposed to meet the future Duke of Cornwall. She wasn't sure what his name was, or what he looked like. All she knew was that he spent more time readying himself than she did.

"I'm here!" a gangly boy around her age with moussed brown hair cut to his shoulders calls out, making a beeline for Chrissy, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the current Duke of Cornwall. "Prince- ahem- Baron Harrington, sorry to keep you waiting!"

Chrissy suppresses a giggle. "Your hair was more important, I take it?"

Her mother clears her throat sharply, but the Baron loosens up ever so slightly, chuckling a little. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Lady Christina. May I have this dance?"

"You may."

She takes his hand, and he guides her to the middle of the ballroom, away from her mother's eagle eye. So he wasn't a stranger to meddling parents, then.

His hands are awkwardly placed on her waist, but they don't wander any further. His feet aren't in sync with the music, and he utters multiple apologies.

It is only until their fourth dance (the Baron kept the old crones away, to her relief) that Chrissy comes to the conclusion that he's not into it. Not into her.

"What's your name?" she asks in an attempt to ease the stiffness of his shoulders.

"Steve," he whispers, his breath tickling her ear.

"Am I poor company?" she teases.

"No! Not at all!" His eyes, frantic and on edge, are an autumn brown, and they remind her of a certain bushy haired girl who is the only being in Chrissy's life that is real. So blissfully true... and yet she cannot be with her. She wants to be. Maybe Steve is pretending, too.

Or maybe I'm just lonely.

"Another girl, then?"

Steve gives her what looks like a thoroughly rehearsed nod.

Of course, Chrissy's always tried to read people. Her mind tends to forget that they are not books, and they are rarely to be taken at face value.

"At the very least we should act out the parts we were born to play," he says, an impish smile on his face as he picks up the pace, his feet finally finding their rhythm.

His happiness, no matter how false, is infectious, because as he twirls her around, she's sporting a foolish smile of her own.

Their chests collide, and they're giggling so much the pain doesn't register.

"Shit!" someone hisses, and the teens both look up to see a blonde boy clenching a bloody fist, glaring through an ocean of fierce tears.

Steve flinches away from Chrissy as though she's burned him, all of his attention solely on the curly haired boy's theatrical ballroom exit.

It all clicks for her. "You already have your Mr. Darcy, don't you," she murmurs, and something in her tone must put his fears to rest, because his face lights up as he offers a sheepish, lovesick grin.

Passerbys will assume that Cupid shot an arrow or two. But Chrissy knows that look isn't for her.

She lightly shoves Steve in the direction of the doors to the courtyard. "The fountain is a bit noisy, and there aren't many torches, I'm afraid."

Thankfully he understands, clumsily abandoning her on the floor, tripping on his own feet in his eagerness to chase his Happily Ever After.

If only people like them didn't have to do so in the dark.

Unfortunately she doesn't stay alone for long before she gets a new partner; a drool Baron who's name escapes her. She can't bring herself to be drawn into his constant state of misery like she often does on nights such as these. Not when someone finally has the chance to dance with the One.

Go get him, Ms. Bennett.

*****

Tags:

@ouizzyharringrove

@geormenia

@thatawkwardlittlefangirl

@polaris-ursae

@whoringrove

@harringroveheart

@harringroveho

@spaceboxkitty

@shipworm

@phishyie

@namorian

@wixterirox

@m0isttoenails

@emeraldwitches

#not sure this was what you had in mind 😭#i hope you like it 💕#harringrove #fem! eddie munson #reds writing #your ask disappeared from my inbox for some reason 😃🔫#this app will be my 13th reason #thank you for this btw ❤️❤️❤️#i did my best #it wasnt much #😃🤌

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voicesfromnowhere · 2 years

Text

Day 3 - Modern AU - @hellcheerweek

Read on AO3

This chapter is rated for a Teen Audience, but future chapters for this Modern AU will be Mature or Explicit

———

When Chrissy had come to Eddie asking if he knew how to set up some streaming gear she’d bought, he’d lied smoothly with a grin and said absolutely. Eddie knew that was going to be a slight problem, but he couldn’t help himself. Ever since he’d met Chrissy at 13 years old, he had been wrapped around her tiny finger. They’d been friends for a while now but remembering that first moment they’d met again, always made Eddie’s heart squeeze and drop like he was on a roller coaster.

He had been in the kitchen of the small apartment he shared with his roommates, Steve and Robin, when Steve’s girlfriend, Nancy, had come barging in as usual. Eddie had been hoping for a calm day, complete with him lounging on the couch in his sweats munching on Doritos, so he could prep for band practice that night, but the universe clearly had other plans. Nancy had come in while he was grabbing said Doritos, babbling on and on to someone that he’d assumed was Steve or Robin. He remembered sighing and walking to the small living room to tease and give Nancy a hard time but instead, every thought flew out of his head when he saw her. Chrissy Cunningham.

She was the girl Eddie had dreamed about throughout middle and high school. She’d spoken to him a total of four and a half times when they were in Hawkins together but past that? He was sure she didn’t remember him. But he had always remembered everything about her. The bright cheerleader who made him begrudgingly go to pep rallies, just to have an excuse to watch her smile. He’d had such a lovesick, puppy dog, crush on her from afar but Eddie would never tell a soul that fact. He thought that every boy had that girl in their life, right? But those days were long gone and they’d all moved on to the big city with Chrissy Cunningham being the big “What if?” in Eddie’s mind.

So when he saw her standing in his living room, he felt like an utter idiot when he’d dropped the bag of Doritos he’d been holding and immediately felt like a slob for not dressing better. All he could do was stare, which Nancy had never let him live down after that. He remembered Chrissy’s hair being in a half-up kind of ponytail, with a cute white shirt and pink pants on. Looking back, it was funny since they’d looked like total opposites. Chrissy had blushed just a bit, the pink shade going straight to Eddie’s heart, and she smiled at him in surprise.

“Eddie? Is that really you?” Her voice was exactly the same and the fact that she remembered him at all had stroked Eddie’s ego more than he cared to admit. He faltered for just another brief second before putting on his mask full of bravado once more.

“In the flesh, Cunningham.”

After the unexpected reunion, Nancy had included her in all of their friend group activities. Over the last year, Chrissy had gravitated towards Eddie and he really wasn’t complaining. He was just thanking whatever force in the universe decided he’d deserved it. The two of them had caught up, filled in the gaps of where they’d been, and quickly had a familiar routine between the two of them. If Steve or Robin noticed how Eddie bent over backwards for Chrissy, they thankfully didn’t say anything to embarrass him. The two of them had started hanging out on their own at times and while Eddie wasn’t sure how it bad happened, he still wasn’t fucking complaining. They were admittedly a strange pair. The soft, pastel pretty girl and the lanky, loud metal head. But despite everything, they just clicked. He would do anything for her, which is exactly how he’d landed himself in this situation, researching her streaming gear and setup for forty-eight hours straight.

Yeah, sure, he’d lied about knowing how to set things up, but he wanted her to have a hobby that was all hers, like Corroded Coffin was for him. They’d been talking about it on and off for a while now and he was so damn proud of her for wanting to try something new. He wanted this to be as perfect as possible, even if she decided she didn’t like it. It also didn’t hurt that he would get to spend more time with her while he set everything up.

Which is how he’d ended up researching streaming gear and setups for forty-eight hours straight all because he’d lied about knowing how to set things up for her. Just the thought of spending time with her and being the one she called for help was enough motivation. Soon after, he was helping Chrissy put it all together at her place. She’d bought a custom PC and everything, which was pretty impressive to Eddie. The lack of sleep was worth it to see her excitedly turn everything on at the end, knowing she could stream by the end of that week if she really wanted to. Her enthusiasm to do something that was all her own was contagious and Eddie was proud of her at the time.

It’d been a few months since then and it was clear to Eddie that she couldn’t get enough of streaming. He could see why. She was good at it. Chrissy had a laid back personality that made her easy to watch and Eddie made sure to watch every single stream. He felt bad sometimes, thinking of how weird it was to watch the girl who had become his best friend like this. He felt like a voyeur in a way. An innocent voyeur, but a voyeur nonetheless. Of course, he never told Chrissy, instead opting to play it cool and tell her that he caught her streams every now and then. It amazed him how they could be so honest and open about their futures and goals but he still found himself closing this part of himself away from her. He felt lucky enough to just have her at all, so he didn’t want to put anything at jeopardy, even if it meant torturing himself for the rest of his existence. To alleviate some of those thoughts, Eddie also found himself buying a lot of the more expensive items on her wishlist, just to see her smile and scrunch up her nose at the notification. It made his heart thump hard in his chest and do somersaults. He knew that things wouldn’t ever go beyond this. His ego wouldn’t let it happen. Plus, losing a friendship with the one girl he’d ever felt this kind of way for wasn’t high on his to-do list.

——

“Eddie, would you want to help me mod my chat for streams? The channel is growing kind of fast and it’s too much for me to handle alone.” Her innocent question had come out of left field that day. They’d chosen to hang out at her place since she wanted to watch a movie on her off day and they both knew her couch was much more comfortable than the lumpy mess at his shared space. Plus, it meant they had privacy and just the idea made Eddie’s heart leap at the idea that anything could happen here, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Hey, a guy could dream, right?

Her legs were currently draped in his lap as she flipped through the channels on her TV now that the movie was over. The casual touches they shared always drove Eddie into a frenzy but he never crossed the line with her. He realized he’d been a little too deep in thought when she sat up a bit and called his name again.

“Earth to Eddie…” Chrissy gently tugged on a piece of unruly hair and that immediately pulled him from his thoughts.

“Shit sorry!” He shook himself out of his funk to see her looking at him expectantly. “You’re a menace princess, you know that? Give a guy a second huh?” Eddie quickly schooled his features. He couldn’t exactly tell her that he’d noticed her losing focus on stream lately, due to the influx of chatters that were doing their best to get around the auto-mod features she’d set up. Chrissy was cute and that meant some people would be assholes on the internet.

“Uh, yeah,” he tried to be as nonchalant as possible in his response. “I can probably set up an account for modding. It can’t be that hard.” What Chrissy didn’t know was that he would have to set up a brand new account since he already had a secret account. He constantly chatted anonymously with her under his current username, BatSlayer. He’d wanted something to match his personality but also something that wouldn’t let Chrissy know it was actually him.

The only problem was that under the guise of anonymity, Eddie was seen as a regular follower to her. He was there every stream after all, loving the way her eyes would light up when he sent his typical greeting to her in chat. She knew BatSlayer so making a new account with a new username was his only option. Eddie’s cool act was almost blown though when Chrissy leapt over to hug him in thanks, throwing her small arms around his neck. Having her this close sent his brain into overdrive.

“Thank you so much Eddie! You’re a lifesaver!”

“Anytime princess.” His hands naturally fell to her waist, his fingers skimming the skin above the waistband of her sweatpants. His stomach felt like he’d fallen off of a cliff because of her. “Your streams are getting that popular, huh?” He didn’t want her to, but she moved away at his question, and Eddie fought to not look like a rejected puppy.

“Yeah, it’s kind of insane? The channel’s grown so much faster than I thought and I can’t really handle the chat moderation by myself anymore.” She fidgeted with her hair, seemingly nervous. Eddie knew she was being modest. Her channel had exploded after a few clips of her had gone viral. “I wanted my first moderator to be someone I could talk to easily. That way we could figure out the best rules to enforce and exactly how to do it as a team. You helped me set everything up after all, so I thought you’d be a good person to ask.”

“Anytime. Just say the word and you know I’m here to help.” He grinned at Chrissy, hoping she wouldn’t realize just how true that statement was. All she had to say was jump and he would ask how high. She ducked her head down at his smile, cheeks flushing. Eddie wrote the behavior off as her lingering excitement to him agreeing. He always did that when her cheeks were flushed with that sweet color of pink he now only associated with her. She’d never shown particular interest in him romantically, always opting for friendship, but that was fine. Eddie was happy to just make her happy if that’s all she wanted.

“It’s not too bad, honest!” She pulled her legs off of him, getting excited to tell him all about his new job. “For the most part, my regulars are super sweet and supportive. It’s mostly the random viewers that get weird.” Chrissy scrunched her nose in thought, trying to convince him, even though he’d already agreed. It made Eddie’s stomach flop over again.

“Who are the regulars I should know about? They sound pretty good to me if you like them.” Eddie chuckled, playing with fire a bit as he asked the question. He just wanted to see if she would mention his BatSlayer identity. It was childish and stupid, but he still wanted the chance to hear her say something nice about him.

“Well, there’s one person with the name BatSlayer and they always say the best things in chat! They’re super sweet too! Honestly, you’ll probably love them Eddie.” Her eyes softened as she spoke about his alter ego and he felt his heart twist at that.

It was so completely, and utterly stupid to be jealous of himself, but here he was. Sure, Eddie knew he was BatSlayer, but to Chrissy they were another person entirely. That’s why it made Eddie’s jealousy rage inside of him. The thought of Chrissy looking at or thinking of someone in that way was painful. He wanted to be that person, wanted to be the only person like that for her, but he was too scared to say anything. Eddie had found himself pushing his feelings for Chrissy to the back burner over and over again so that they could stay friends. Eddie felt lucky to be with her and he didn’t want to rock the boat.

“BatSlayer huh? Pretty fucking metal of ‘em.” He chuckled when her face lit up at his approval. God, he had it bad for this girl. “Just tell me when the first day on the job is and I’ll be there.”

“How about on this Friday’s stream? I can text you the time I start prepping. We could even hop on a call beforehand to make sure you’re all set up too.” Chrissy looked at him, excitement shining in her eyes, the thought of him joining her world making her glow from the inside. She took his breath away and she didn’t even know it.

“Sounds good. I should be free that day.” She didn’t need to know that he was always free during her streams and that he’d made sure of that a long time ago. Again, she would probably think he was extra weird if she ever found out.

“Thanks Eddie,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at him through the lashes of her big, blue eyes. “You really are the best.”

Eddie fought the urge to groan at the sight of her, and then fought the growing urge to grab her face between his hands and kiss her senseless. Instead, he managed to croak out a small “Yeah, yeah, Cunningham,” as he got up and went to grab some water, all to hide the blush creeping up his neck. She was going to get him into trouble one of these days and Eddie secretly couldn’t wait for that day to happen.

#hellcheer #hellcheer week #hellcheer week 2022 #eddie x chrissy #chrissy x eddie #my fic #streamer!chrissy

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