Officially making this my unofficial archive blog where I'll post and reblog all my work, whatever it might be.
CJ, 29, 29.01, Aquarius, proshipper, misanthrope, nihilist punk. I do my best to be good but I'm bitter and jealous of other peoples lives, of possibilities I never had. I have cPTSD, apparently.
For @steddiemicrofic "plug" | 437 | no cw | musician Eddie, crushes, pre-relationship | thanks @blasvemous for the idea 🥰
"Soundcheck in five! where the fuck is Eddie?!"
Eddie Munson was everywhere. Because somewhere in this fucking venue, there had to be a spare set of earplugs. He kept asking around, everyone had their own noise-canceling headphones on, but someone told him about spare cheap foam plugs in the green room.
He burst in there, grabbed a handful, and was now running around leaving a trail of neon foam pieces behind, searching for something better. He inevitably runs face-first into Chrissy's clipboard.
"Eddie!" She grabs his shoulder in a vice-tight grip, her manicured nails surely leaving a bruised indent in his skin. "We need you for sound check!"
"Well, I need ear protection for Steve, because he's being stupid!" he huffs back, and her glare softens.
Her eyebrows crease together while she holds his vibrating form anchored to their plane of existence.
"Did you check the green room?"
"Yes!" He waves the fistful of earplugs, and it's a good thing they're best friends, because he'd get decked otherwise.
"Try the security room, I'll check with roadies."
He nods, and they move in separate directions, each with their own quest.
"Do the sound check without Eddie, something came up but he'll be there asap," Eddie hears Chrissy's voice in his ear. Sometimes, he wishes they didn't have unfortunate homosexual crushes on their friends so that they could become the perfect unproblematic heterosexual power couple. But alas. Steve and Robin existed and were fucking hot.
Eddie was about to interrupt the broad men clicking through camera footage when he heard someone yell:
"Sir! Mr. Munson!"
And he turned his head to see a green-haired guy waving at him. He wears the same walkie and ear equipment as the rest of the staff so he takes a step back to look at him inquisitively. The guy waves a pair of headphones in the air and Eddie perks up with hope.
"Heard you were looking for some ear muffs. I carry them around in case of panic attacks," he says once they reach each other. Eddie hesitates.
"Are you sure it's okay?"
The man shrugs.
"Just give them back to me at some point. I'm CJ, the staff knows me." He pushes the earmuffs into his hands.
"Okay, shit, thank you so much!" Eddie grins, squeezing his arm in thanks. "I'll make sure they get back to you!"
And then he's off to find Steve.
Steve, the lovely dumbass who said he doesn't need earplugs, he'll just take his hearing aid off.
But Eddie needs him to hear the 'I love you' he's going to say once he grows a pair.
Steve was taking a break from calling clients and munching on his sandwich when his frazzled co-worker stormed in. He never liked the guy, and could never trust someone driven by money like that, but the stormy look on his face gave him a pause. Bill was always composed and giving off the air of a rich boy looking down on anyone else. Whatever put him in such a state must have been big.
When Bill disappears behind the doors of their manager, Steve curiously leans towards Angela.
"What's gotten into his pants?" he murmurs, hoping for a piece of gossip.
Angela scoffs.
"Idiot thought he could sell the Creel House."
Angela wasn't a pleasant person. But she was also blunt and always ready to talk shit. And she had the cutest cats, even if she was a bit obsessed with them. She was Steve's go-to for office gossip. And sometimes extra information he missed as one of the newer employees. Office lore, as Dustin would call it.
"What's the Creel House?" he asks genuinely. She eyes him like he's stupid, but he's dealt with those stares long before her, so he holds it down until she folds.
"It's this old house we haven't been able to sell for years, probably around a decade. There's all kinds of stupid rumors around it, like curses and hauntings," she tells him with an eye roll. He snorts to let her know he shares her opinion, as scoffs, snorts, and eye rolls were the language she understood the best. "Bill thought he could go for it after his selling streak last month. Guess the streak just broke." She smiled in that evil way only introverted old ladies could. A chill went down Steve's spine, but he snickered alongside her.
"What a loser," he commented and focused back on his sandwich, but his imagination was running wild about how the house might look. As soon as he was done with his paperwork for the day, he went looking for the file on Creel's House.
His manager eyed him weirdly, but he assured him it was mostly curiosity speaking through him.
The file had photos from soon after it was built and more recent ones, after a decade of neglect. There weren't many capturing the interior, but if it was anywhere similar to the outside, it should be in good condition for small renovations. It was big, too. Could become a home for a family, their dog, and visiting friends. Maybe someone's lesbian best friend and her love interest, too...
Needless to say, as soon as Steve found out about it, the house wouldn't leave his thoughts. It had a huge backyard that extended into the woods behind it. It was cheap for a house this size, probably because of its bad rap. And, the most important part, it was closer to Robin than the apartment he was currently renting.
The last thing to check off on his list was seeing it in person.
His manager didn't take his request well.
"You think you can do something Bill couldn't?" he asks with his eyebrows raised.
It takes all of Steve's strength not to scoff.
"I'm not planning on selling it. I'm actually considering buying it."
That seems to only amuse his boss further.
"Ha! You wouldn't be the first. Be my guest then." He shrugs, turning to reach a locked cabinet where the keys to the houses are stored. He hands him the ring of old keys. "Knock yourself out." He grins.
"Thank you." Steve nods and turns around to leave the office as soon as possible. He didn't share his plans with any of his coworkers, not interested in hearing their opinions, but he could feel the amused stares Angela was giving him over her coffee when he was packing to leave for the day.
When he's passing by her desk, she leans forward on her elbows, her proper, trimmed nails posed like claws on the mug.
"Any plans for the weekend, Steven?" she asks with all the charm of a feral cat.
Steve knows for a fact that Angela doesn't care about her coworkers' lives unless there are felines or police involved. There's only one reason she could be asking, and it's inside the pocket of his blazer.
"Not really. Might visit a friend." He shrugs. "You?"
"Well, good luck with that," Angela completely ignores his question. "I hope nothing spooky happens on your trip," she says as if she hopes something does happen to him.
"Thank you, Angela, you too." Steve nods to his coworker and leaves hastily so nothing evil attaches to him before he even enters a haunted house.
The house was located an hour's drive away, and he didn't want to rush his exploration, so he waited for the weekend to come around before he went to see it. According to the map, it's been built off the main road, giving a sense of privacy and solitude. It was more part of the forest than the nearest neighborhood. A great place for an eccentric loner or a loud family that didn't want to be a bother.
Steve packed the house files, a notepad, measuring tape, and some lunch for his trip. And, upon some consideration, the upgraded walkie Dustin had given him. He wasn't going to risk being stranded miles from civilization without the means of contact.
It was a Saturday, before noon, but he dialed the number he called at least once a week.
"Hello?" His favorite person picked up on the third ring, the tone of her voice indicating she had been asleep not so long ago.
"Hey Robs."
"Steve! What's up?"
His smile grew. Hearing her always felt better than he imagined when grabbing the phone, and soon he might be able to see her in person.
"Do you have any plans for tonight?" he asks coyly, leaning on the wall in his kitchen.
"I have some papers left to grade and might go grab drinks with the girls later. What about you?"
"I'm about to head out to scout a new house," he says, thumbing at the keys in his pocket. He doesn't want to share his plans yet, since they were mostly wishful thinking. Maybe the repairs were too out of his budget, maybe the house has gotten worse since the last photos of it had been taken. Or maybe there was something weird about it like everyone claimed. "It's on the way to Indianapolis, so if you don't mind, I could make a detour—"
"Do I mind?!" Robin screeches into his ear. He grins despite the volume briefly disorienting him. "I haven't seen you in a month, get your ass down here!"
"Well, how could I say no, when you ask so nicely," he laughs.
"Damn right, I do!" she snickers back. "Now go go go, the sooner you start driving, the sooner you get here!"
"Okay, Jesus, so bossy."
They say their 'see you soon's and Steve grabs his duffel bag. Even if the house is a total bust, at least he'll spend the weekend with his best friend.
The house is not a total bust.
He almost misses the turn leading to it, hidden behind overgrown bushes. The drive quickly turns from asphalt to gravel and then disappears completely, and he hopes the overgrown grass framed with young trees is leading him in the right direction.
His worries subside when he spots the roof peeking from between the trees and he's soon rolling into what probably used to be a driveway.
The sound of his car door closing resonates loudly in the rural scenery, scaring some birds above him. As he eyes the bushes between himself and the house's entrance, he wishes he had taken something other than a club with him. Albeit the worst of it has been torn or pushed aside, probably by Bill who's been here before him. The house itself looks like the pictures, maybe the ivy on the side has grown since then. Despite its age of about forty years and being abandoned, it still looks nice.
He rounds the car and opens up the trunk, where he always had a couple of necessities. A first aid kit, a fire extinguisher, a flamethrower, and such. And the metal bat he reaches for right now. It's better to be safe than sorry, as he's run into squatters before.
He locks the car and using the bat, moves the bushes out of his way to the porch. He tries the steps first, and they seem sturdy so he steps up to the door. The colorful glass in its frame forms a rose. He's not a big fan of the design choice and wonders if it would be hard to get a matching door without it.
The hinges creak loudly when he pushes inside and takes the first proper look at the house's interior. Whoever planned the placement of all the windows did a great job because it felt illuminated from the inside, despite the dust covering everything. On his left is a study room, covered by shelves and with a huge window to provide proper reading light. He gives the cozy-looking chairs a cursory glance and moves on. On the right extends the front porch but with a couple of steps he finds the living room, with an old TV and a collection of couches that indicate the previous owners had a huge group of friends.
Further down, he finds the dining room, the steps to the back porch, and the kitchen, where he stops for longer. Because there on the fridge, in colorful letter magnets, somebody has spelled 'fuck off'.
Steve snickers. He thought it was a nice touch for an allegedly haunted house.
Some of the magnets were holding up drawings of dragons and similar creatures. He spotted some yellowing Spider-Man stickers too, so maybe whatever kids used to live here were also little nerds like his friends. Curiously, he opened the fridge to find an ancient can of Coke inside. The cupboards held long-expired jars of herbs, rice, and pasta. It seemed like the house was never properly cleaned out.
Next on his journey was the upstairs, where he found three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The master bedroom held the biggest and most expensive bed he's ever seen. Dragging it upstairs, even in parts, must have been hell. It had a canopy too, semi-translucent and dark. It partially hid the painting hanging over the headboard, and he had to step closer to take a look at it.
It was another dragon, with its wings spread and toothy mouth dripping with drool on a small figure beneath it - a woman in a skimpy dress, with dragonfly wings. Steve makes a face.
"A man of peculiar taste, I see," he murmurs to himself, backing away from the bed. The rest of the walls had similar paintings of mythical creatures, making Steve wonder what kind of person the previous owner was. And why would he abandon art and furniture that must have cost a small fortune?
He opened the door on the side, which turned out to lead into a small walk-in closet. It had a full length mirror and the few things left on hangers looked more like costumes than regular clothes. The owner must have been an eccentric artist type. An actor, maybe? Or a musician, he notes, spotting an empty guitar stand in the corner.
At least the bathroom looks relatively normal if you don't count the gargoyle faucets added in.
The guest room paintings are far more tame, giving the impression the owner wanted the saucy ones for himself. Aside from that, there's nothing really exciting about them. The furniture looks to be on the more expensive side, but if Steve didn't have his realtor knowledge he proably wouldn't even notice.
He checks the windows, which seem to be in good shape, maybe one or two need replacing, and others just need extra insulation. The back porch looks even better than the front one, but the backyard is a mess. It's surrounded by a tall fence to keep the wildlife away, but throughout the years, the forest started creeping through, the roots digging beneath, plants dropping their seeds to grow. It would be a lot of work to get rid of it.
The whole house was a lot of work, but not as much as Steve had feared. The construction was solid and it stood against weather and abandonment for years without taking much damage. He probably wouldn't need professionals for most of it.
He stood in the middle of the foyer, listening to his guts while looking around the abandoned, empty house. He knew he had time to make a decision. He could talk it out with Robin if he wanted, although keeping it a surprise sounded more fun.
Giving the ground floor one last lazy stroll, he spots a door he had missed earlier. It's smaller than the usual door, making Steve assume it leads to the basement. Or, as the wooden plaque on the door claims, "The Dungeon". Which was not mentioned in the house plans he'd looked through.
He pulls out the key ring from his back pocket to look for the right one, though he doesn't remember 'basement' being among the labels. He flicks through all of them again.
Main. Back. Master. Guest 1. Guest 2.
No basement in sight.
Perhaps the key went loose from the keyring, or it was somewhere in the house. He wasn't about to go on a wild goose chase to see some cobwebs and spiders when the alternative was getting on the road to see his friend.
He steps into the library once again, probably the most normal room of them all, and takes a closer look at the titles on the shelves. It's more fantasy, as he expected, with some classics he's heard about from Dustin, but mostly titles unknown to him. He finds a whole shelf of D&D manuals, too. He picks one up with a curious hum, wondering if there's a way to get those even if he doesn't go with the house after all.
He's not sure how old the game is (Dustin had told him multiple times, but he always forgets) but he wouldn't be surprised if all the released material so far was in here. He gently places the paperback back in its place, assuming that they were stored in order and he didn't want to disturb that. He took a step back to take the room in.
Walls covered in books, floor to ceiling, a fireplace with figurines on the mantle, four cozy armchairs, and a low table with a map under a glass pane. Middle Earth, of course.
The Party would love it, he muses. It doesn't feel like a coincidence, that the house he considers buying, has things that would appeal to his friends. But he knows he has to make a smart decision. And nothing clears his mind better than a night out with his best friend.
For @subeddieweek Day 7 | M | 2696 | cw: age gap (about 25-30y difference, Eddie's age is not stated, Steve's aligns with canon) | camboy Eddie, transmasc Eddie, kinda sugar daddy Steve?, modern AU, simp Steve, virgin Eddie, chatfic, pre-anything, gray ace Eddie | Ao3
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Ao3
"Hawkins High '86? How old is this guy?" Eddie asks himself, his eyebrows raised. There is a letterman in front of him, a gift from one of his top subscribers. Hell, his top subscriber. His number-one fan, who was responsible for about half of his revenue.
He's opened a PO box recently, with no little amount of worry about what kind of stuff he might get. He only gave the address to his top subscribers but he knew that the ones with the most money were usually the most unhinged. He went to the post office with his heart in his throat but all he got was a set of lingerie, a toy, and the letterman he was now holding.
He tried not to think about what kind of people would pay for his content. As long as he was making money he didn't care. But now he got a piece of one of them in his hands. Staring back.
1986.
Meaning the guy must be nearing 60. Double Eddie's age.
He tries to imagine that. An older guy, with wrinkles, maybe a beer belly, a gross old t-shirt, and his hand permanently in his sweats, beating it to his photos.
It was gross. And in a way, alluring.
Though someone with so much money to spend on a camboy must have a well-paying job. Some rich asshole, exploiting others to do the work for him. That's a more likely scenario. He tries not to think about big, rough hands on him when he puts on the jacket and takes pics for Shar.
He edits them a bit before sending them, knowing the guy will get a kick from seeing him in his jacket. The appeal of wearing your boyfriend's letterman eluded him in high school, but being claimed like that gave him a heady feeling. The fact that the guy could be his father apparently worked for him too.
He doesn't put his phone away fast enough and sees the message that pops up.
Shar: So hot. You look like every repressed teen jock's dream
Shar: Definitely like mine
Eddie thinks a moment about his response, channeling the persona he takes on for the camera.
PuppetOfMasters: Would I be your dirty secret?
PuppetOfMasters: Would you fuck me in the locker room behind your girlfriend's back?
Shar: I'd make YOU my girlfriend
Shar: Wait no
Shar: NOT LIKE THAT
Shar: A girlfriend but in a manly way
Eddie snorts.
You're good, he types. I know what you mean, don't worry.
He wouldn't keep around someone who didn't respect him. Besides, he made it clear he's saving for a transition with his Only Fans.
Thank god, Shar types. I respect who you are
Shar: In fact, I spend so much money on you because of it.
Eddie rolls onto his other side, his mood souring. One of those trans fetishists, then. That's fine, as long as he's being respectful and paying... Even if it leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth.
Ah, a connoisseur! Well, I hope I'm your favorite tranny, then, he jokes. He waits for an answer, but it doesn't come for a long while, so he flips his phone screen down and turns away, hoping for sleep.
A response is waiting for him when he wakes up.
Shar: I guess it sounded that way, but I'm not that kind of pervert. You're the only trans sex worker I follow, but not the only trans person I've sent money to.
Eddie sauntered to the bathroom, not taking his eyes off his phone. He wonders if continuing the conversation is even the right move. He's talked to one too many guys who thought sending him a dick pick was okay after ten minutes of small talk between a content creator and a fan.
But he's kind of curious. When he has money to spare, he sends some change to other trans folks to help out, because he knows how hard it is from his own experience. But why Shar, a seemingly loaded old guy, would spend his money on queers instead of, let's say, starving children?
PuppetOfMasters: So you're just an ally with cash? Or is there more to it? I'm curious.
He goes through his morning routine, washing his face, and brushing his teeth, not expecting Shar to get back to him any time soon. So he's surprised when he picks his phone back up and a response is waiting.
Shar: Long story short, I hope my father is rolling in his grave while I spend his inheritance on people he hated so much.
That's not what Eddie expected at all.
PuppetOfMasters: So I'm a means of rebellion against your bigoted dead father? I'll take that. I hate rich assholes
Shar: Me too
They don't talk for the whole day after that, but when Eddie's done running errands and editing in the evening, he looks back at the letterman hanging on the door of his wardrobe.
How is sending me your letterman an act of rebellion? he asks. Because he's a curious little shit.
The response comes fast like the guy is glued to his Only Fans chat. Gross. Eddie wonders briefly if he's talking with other sex workers there.
Shar: A souvenir of his precious high school fetishized on a queer ssex worker? He'd die if he hadn't already
So it is a fetish thing! Eddie smiles triumphantly at his phone.
Shar: Okay, fine
Shar: Sticking it to my father is just a bonus for you being really hot.
Shar: And I do love seeing you in my letterman, I've jerked off to it three times already
Shar: is that what you wanted to hear?
Eddie grins, rolling on his bed.
PuppetOfMasters: Yes
Shar: So yeah, I'm an old man who peaked in high school, laugh it up
PuppetOfMasters: I'd rather you peaked in me
Shar: Insufferable
Shar: Menace
Shar: Yeah, I'd love that. A man can dream, right?
Eddie bites his lip. How far is too far? The guy seems genuine and after the amount of creeps that's been chatting him up, he thinks his creep radar is quite good. Tentatively, he starts typing.
PuppetOfMasters: I don't know. I think people would like seeing me get railed by an older guy
Shar: An old guy, you mean
Shar: You'd make a video with me?
PuppetOfMasters: I record most of the sex I have, yes
Shar: Huh. I've never seen one before, then
PuppetOfMasters: warm, warmer
Shar: ... There aren't any?
PuppetOfMasters: din ding ding! ya boy is a virgin
Shar: shit
Shar: fuck
Shar: that's so hot
Shar: you'd let me?
PuppetOfMasters: Would I let my best-paying subscriber be my first time on camera? Probably
Not necessarily to be released but he couldn't lose the possibility of such golden content in case it was watchable.
Shar: I'd better keep my spot then. Just in case.
PuppetOfMasters: No worries, you seem the most trustworthy so far anyway.
But as he types it, a new notification appears. Shar sent him a hefty tip on one of his photos.
PuppetOfMasters: That's really not necessary
PuppetOfMasters: But I hope your father is kicking and screaming in his coffin
Shar: I fucking hope so
----
It takes Eddie another day to google Hawkins High's yearbook photos. He'd thought about it before but didn't want to break the bubble of anonymity between himself and his fan. But the thoughts of big hands on his hips, and beard rubbing against his neck, took root in his brain and were tainting his mind.
Not fully in tune with his body and distrustful of others, Eddie has been single for most of his life. And now his stupid horny brain was drooling at the thought of losing his virginity to a grandpa on the internet.
Hoping it would help his thoughts calm down, he looks through the photos from the year 1986, in search of a Harrington. And he finds him.
Steve Harrington. Basketball captain and swim team co-captain. His hairdo was magnificent and his smile was self-confident. Eddie would hate him in high school. Should probably hate him now. So he expands his search further, beyond the Hawkins High memory lane.
He finds one single photo on a LinkedIn profile.
The current Steve Harrington's hair is no less magnificent, just peppered with silver. He wears glasses now, which accentuate the line of his jaw and make his neatly trimmed facial hair pop out. He's wearing a yellow jacket and a white golf, which should be hideous but weirdly, works for him. Eddie doesn't get to see his eyes, unfortunately. The photo looks like a candid photo shoot take-out after someone told him a joke. His head is tilted down, eyes scrunched and lips pulled in a smile, as a bubbling laugh got immortalized on camera.
Eddie shouldn't be finding a sixty-year-old man this endearing.
PuppetOfMasters: I like your LinkedIn photo
PuppetOfMasters: Well, I hope it's you.
PuppetOfMasters: Steve, right?
He can't forget about this for the whole day, not as he budgets his income, and especially not when he records a short video jerking off in the shower. He tries not to look at his phone but it's his only one, so he does while trying to budget in a second one, just for sex work. Maybe then he wouldn't be feeling so insane about not getting a response from a stranger who is an old pervert spending loads of money on him.
He tries to be normal when a chat notification finally pops up.
Shar: If you saw the golf and yellow jacket photo, that's me
Shar: though please don't make me type my full name in here.
no worries, Eddie types back so fast he should be embarrassed. It's a good photo.
Shar: Thanks. My best friend took it
PuppetOfMasters: Your friend has a good eye
Shar: I'll let her know
Shar: I'm surprised it took you this long to search me up
Eddie's surprised too. Usually, his curiosity would take over him sooner.
PuppetOfMasters: I tried not to pry. But I had to in case we were gonna meet up one day
Shar: So you were serious?
Shar: I've been wondering if you sweet-talk all your followers like that
PuppetOfMasters: Only the ones that don't send me dick pics
Shar: I knew holding back would pay off
Eddie snorts at his phone.
Though I might need one before we meet up, he types. Gotta know what I'm working with
Shar: Right. Of course
Shar: So how would that work?
Eddie hasn't thought about it this far.
PuppetOfMasters: I need to read about OF's policy on collabs. Never had to before, since I work solo. Would probably have to hire you, well, sign a commission/gig contract or something like that. So it's all legal and shit.
Shar, Steve, doesn't answer for a long while, and it might be the end of his devirginizing journey. Well, if the guy doesn't want to make this legal, put his name on some paperwork, then he isn't trustworthy, and that's the end of it.
It's half an hour later and Eddie's bitten all his nails off trying not to follow up with any messages and focus on anything else when an answer finally comes.
Shar: Sorry my friend was bothering me
Shar: this sounds more complicated than I anticipated. So I would be like, a co-creator, then?
PuppetOfMasters: Precisely
Shar: Holy shit okay
Shar: Thought I'd be you know, less involved
Though you could hit it and quit it, huh? Eddie scrunched his nose. What was he getting himself into? Gods.
Shar: If that's what you wanted I'd take it
Eddie shouldn't be blushing over this one. It's like he's throwing the man scraps and he's licking them up.
PuppetOfMasters: Simp
Shar: I am what I am
Shar: With that said, I'm willing to make it work. Do all the paperwork you need
PuppetOfMasters: Doing paperwork just to fuck me? so romantic
Shar: I suck at paperwork so my friend would be doing it anyway
Shar: If that's okay
PuppetOfMasters: I think it's best if someone looks it over, yeah
Eddie hesitates for a moment.
PuppetOfMasters: That friend doesn't happen to be your wife?
Fuck no, comes the immediate response
Shar: I'm perpetually single and she's as gay as they come.
PuppetOfMasters: Good. Wouldn't want to be the other girl
Shar: If I had the chance you'd be the only one
PuppetOfMasters: Jesus.
Eddie squeezes his legs together unconsciously.
PuppetOfMasters: Stop sweet talking me, I've already agreed to fuck
Shar: But we haven't signed anything yet. Even then, I'll keep sweet-talking you. It's what you deserve.
For the first time, Eddie thinks he might not survive their meeting. And not because of the possible killer scenario. Thankfully, Steve gets back to business talk.
Shar: How would this work, legal stuff aside? Do you script this?
PuppetOfMasters: Do I look like I script shit?
Shar: I'm not the one with Only Fans
PuppetOfMasters: Fair. I think we could just set up cameras and do whatever we feel like. Then decide together if the footage will be released or not.
Shar: Sounds reasonable
Shar:When would you want to do this?
When?
Eddie hasn't thought that far. In fact, he felt like he hadn't been thinking for the past couple of days.
I'm the sole god of my schedule so I'm open to anything, he types evasively.
Shar: I have some time off next month, could fly to wherever you need me
Next month seemed close. Extremely close. Or maybe it wasn't? He never worked with anyone before. Hell, he didn't even have that many friends to meet up with.
Next month works I guess, he answers despite his nerves.
Shar: Wanna face time before we start the legal work?
His nerves escalate, making his mouth dry. He reminds himself he's done this before, he's on camera all the time.
PuppetOfMasters: Like, right now?
Shar: Yeah?
PuppetOfMasters: Ok, give me five minutes.
Eddie shoots up, checks himself in the mirror, and finds a good angle for his phone to set up. He lowkey hopes Steve picks up with his dick in the frame so Eddie can block him with a clear conscience and forget about the whole thing. When six minutes from his last message pass, he hits 'call'.
"Hi," Eddie squeaks when the video connects. Steve Harrington's arms are in the frame, crossed on the desk, and toned where he's leaning on them.
"Hi," he greets him with a dazzling smile.
It is the guy from the photo, so at least he's not being catfished. And he has none of the creepy simp energy Eddie feared. He's just... a guy. It's both a relief and a disappointment.
"Well?" the guy asks.
"Well, what?" Eddie frowns.
"Are you disappointed? Am I too old?"
Eddie looks at him properly. His hair is lighter on the sides, but not grey yet, and the video quality doesn't make any wrinkles stand out to him. Maybe some worry lines, crow's feet if he squints. He looks like he keeps in shape, too. Eddie wouldn't call him old. Mature, maybe. A DILF slowly transforming into a Silver Fox.
"You look fine. Good. You look good. Attractive," Eddie fumbles with his words and barely stops himself from facepalming. This is why he mostly texts.
Steve smirks at him. And holy shit, a dude twice his age smirking at him shouldn't be doing things to his body.
"You sure? You're not gonna block me after we hang up, are you?"
Eddie shakes his head.
"I stand by our plans. You're passing my creep radar so far, but uh..." He scratches his cheek nervously. "I'd like to keep in touch in case, you know. A red flag pops up. I hope you get it."
Steve nods, his expression growing serious.
"Absolutely. We're strangers, after all."
"Yeah." Eddie nods, relieved. It would give him ample time and opportunities to back out.
On the screen, Steve leans more on his arms, closer to the camera.
"So I think dick assessment is next on the checklist?"
Eddie might not even survive video calls with this guy, after all.
@steddiemicrofic Score | 351 | T | Witness Protection, Post-Canon, Getting Back Together, Actor Steve, Composer Eddie | Ao3
If Steve wasn't one of the actors, this would have been much harder. As it is, he only had to beg his agent to beg the audio department to give him the contact information of the score composer. Because when he tried contacting the orchestra director, he just spread his hands helplessly.
"We got the music sheet from the soundtrack producer and worked it out through him. We've never met Kasandra," the man said, before leaning conspiratorially towards him. "Although, I bet it's not her real name; she seems really secretive. Maybe someone big? Who knows."
Of course it's not a real name, Steve growled inside his head. And the only big thing about her, are her fucking balls.
From there, it only takes a few fake phone calls to get Kasandra Buckingham's address.
When he knocks, he ducks under the visor's view, and once the doors open, he grabs them so she can't slam them in his face.
Or he can't.
"Hi, Kas," Steve says, bullying his way inside past the stunned ghost from his past.
Eddie swiftly closes the door after him. He peeks behind the window curtains, and fixes them back in place with anxiety in his eyes.
"How did you find me?" he hisses, following Steve deeper into his apartment.
Instead of an answer, he's wrapped in a tight hug. Reflexively, he returns it, probably even more desperately. His eyes sting.
"Just wanted to tell Kassandra how great was the soundtrack she wrote."
"I had no idea you'd be in the movie," Eddie sobs.
"Sounds like a hell of a coincidence, huh? I'd never look at an indie slasher if I wasn't starring in it."
"It does," he admits. "I can't believe you remembered it," he adds quietly.
Now Steve knows he put it there in hopes of being found.
"The song you tortured me with everyday? You didn't even change the title."
Eddie pulls away to look him in the eyes.
"The title was a very important part. Still is."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Years might have passed, but "Loverboy" still plays in their chests when they kiss.
Are you ready for gothic lovey-dovey body horror Steddie????
For @strangerthingsreversebigbang,
written by yours truly,
inspired by art by @lulalulens
and beta read by @stevesjockstrap and @hiei-harringtonmunson,
The Death and Life of Edward Munson will start posting next week!
Here's the gorgeous banner Lulens made
and here's a snippet to get you hooked:
Cutting into flesh had become easier now that Steve knew what it was for.
Who it was for.
What before felt gross and disturbing now filled him with purpose. He had a goal, far greater than passing medical school. He was no longer directionless, going with every push his father would give him. Now, he was pushed forward by love. And in front of him, just out of his reach, was Edward Munson.
It was for him that Steve would make deals with undertakers, rub his skin raw with disinfectant and cut, cut, cut. Then, he would pick only the best—any blemish, even a hint of imperfection, would not touch his Edward. Only the freshest, healthiest parts would go into the ice and then down to the basement.
He had cut out the prettiest of livers—from a young lady, untouched by alcohol or red meat. In fact, she might have died of malnutrition, if the poor soul hasn't hung herself in her mother's garden first. As long as he wasn't using her brain, it did not matter.
The wooden crate was filled with ice, the cold seeping painfully into his fingers and his chest where it was pressed against him. He was always too eager to bring it down to remember about gloves or a coat. Besides, the sooner he could get the fresh parts to Edward and Professor, the better. The basement was so cold the ice in his hands almost didn't make a difference anyway.
And for him, Steve would gladly make it colder if he could.
The doors were heavy to insulate against any warmth seeping from upstairs. There were no windows and the lighting was sparse to limit the heat sources only to absolute necessity. Edward's basement was the first place where Steve had seen an electric light bulb, which still gave off heat, but not as much as the candles and gas lanterns he was used to.
Despite the darkness, Steve's legs knew where the steps were, so he didn't fear tripping, even when his eyes focused on the center of the room and not where he was going. As long as Edward's liver in his arms was safe, it didn't matter.
Because there he was—on the table in the middle of the basement. His alabaster skin illuminated by a singular bulb, now used by Professor Creel by the desk. It highlighted the grooves of his face, making them even sharper, almost life-like. Steve yearns to see them move, to witness the eyelids blink and the lips curve into a smile.
For the last day of Transmasc Eddie Week @genderthings | Prompt: Wayne
G | 409 | Eddie&Wayne | cw: misgendering | Transmasc Eddie, supportive Wayne
Wayne has been a great uncle, supportive of Eddie's weirdness even if he didn't fully understand it. Even if he keeps falling back on referring to him by name to avoid using any pronouns.
Sometimes Eddie feels like he's just patiently waiting for him to change his mind. To go back to being his unproblematic niece.
Eddie hopes it will grow on him instead and Wayne will see him as his nephew one day. Maybe once he chops off his tits and grows a beard. For now he's just grateful for not being called a girl.
At home at least.
By the time the officer walks him to the trailer, he's been called a young lady enough times for his eyes to start welling up.
He's not sure if he wants Wayne to be home or not, but feels relieved when he opens up after the officer's harsh knock.
"Mornin', Wayne. Found your niece selling drugs behind a bar."
Niece. Eddie sets his mouth into a thin line and refuses to show the hurt.
Wayne on the other hand, doesn't have such qualms. His face turns stormy as his eyes set on Eddie.
"What?"
"I like you, Wayne, and I know you're new to the parenting thing. So I'll let her go with a warning. But I won't be so nice the second time."
Wayne nods, his mood not changing. "Appreciate it, chief."
They shake hands and the officer motions at Eddie to go inside.
"I better not see you out there again."
"You won't," Wayne assures him, since Eddie pushes into the trailer without a word.
The door slams shut behind him and he's determined to make it to his room until Wayne's angry voice reaches his ears.
"Son."
Eddie freezes with his hand on the doorknob.
"I'm very disappointed—"
"You called me 'son'."
Silence settles between them, with Eddie too ashamed of his tears and too scared of what he will see on his uncle's face to turn around.
Eventually, Wayne clears his throat.
"Well, you are my son now, and I don' want you following your father's footsteps. This is not what being a man is about."
Slowly, with his head down, Eddie turns and walks straight into his uncle's chest.
"Call me 'son' again and I won't even touch alcohol," he jokes in a snotty voice.
"Hell nah, son," Wayne snorts, giving him a slightly awkward hug that Eddie immediately returns. "We're having a beer."
Eddie looks up from his morning cartoon, slowly chews and swallows his cereal and answers with a confused frown, "Uh, socks?"
"Uh huh." Steve puts his hands on his hips, and not in the fun way. "Why are they green?"
With his frown deepening, Eddie takes his next guess. "Fabric dyes? And before you ask me about those, I don't know." He splays his hands out helplessly, almost spilling milk from his cereal bowl. "I know the red one is made from some bugs, that's it. And another one from beaver's— no, that was raspberry flavor."
"You know, last time I checked, I didn't own any green socks," Steve gives him another hint in this peculiar game Eddie doesn't know the rules to.
"Well, they aren't mine," he says, though it's already obvious. He doesn't wear prep boy socks, he wears cool boy socks. Either plain black or covered in Pokemon. Their vastly different styles prevent laundry mix ups and make sorting clothes easy.
"Well, they might as well be now, because they were white the last I checked. You know, before I put them in the laundry," Steve finally explains, pissier than ever.
"Oh," Eddie says. And then, "Oh," when he puts two and two together. The first two being Steve's white socks, the other...
Steve produces a ball of fabric in perfect, festive green. "What the fuck is this?" he asks.
"Christmas boxers," Eddie slides a little down the couch.
"Yeah? And what are christmas boxers, covered in green ass fucking trees, doing in my white laundry?"
With his free hand, the one not holding a bowl, Eddie pulls his hair over his face, dipping even further into the couch. "Wrecking havoc," he mutters.
"They sure fucking are!"
Eddie yelps when the still damp fabric hits his head. Then another.
With a deep sigh, Steve joins him on the other end of the couch. "You better bring them back to white or I'll be expecting a new pair for christmas," he huffs while Eddie peels the socks and boxers off his head. "Which, by the way..." Steve turns sideways to give him his judgemental look head-on. "It's November."
"Okay?" Eddie raises an eyebrow, confused yet again.
"I get an ugly sweater or two, but underwear? In November?"
"I'm getting ready for the season," Eddie explains, tucking his legs in and finishing his breakfast.
"Don't tell me you're one of these Christmas obsessed freaks."
Eddie gives a non-committal shrug, avoiding his eyes.
"Eddie..." Stee squints at him.
He takes a glance at him and gives an awkward chuckle, scraping his spoon against the almost empty bowl. "Is it a bad moment to tell you Wayne is coming over tomorrow? With all my christmas decorations?"
Steve feels like he goes through five stages of grief in ten seconds.
"Oh, Jolly."
My elves: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @hiei-harringtonmunson (this is what i had been talking about that one time) @stevesjockstrap
Eddie has made a mistake. He's made many, actually, but one of them has led him to this timeline. The one where Steve Henderson refuses to wear a shirt.
It's like that day he accidentally walked into the romance isle at the library, if one of the book covers came to life to haunt him. Or seduce him, presumably. He's not dressed for the occasion though, he's left his flowy night gown at the trailer.
He's actually on his way out to go get it, when Dustin gets in the way.
"Where are you going?" he asks, already accusatory.
"To grab my gown."
"I'm sure Steve can lend you something to sleep in," his friend counters, completely missing the obvious point, and pushes him back inside the house.
"I don't think Steve has anything to sleep in at all. He doesn't look the type."
Dustin sends him a confused look and Eddie doesn't have the heart, or the patience, to explain to him that his brother is a slut.
"Fine," he sighs. "But your brother is putting on a shirt." His jacket goes back on the hook and he walks back towards the stairs. As he passes by the living room, he hears:
"No, he's not!"
Eddie presses his lips together. How is he supposed to focus in these conditions?
"You know, gay courting is weirder than I thought it would be. Someone should make a study on this," Dustin observes, closing the door to his room after them. He is completely unfazed by the demonic hiss Eddie sends his way.
"There is no courting happening! And if there is, it's one-sided!"
"Yeahhh, that's why shirtless Steve is bothering you so much." Dustin nods his fake understanding.
"I'm starting to think you don't want me to graduate."
"Yeah, that's why I skipped going to the comic store with Lucas today. Because making you fail is more important."
Eddie winces, hearing in his friend's tone that he's overstepped this time.
"Okay, sorry. I see your point."
"Good, get used to it."
Eddie rolls his eyes. Clearly, both of the brothers will be plaguing his life now, one way or another.
"I don't think it's physically possible for me," he mutters under his breath but sits down on the extra chair that's been brought to Dustin's room just for him, preparing himself for another round of 'Is Eddie Munson capable of doing math?'—a game that's become very popular in this house over the last week.
Over the course of a few days, Eddie becomes suspicious if the Henderson brothers are in cahoots against him. For his own good too, somehow? Because now that Steve has abandoned decency and shame, Eddie is less willing to explore the house on his pee breaks, lest he'll run into some bare nipples. (And a hairy chest, and jock muscles. Not that he's been looking, they're just right there in your face.) Instead, he holes himself up in Dustin's room, which is relatively safe, and gives himself over to the little genius.
Unfortunately, as a legitimate part of the household himself, Steve is free to roam all the rooms, his brother's included. And in a true older brother fashion, he loves to bother his younger sibling. Eddie tries to be extra focused on his work whenever he'd pop in to ask about the most mundane stuff or simply 'check in on them', which means staring for a minute from the doorframe before leaving the door open just to infuriate Dustin.
He also doesn't share Eddie's stance on avoiding each other. He'll ask if he's staying for dinner or if he can have a can of his Mountain Dew (Eddie started bringing his own drinks and snacks to feel less like a free-loader), like there wasn't a universal law that after a rejection, both parties should awkwardly ignore the other's existence.
Once again, Eddie is the odd one by having his whole world shift on its axis after finding out a guy is into him. Meanwhile Steve is acting like nothing has happened, except seemingly foregoing a shirt more often, probably to mock Eddie with his manly appeal.
'Oh, look what you're missing out on!' his nipples seem to taunt him in a high pitched voice every time he gets an eyeful.
Even Claudia seems to be against him, asking if Steve and Dustin could go to his concert. Eddie almost stabs himself in the face with a fork full of mashed potatoes when he hears it.
"Uh, it's hardly a concert," he deflects, lowering the dangerous utensil in his grasp. "There's a stage and five people too drunk to listen in, which is probably why they haven't kicked us out yet." He chuckles dryly, scratching at his cheek. "More of a live practice than anything."
"You could have two sober people in the audience," Claudia points out. "Or three, I'm sure Robin would tag along as well."
Eddie indulges her with a laugh. "She would. But I don't think Steve would be happy with the music. We're no ABBA."
She raises her eyebrows, eyeing the two boys. "Steve? The same Steve who has Metallica tapes in his glove box? That's the kind of music you play, right?" She frowns momentarily, like forgetting what genre Eddie Munson's band plays would be a great faux pa on her side.
"Ye—yes, it is." He nods in surprise. On his right, Steve makes a panicked sound.
"Oh, I'm sorry, is it like, an embarrassing secret I shouldn't talk about?" Claudia blinks innocently at her older son.
Eddie watches the flush spreading down to his neck.
"Well," Steve clears his throat. "I don't think I'm cool enough for Eddie's standards anyway," he says, sparing him a quick glance. Little shit.
"Well, he hangs out with Dustin."
"Mom?!"
Eddie snorts in surprise and promptly starts choking on air.
"Oh, I'm just joshin', Dusty, you're plenty cool." Claudia waves placatingly at her son, who doesn't seem placated at all.
In the coolness scale of The Universe, being called cool by a parent puts your points in the negatives—it's a well-known truth. Eddie briefly wonders if he should add Coolness statistics to his campaign. But that would put Wheeler at a major disadvantage.
"They're their own kind of cool," Steve says with a laugh.
Eddie, pulled from the impromptu how-to-fuck-over-my-players scheming in his head, gasps. "Pardon?" He widens his eyes in offense, clutching at his heart.
"Oh, you know." Steve waves his hand flippantly. "There's the popular cool and the bad boy cool. It's, uh..." He snaps his fingers, trying to attract the right word. "A line, but—"
"A spectrum," Eddie provides.
"Yes, that! A spectrum of coolness." Steve beams at him. It's way too easy to mirror it back at him, even though Eddie knows he could never radiate a puppy dog energy like that.
Dustin scrunches his nose. "Am I a bad boy cool on this spectrum?" he asks.
Steve and Eddie turn to look at him in unison.
"N—" Steve opens his mouth to answer but Eddie butts in.
"The chicken is to die for today, Miss Mom!" he declares loudly, grinning at Claudia and ignoring Dustin's glare. As a Dungeon Master, he's become really good at it. You kind of have to after you accidentally teepeekay your players only a month into a campaign.
You also get very good at lying. They can never know you fumbled the math on the encounter difficulty.
Steve is fully clothed and on dish duty, so Eddie gently pushes Dustin out of the way.
"I'll do it," he says, hoping against all hope that Dustin will spare him a snarky comment. Might have as well wished for Hell to freeze over.
"You're gonna make a move?" Dustin 'whispers', eyes wide with excitement but mouth curled for teasing. Oh, the things Eddie is going to do to his character.
"Yes." He waves his hands dismissively. "So you better scram before you see too much."
It doesn't get the desired effect of making him squirm, but at least he starts retreating from the doorway.
"Sure sure, I'll give you some privacy." He grins his shitheaded grin before leaving for upstairs.
It's like he wants to get strangled in his sleep.
Eddie isn't even sure what his angle is, at this point, but he's good at improv, so he can cook something up on the spot for sure. Or so he thought.
"Why the hell are you shirtless?!"
Steve's chest turns towards him, his head following with a baffled expression. "Because I don't want to get my shirt wet?" his mouth says.
Eddie scoffs. "Right, duh, silly me. Such an obvious solution."
Steve's eyebrows crease in the middle.
"Do you need anything?" his mouth asks bitchily and Eddie suddenly remembers this is a whole person he's having a weird beef with. He misses their friendly bickering from before The Incident.
"I wanted to help? I don't feel like I've been pulling my weight, recently," he half-jokes. He didn't think he'd miss cooking either. Well, helping with cooking. Peeling potatoes is a serious job.
"Knock yourself out." Steve motions to the dripping plates on the rack.
"Cool, on it." Eddie grabs a clean dishtowel and starts drying the dishes. His mouth starts itching to talk immediately and he's unfortunately, a compulsive scratcher. Mosquito bites? Try a skin crater. He tries rubbing his teeth against his bottom lip—it helps with sneezing, doesn't it?—but to no avail. "So, Metallica?"
Steve makes a weird sound, like a sigh and a grumble in one.
"I promise not to tell the other jocks," Eddie offers, hoping that if he throws enough jokes out, one of them will stick and maybe it will pull them out of this weird space they've found themselves in. Though it shouldn't be his job and Eddie doesn't like to point fingers, but... "But if you actually like it, I could give some recommendations. You know, as a local metal expert."
Steve snorts. And that's a bingo, ladies and gentlemen and whoevers!
"Metal expert?"
"You doubting my expertise?"
"I don't think you have the beard to call yourself an expert. Are you even legally allowed to drink?" Steve raises an eyebrow.
"Almost!" Eddie sputters indignantly. "And what does a beard have to do with metal?" he asks, rubbing at his chin self-consciously. Okay, so maybe it hasn't been coming along as nicely as he'd like, but it's not a metalhead prerequisite. Long hair and a battle vest are.
"Uh, years of experience and wisdom," Steve says in his bitchiest tone. Eddie wants to both slap him and squish his cheeks. "Don't you have like, a metal guru or something?"
Does he? Rick would probably burst another appendix if anyone called him any kind of mentor. Wayne doesn't mind the music, but it was his friend that brought Eddie some of his first tapes. He's just gathering his metal knowledge as he goes.
"Not really." He shrugs. "I meet people, I read, I listen. It's constant work, being a front man." Eddie puffs out his chest.
Steve chuckles. "Right, almost forgot about your band. Do you have any tapes yet or do I have to go to a concert to hear your music?"
Eddie makes a face. "I wish I could call that a concert. It's more like band practice in a better setting. And with an audience of five; ten on a good day."
"Yeah, you've said that." Steve nods with a thoughtful hum.
It feels nice to be listened to, Eddie realizes. Which is normal for his gathering of sheepies, but not regular people in the wild.
"We haven't recorded anything yet, so if you want to hear Corroded Coffin in all it's glory, I'm afraid you'll have to get yourself dirty at the Hideout on some Tuesday."
"They gave you a Tuesday slot?" Steve scrunches his nose. "That's rude."
Eddie laughs. "That's what you get when you're a group of high-schoolers playing a genre that's not very good for dancing."
For a second, Steve just stares at him, and he feels immensely the lack of wet dishes he could occupy his hands with.
"We'll come," Steve says with conviction. "And I'll make sure Claudia stays home."
"That was even an option?!" Eddie hisses, his eyes going wide and glancing at the open kitchen door as if the woman of the house could appear there at any moment.
Steve shrugs nonchalantly. "I mean, she'd definitely want to hear you play, but I can probably convince her it wouldn't be cool for your street cred. She's weirdly supportive for a mother."
They're both silent for a beat, resuming their wash and dry routine.
"That's actually nice of her," Eddie comments after a moment.
"Right?"
"I'm guessing your mom wasn't…?" he asks tentatively.
Steve hums, considering his answer. "Sometimes she was. Very selectively, though. Like, she wouldn't show up for any of my games, but she made a special place for trophies I'd win. She didn't like that I picked up French, but she would make sure I had something nice to wear for prom and stuff. So. Sometimes." He repeats with a shrug.
Eddie gives him a skeptical glance.
"I don't know, man; sounds like she only wanted to show you off."
He's worried that he might be overstepping, already throwing back the trust Steve put on him by sharing personal stuff, but the guy only laughs.
"Yeah, probably. When I stopped being so show-able, she cared even less. Couldn't even tell me she's disappointed because she'd rarely be at the house. Her and dad both. Which is how I ended up here, actually."
"Yeah? How did that happen?" Eddie picks up immediately, the little curious gremlin in his brain peeking out of the crate where it usually slumbers. Admittedly, mostly during classes.
Steve sighs. He's probably heard this question, and told this story, a million times; which Eddie can sympathize with so he holds the gremlin back to show some mercy.
"You don't have to tell me, of course. Though I am curious, not gonna lie. Henderson wouldn't budge about it." He let's out a small chuckle as both he and the curious gremlin hold their breaths.
"No, it's okay." Steve shrugs and the gremlin settles in his crate for a story. "Remember the Starcourt fire?"
"Yeah." Hard not to, probably the biggest thing that's happened in Hawkins since it's been established. "You were there, right?"
Steve nods. "The paramedics wanted an adult to pick me up and held me in the hospital while they tried to contact my parents. They couldn't, and they found no trace of them in my previous records, so the CPS got involved and—"
"Wait, what do you mean no trace of them?" Eddie frowns.
"Well... The hospital keeps track of their patients, and until you're 18, a guardian has to sign you out. But on all my recent records it's been Hop or, uh. Other. Cop figures." He goes to scratch at his face but retracts his hand to the dishtowel to dry himself off. Tragically, the dirty dishes came to an end.
"The fuck is your life, man?" Eddie raises his eyebrows as he dries off the last pot. "Why are cops bailing you out of the hospital?"
"So the CPS don't get involved?" Steve suggests dryly.
"Well, they failed this time," he scoffs.
Steve's face crumbles with emotions too complicated for his age. "Hard to sign a paper from the grave."
"Huh?" Eddie frowns, trying to pick apart the information he's been given. He remembers his uncle reading the newspaper.
'I wonder which bastard they make chief this time. I already miss the guy.'
"Chief Hopper was your bail?"
Steve nods once.
"Damn, man." Eddie bites his lip, not sure what to say. He hates moments like this, his stupid yapper aching to belch out anything that would stop the silence. "I'm sorry," he settles on, pulling from his limited experience on death and loss. "Where you guys close?"
Steve cocks his head, considering the question.
"In a way," he settles on, which raises more questions than answers. "We kept running into the same shit."
Again. Million questions. But Eddie promised to be good and not push his luck.
"You want some tea?" Steve asks suddenly.
He reacts slowly, not sure he's still in the same conversation, but nods.
"Sure."
Thankfully, the process is splash free enough that Steve opts to pull his shirt back on. If he flexes his muscles a bit more than necessary while doing so, Eddie won't be calling him out on that. Again, he's trying to be nice.
And also, unseductable.
"What happened after the CPS showed up?" Eddie prods when they wait for the water to boil. For a second, Steve seems confused but he quickly gets pulled back on track, to Eddie's relief.
"Right. Well, since I wasn't 21 and there was no trace of my parents even being in Hawkins for the past three years, they were very close to putting me in a foster home. But Dustin's a nosy bastard so he found out immediately, and soon all the kids and their parents knew and were offering to take me in." Steve pauses to pour water into their mugs and sits across from Eddie at the table. "Joyce is so tiny and she was all up in the guy's face." He laughs at the memory. "It took a lot of digging and legal paperwork, but I got cut off from them completely, so I may not get an inheritance, but they also don't have any power over me. I've changed my last name to Henderson and Claudia became my legal guardian."
Eddie only stares. Stares long enough that Steve looks up from his steeping mug of tea.
"Come on, man, say something."
"I'm just—" Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. "That's bonkers, dude. Like Greek tragedy levels bonkers."
Steve scoffs. "Thanks. You know how to lift a man's spirit."
"At least you didn't fuck your mom," Eddie helpfully points out.
Steve just stares at him.
"Or dad!" he adds quickly, forcing a smile to show how supportive he is of gay people.
Maybe it doesn't convey his thoughts right, because Steve presses his lips together with a pained expression.
"Why am I attracted to you?" he wonders out loud wistfully.
Eddie coughs, feeling himself go hot under the collar. Probably all over his face, too. He takes a sip of his too hot tea and sticks out his burnt tongue.
"Uh, my quick wit and dashing good looks?" he offers.
Steve hums, leaning on the palm of his hand and making Eddie feel like a bug on a display. A weirdly attractive bug.
Next up was Alexei from Anon (scarecrow will be used in their answer)
Stevie Harrington/Alexei
Mature | 784 | not very kinky, it's fade to black but: semipublic exposure, sex with a stranger ( @strangerthingskinktober )
Season 3 AU, kissing booth, t4t, language barrier
Summary: Alexei finds a kissing booth and more.
He spots it in the far corner of the fair—a kissing booth, another thing he's only seen in American movies. Running on his childish (and definitely aided by sugar) high, Alexei skips towards it and grins at the girl sitting behind the table.
"Welcome to kissing booth," she says in a bored tone when he approaches. A pin on her shirt lets him know her name is Stevie. "One kiss per dollar, which will go to the cheer-leading team budget. Five max, no tongue."
Alexei understood most of it. But as he reaches into his pocket, he realizes he's all out of small change. He sheepishly waves a fifty between his fingers.
She clicks her tongue.
"I don't have change."
He puts the bill on the table anyway. Maybe he'll be able to negotiate.
"Dude, no." Stevie pushes it back towards him, but he has another ace up his sleeve. Or rather, another fifty.
He slaps it on top of the other bill and moves his eyebrows.
"С язычком."
"I have no idea what you're saying," she shakes her head, her mood souring by the second. He has to think fast.
Hoping he doesn't look too stupid doing so, he sticks out his tongue and flicks it up and down. Stevie perks up and he smiles in relief, thinking he'll now get to make out with a cute American girl.
"Listen, I don't have time for you and your gross charades. So maybe here's something you'll understand." Stevie doesn't sound like someone in a kissing mood. Her hands reach under the table but it's not until he hears a zipper being pulled down that Alexei understands what she's doing.
"Нет, не то! Я только хотел—!"
"Well, too late, buddy. You don't get to come here and joke with no consequences. Not with me," she sneers, standing up. In one swift motion, she pulls her jeans down, along with the underwear, exposing herself to the man. "Go cry to your mommy, trannies are in town."
Speaking of mothers, Alexei's mama taught him that it's rude to stare. But he just can't believe his eyes. There's no way the first girl that undresses for him has a dick.
There's no way the first girl he sees like that, is like him.
In his disbelief, he starts laughing, which isn't taken well by Stevie. She frowns.
"What's so funny?" she bristles, tucking herself back into her underwear. "What, is that doing it for you? You're that kind of pervert?" She's trying to keep up her cold demeanor, but he can tell she's now uneasy, especially when he sees her glancing to the side, like she's looking for back up.
There's only one way to show her he's not a threat. But when he starts unbuckling his belt, she reaches under the table and he suddenly remembers how easy it is to get guns in America.
"Ждать! Я тоже как ты!" He quickly pulls down his pants and boxers, feeling the night air hit his bare ass.
Stevie drops something that looks like a spiky baseball bat, her eyes now zeroed on his crotch. She looks up at his face, now smiling hopefully, then back down. And she snorts out a surprised laugh. Which soon breaks into a full blown laughter. Alexei laughs back.
"Well, this is an opportunity I cannot pass," she says, straightening up. She slaps a "CLOSED" sign on the table and rounds it up towards Alexei. "Pull your pants up, man, you don't wanna get hate-crimed here." She tugs on his belt to give him a hint, her eyes lingering on his hairy mound until it disappears under his blue boxers.
While he's buckling his pants up, she reaches for her things—the nail bat, her bag, and the raised money.
"Let's go to my car," she says with a wink. "Oh, and I'm keeping this." She snatches the bills he put on the table and tucks them inside her bra. Alexei's eyes follow the motion, making her smirk. "Come on." She reaches for his hand to tug him towards the exit and the parking lot.
"Куда мы идём?" he asks, gripping her hand more securely to follow.
"Huh?" She looks briefly at him before remembering he probably doesn't understand a word she's saying. "Ah. We're going to my car. Um..." With her free hand, she makes a motion like she's gripping a steering wheel. "Vroom vroom? To have sex." She makes a circle with her thumb and pointer finger and awkwardly pulls their joined hand to put a finger through it. "Capiche?"
"Секс. Я понимаю." Alexei nods eagerly.
"Well, that's enough I guess. Let's go." She pulls him onward.
I couldn't sleep so here's more Stevie for @steddiemicrofic | "dress" | G | 350 | no cw | transfem Steve (tho interpret how u want), teacher Steve, single dad Eddie, child OC | more microfics
As soon as the classroom doors open, Steph starts receiving compliments on her dress for the day. She finally got a new one, just in time for fall and a new student's arrival; nothing makes a special day more special than an eye-catching garment.
When she hears a particularly loud gasp, she turns around to meet two unfamiliar faces.
"Dad, look at this dress! Is this my new teacher? Tell me she's my new teacher!"
The man coughs to hide his amusement.
"Miss Harrington?"
Steph nods and comes up to properly greet them.
"You must be Drake and his dad, right?"
"Yep!" The kid smiles wide. "You look like an elf."
"Thank you!" she laughs. "That's a big compliment."
"Yeah! Dad says elves are the prettiest race in the Middle Earth!"
"Yeah? Your dad sounds like a big reader," she says, glancing at the man who, despite his dark, cool-dad clothes, smiles somehow bashfully.
"He is! He reads me aaaaall kinds of books!"
"That's awesome," she nods, not faking her approval. "What's your dad's name?"
"Oh!" The boy startles when he's suddenly reminded about his manners. "This is my dad, Eddie Munson," he points to the man. "And I'm Drake Munson," he points to himself.
"It's so nice to meet you guys. I'm Stephanie Harrington, but you can call me Miss H. or Miss Stephanie." She shakes both their hands. "Ready for your first day?"
The boy hums thoughtfully before turning to his father.
"Hey, Dad?"
"Yes, kid?"
"Remember you owe me a first-day gift?"
The man sighs in that exasperated yet fond way, making Stephanie smile.
"I do."
"Can I get a dress like Miss H. has?"
The eyes of both adults snap up to stare at each other, gauging a reaction. Slowly, Eddie turns back to his son.
"We can get you a different one, copying someone's dress is a bad etiquette. But we can ask her where she got it, so we know where to look."
Steph smiles again, breathing with relief. How she loves a supportive parent like that.
Lets start this off properly with some rare pairs and a hated character!
this went. hella out of hand. these were supposed to be short. anyway:
Next in line was Stevie Harrington, suggested by @formosusiniquis | here's how the game works | read on Ao3
Jason Carver/Stevie Harrington
Explicit | 2411 | @strangerthingskinktober : public sex, humiliation, cuckolding, femdom, dick shaming, dubious consent, free use, voyeurism
free use school au, background established Steddie, cis girl Stevie, Corroded Coffin
(If I missed any tags please let me know.)
Summary: Jason wants to fuck with Eddie, gets fucked with instead.
"Oh, come on!" Stevie glares at the buzzer above her, which went off as soon as she stepped through the threshold. "Again?!"
"It's a randomized selection, miss Harrington," the principal pipes up from his makeshift station by the school's entrance.
"Randomized my ass," she grumbles, walking over to him. It's a second week in a row she's been selected.
"You can refuse," he reminded her, which she only glares at. They both know she needs the extra points in her final year if she wants to go to college.
When she extends her wrist, the principal snaps a green bracelet around it. Green means 'go', everyone's been joking, and the people selected for the service got quickly labeled as the 'go girls', regardless of their gender.
"Have a nice day, miss Harrington. Find me at the end of the day to have your bracelet removed." The principal puts her name in the daily Free Use log, no longer interested and awaiting the next selected person.
"Sure," Stevie nods absentmindedly and walks away. The green bracelet attracts a few interested looks, but no one approaches her yet, everyone busy greeting their friends and walking to their first class of the day. But she knows by now that it's going to get worse as the day progresses. Days too, plural, because the initially unsure and anxious teenagers were growing accustomed to the new school policy. The shame and inhibitions were disappearing fast the more they saw the free use policy in action.
One of the people watching her from the far end of the corridor, with perfect view of the entrance and who will be the go girl for the day, is Jason Carver. Now puffing out his nostrils with displeasure.
"She's ninth," his friend observes. There are ten free use bracelets to give out.
"Thank you, I can fucking count!" Jason barks at him impatiently. His friend only raises his hands placatingly. There are two more with them, barely interested in Carver's insane plan but following him for brownie points, as he's probably going to become their team captain next year. The go girls' names will be read out in the morning announcement anyway.
The buzzer sounds again and the three boys sigh when it's not the local satanist freak. Jason curses.
"You could fuck his girlfriend," friend number two suggests as they turn to leave the spot. Some other guys do the same.
"They aren't dating," Jason scoffs. There's been rumors going on that Munson has been shacking up the former prom queen, but he refuses to believe that. "He's a fag. And even if he wasn't, there's no way he'd bag Harrington."
He's also maybe a little fixated on the idea of humiliating him publicly and showing everyone what a huge fag freak he is. The free use policy has inspired many new bullying scenarios, but Munson has yet to be chosen as a go girl.
"Yeah? Then what's that?"
His friend is nodding in the direction of, indeed, Harrington and Munson talking by the lockers.
"Maybe she wants drugs—" His scoff lodges in his throat when Eddie turns to leave Stevie's side and she slaps him on the ass.
And it's not just a slap-slap. Her hand lingers, briefly gripping his ass cheek before he swats her away, his face red. She gives him a cheeky wave.
Jason gapes at the interaction, to the point that his friends have to push him along lest he gets trampled by the crowd of high-schoolers.
"I don't know man, I don't fondle my drug dealer."
"Shut up!" Jason hisses, a new plan forming in his head.
--
It's not until lunch that he dares to approach her. He's heard that others have tried and were discouraged by the glares Munson would send them. But he was on a mission. Mission to humiliate the school satanist with the force of law, every degenerate's worst enemy.
His mom has taught him better than to treat women like possession, so he musters up all of his charm as he slides up to Harrington's table. He sits down, ignoring the eyes turned towards him. It's not like Wheeler and Byers pose any threat to him.
"You free after lunch?" he asks, his finger jostling the green bracelet around Stevie's wrist.
She gives him a cold, disinterested glance. He knows she hasn't been fucked yet today and needs at list one dick to count it on her record.
"Maybe," she answers flatly.
"Meet me at--"
"The basement storage," she interrupts him, batting his eyelashes.
He frowns, at first, displeased with being interrupted like that, but eventually, he nods.
"Works for me. After lunch?"
"Uh-uh!" she smiles brightly, grabbing her sandwich like she can't wait to be done with it and let his dick into her holes.
Unsettled, Jason walks back to his friends.
"Where the hell is the basement?"
--
When Stevie leaves her seat at the table, he gives a minute before following. One of the guys slaps his ass, but he bats him away, focused on the exit and the instructions he got on how to get to the storage.
It's no surprise he didn't even know about it considering it's adjacent to the drama room--a storage for spare seats, instruments and event decorations. He'd never even think the west wing stairs keep going lower, hidden behind the landing.
The doors are heavy and loud, and the room smells of dust, cigarette smoke and something vaguely familiar that he can't name.
"Harrington?" he whisper-shouts into the darkness.
"Over here!"
Some of his nerves dissipate as he follows the voice. He finds an alcove created behind an old stage decoration (an ancient Rome landscape), with an old couch and broken armchairs surrounding a couple of upturned crates that serve as makeshift tables. It's a cool hang out spot if it wasn't a little bit unsettling. And so smelly.
Stevie is splayed comfortably on the couch, smoking a cigarette.
"You have a condom?" she asks straight to the point, puffing out a plume of smoke.
The face he makes must be all the answer she needs, because she scowls at him.
"Higgins is hanging them out for free, you know?" she scolds him.
He frowns, ready to say something back, but she sighs and pulls a strip of condoms from her pocket.
"All of you boys are fucking hopeless." She rolls her eyes, throwing the contraceptives onto a crate. "Like I'd walk with your smelly jizz inside me around school."
Jason presses his lips together, like he's finally seeing her point.
"Sorry, this was kind of spontaneous."
She keeps staring at him, unmoving, unhurried, finishing up her smoke.
"Well? Take off your pants," she orders and starts undoing her own fly, cigarette pinched between her lips.
Jason looks around, not seeing many sturdy surfaces suitable for their needs. "Here?"
"There's a—" She juts her chin out behind him. "—an old pool table there. It will hold us up." She pulls her jeans down so they land around her ankles and works them around her sneakers. Once they're off, she sucks on the last of her cigarette and ashes it in an overflowing jar on the ground. She stands up, leaving the jeans on the couch and walks past Jason.
"Come on," she urges him on, hopping on the heavy wooden table behind. "Condoms!" she reminds him when he scrambles to follow.
He already feels stupid and questioning this whole plan, but as he pulls down his pants, even more blows follow.
"Oh," she sighs, looking at his dick. "And I came here optimistic." Stevie pulls the condoms up: extra large. "Maybe you should go grab some smalls?" she suggests sweetly.
Jason looks down at his dick, perfectly average as far as he knows, and he would know, he's seen many of them in the locker room.
"My dick is fine," he says with a frown.
"Of course it is," Stevie agrees, but Jason doesn't like her tone. She sounds like his mom.
He snatches the condoms from her grasp and rips one off, acting tough despite the seed of anxiety she's planted in him. What if it is pathetically loose around him?
It's not, though not as snug as he'd like. But he's also not at his full hardness right now, getting up in his head about this plan. He's never wanted to be already done with sex before.
Stevie hums, appraising him. Her legs spread and she nudges him closer to wrap her hand around him. It helps, and he bites his lip on a groan as she strokes him in a firm grip.
"Maybe the technique is good," she muses and he grits his teeth.
Jason grips her thighs, thumbs rubbing at the line of her panties. He dips under the fabric, massaging and pulling until her folds part and she gasps, staining the white cotton with her wetness. The pad of his thumb presses over her hole, massaging around it while the other goes up, blindly caressing around her clit with an unsatisfying lack of finesse.
Stevie lets him do this for a while longer, until she swats his hands away and pushes him back so she can take off her underwear.
"Spare me the foreplay, just get into it."
"Sure," Jason scoffs, reminding himself that it's all for the greater good of shoving into Munson's face that he's fucked his girlfriend better than him.
He slides his dick along Harrington's slit, but since she keeps looking unimpressed by his efforts, he spreads her hole and finally slides in.
Stevie hums and her fingers grip his shoulder so at least it doesn't feel like such a one sided effort anymore. They both watch his dick (doing perfectly fine in the extra large condom thank you very much) gaining momentum and sliding deeper and deeper into her slippery hole. He's gaining momentum and pulling her hips to meet his every thrust, where her flat voice reaches his ears.
"Is this doing it for you?" she asks.
Jason halts his movements, baffled, and she uses it to move away, letting his dick slip out.
"Come on, my turn." She pats the table she just vacated.
"What?" Jason frowns in confusion.
"I'll ride you, come on."
It takes him a moment to process her words but once they click, he feels like things are finally in his favor again. He quickly turns and jumps up onto the pool table, dragging himself up until he can comfortably lay on his back and make room for Stevie to straddle him. Without a warning, she takes him to the hilt and, leveraged against his chest, starts moving her hip like she's been made for it. At some point, she's just grinding against his hips and it feels like to much, so he grips her waist in panic.
"Wait, wait, I'm gonna—!"
"Ooh, is Carver a two pump champ?"
"Seems so."
Jason's eyes shot open when he hears the new voices. Stevie is still above him, her lips parted as she rubs his dick where she wants it, but she's looking to the side, His head snaps that way as well.
On the couch where he's found her earlier, sat Eddie Munson and his band of freaks. The guy grins, unbothered by Jason's dick being deep in his girlfriend's guts.
"Hi, Carver!" He wiggles his fingers at him. "Enjoying my girl's pussy?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but all that leaves him is a loud moan when Stevie angles her hips just right.
"Thought so." The freaks around Munson snicker.
Meanwhile, Harrington redoubles her efforts, like being watch ha put a new wind in her sails. Despite his best efforts, all Jason can do is just take it, reduced to a toy she's using to get herself off. He tries to focus on her, forget the freaks watching him and stick to the plan of showing Munson he's fucking his girlfriend.
But then, he sees him again, arm wrapping around Stevie's waist and helping her out in her movements. His eyes are glue to where Carver's dick is disappearing in her.
"Well, now I know why you're so pissy all the time."
Jason wants to snap at him, but the only sound he can muster is another moan when Stevie's hips violently snap down on him. He kind of wishes his erection would go down by now, what with the mockery he's been made of, but Harrington feels just too good around him, warm and tight and moving like she's ridden countless dicks before his.
"Aw, he just needed a good pussy to show him his place."
It's Emerson, talking from above his right shoulder, but at this point, Jason chooses to close his eyes and have this whole experience over with as soon as possible. With the fervor Stevie's riding him, it probably will be.
"Damn, I'd probably be soft by now. Do you think he likes being watched?"
"Hmmm, his dick just twitched inside me, I think that's answer enough." Stevie's voice is mean when she slows down, drawing lazy circles with her hips.
"Freaks," Jason spits out in lieu of protest, but as he does so, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes--just in time to catch Eddie Munson sticking his tongue down his girlfriend's throat. As he cums, he's pretty sure he sees someone's dick in the corner of his vision.
He shuts his eyes again, trying to calm his breathing after the wild orgasm he just had, and he hears Munson's laugh.
"Holy shit! Did you just cum from seeing two freaks making out on top of you?" he cackles. "Or was it Jeff's dick?"
Maybe if he squeezes hie eyelids hard enough, all of them will disappear.
The lack of eyesight doesn't spare him from feeling an ominous presence hover above his face.
"Don't touch Stevie ever again. Got it?" Munson's hot breath hits way too close to his cheek. He nods once, hoping that will be enough. "Good boy," Munson says, patting him on the cheek.
Jason hears shuffling indicating that the others are leaving the basement, but he doesn't move until his body starts to protest laying on the hard pool table. When he braces himself to get up, his hand slips in a splatter of cum, sending him back down, elbow first. He starts crying.
From pain.
From humiliation.
But mostly from shame that Munson's band of freaks made him feel this good.
for @steddiemicrofic "time" | 485 | T | cw: mention of blood and broken bone | College AU, commentator Eddie, team captain Steve | Ao3 | part 1
The Tigers are one throw from winning the game. For the friends and family looking, it's just a friendly match between two colleges, but they don't know about the potential sponsors sitting among them. The sports department has been hoping to buy a new coach, so different teams wouldn't have to rock-paper-scissor who goes to the away games during the season.
Eddie's been hearing about it a lot, against his own will.
"DESERVED!" he yells into the microphone as Jason Carver trips and falls on the court. "I mean, foul! Somebody give that guy a yellow card!" he changes tracks as one of the professors glares at him through the glass. With a smile, he gives her a friendly wave.
"See, that's why I say there's no shame in wearing velcro shoes. There is so much blood, you guys. I think I see a bone? This is brutal, dear adventurers, be grateful you don't get the visual, only the kid-frie— well, the version that won't make you faint, filtered by yours truly."
There's a slam on his glass, so he waves again at the teacher.
"Oh! The coach is calling for time! Yes, I already know they are not playing charades, thank you. But you know what, I think it would be great entertainment between sets. Uh-oh, the Tiger's captain is glaring at me. He's walking up the bleachers. This may be the end of our adventure, dear listeners, the journey was magical and—"
"Eddie!"
He squeaks, slamming the mute button in panic.
"Captain!" he grins, turning around to greet the sweaty and flushed—and gorgeous—face of Steve Harrington.
"Coach is pissed," he states, pushing damp hair out of his face. Eddie has yet to make him wear his bandana on the court, but he will make it happen. At some point.
"Why?" He blinks his eyes innocently. "I'm just doing my job."
Steve puts his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow.
"Blood? Broken bone?" he reminds him.
Eddie crosses his arms defiantly.
"People don't want boring sports commentary, Steve. They want blood and circuses!"
"Uh-uh. I know for a fact this is not how it goes." Steve gives him an unimpressed look. "Correct it before his family starts freaking out."
"Fine," Eddie huffs. "Did you come here just to piss on my fun?"
Steve shakes his head, dropping his arms to come closer and lean on Eddie's chair.
"I came for a good luck kiss. Daddy really wants that bus."
Eddie snorts and uncrosses his arms.
"Okay, Daddy, then come here," he pulls him in for a quick peck, and then two more, lips catching hungrily but knowing they don't have time for more. They pull away and smile at each other.
"Get that goal for the team!" Eddie pushes him away and slaps his butt for extra luck.
"Still the wrong sport, baby," Steve laughs before leaving the commentator's booth.
Me: it would be fun to mix this months microfic prompt with last years
Me: hey I don't have anything for rarepair
*proceeds to write CheerScoops for STEDDIEmicrofic prompts*
ANYWAY
for @stevieweek Day 7: Rare Pair + sapphic (+ one + pool) | M | 1111 | Stevie/Chrissy &Eddie, mentioned Chrissy/Eddie | open relationship, streamer!Stevie, FanslyModel!Chrissy, friends with benefits (?) lots of wiggle room for interpretation, CHAT FIC
Short stream, big announcement!
elderning: is it time????
beatred: Cheer100 this better be about the pool stream
"Chat, chat, calm down, it is about the pool stream." Stevie is rolling her eyes as soon as she appears on the screen. "I had a nice speech prepared and you're ruining it." She frowns, pouting her full lips. "Can you stop yapping for five seconds and let me speak?"
bimbothelotrguy: No yapping
ballstothewall007: Proceed queen
bimbothelotrguy: :x
"So, we recently hit one million subscribers on YouTube, which, thank you so fucking much, holy shit!" She grins. "And, true to my word, I'll be doing a pool stream as promised. Don't know when yet, but stay tuned, I'll give you a heads-up. And thank you again, though I know you had ulterior motives." She smirks at the camera.
mojito_chan: ulterior motives?? us??
mojito_chan: must have mistaken us with a different chat
bimbothelotrguy: BADONKERS
powerdrill1000: message deleted by a moderator
"Yeah, exactly," she snorts. "Okay, I don't have much time today, but there's this one game I want to check out and we can talk out the details while we're at it."
MasterOfChatters: I have a bad feeling about this
Stevie looks at her chat, and smiles.
"Are you high again, Master?"
MasterOfChatters: would you fire me if I was?
"No!" she laughs.
MasterOfChatters: then yes
She leans close to the mic.
"There's someone in your house, Eddie."
MasterOfChatters: FUCK OFF
big stream big surprise!
beatred: oh
bilbothebimbo: oh no
mojito_chan: I mean...
Stevie's not there yet, but they can see the set-up for today's stream. The pool behind SailorSteph's house is right there. Still behind her house. Still behind the glass door. Behind a huge inflatable pool full of colorful plastic balls.
ballstothewall007: is there at least some water in there?
footjoblover: -slow clap- well played
MasterOfChatters: STEPH YOU MINX
MasterOfChatters: KNEW YOU WERE COOKING SOMETHING
MasterOfChatters: @footjoblover nice nick
SailorSteph: @MasterOfChatters oh I'm not done cooking
footjoblover: @MasterOfChatters thank you good sir
The chat starts flooding after her brief appearance, and her moderator has to put it in slow mode.
"Chat, I'm coming! Calm down!" the microphone picks her up from somewhere in the house, and soon she appears in the camera's view. Her outfit is skimpier than usual, with a tiny crop top and bootcut shorts. She's holding a colourful drink and she steps into the ball pit to settle down.
footjoblover: F E E T
MasterOfChatters: @footjoblover I'll let it slide this once
She sips on her drink while adjusting the stream settings.
"I know some of you might be disappointed..." She skims over the chat briefly. "Yeah, I'm not sorry about that. If you didn't see it coming it means you're new here. Anyway, since you're not getting your softcore fix, I have another surprise for you big babies. We're having a guest today."
ggiirrllss: is it ChiChi???
prawncocktail: please be cheerscoops
bimbothelotrguy: oooo a collab?
elderning: if it's a secret boyfriend announcement imma kms
thepizzaguy: is your hot mod visiting? owo
MasterOfChatters: @thepizzaguy nope, still in my basement. thank you though
bimbothelotrguy: @thepizzaguy boooo sucking up to the mod
MasterOfChatters: @bimbothelotrguy you're just angry you weren't first
bimbothelotrguy: @MasterOfChatters u got me there hot mod daddy
"I'd be angry that I'm playing into your guy's sick fantasies, and I've seen your fanfiction, okay?" She looks straight into the camera, leaning in, eyes squinting. "So don't even try denying. I know what you're thinking about. Anyway, I would be angry if she wasn't such a genuinely lovely person. And she agreed to play with me today."
prawncocktail: SHE
bimbothelotrguy: chichi???
prawncocktail: please be chichi please be chichi please
"Come on babe, don't be shy." Stevie smiles at someone off-camera, and then stands up to help them step into the pool.
"You know, chat..." The mic picks up a new voice. "I've actually been lied to as well, and I flew in here with a bag full of swimsuits." The girl pouts and when she sits down you can indeed see she's wearing a bikini with a kimono-cut short robe thrown over it.
"I didn't lie, you all just assumed pool means water." Stevie rolls her eyes. "Besides, we can still go take a dip later." She sends a suggestive smile to the girl on her left, who takes a sip of her drink and wiggles her eyebrows with a smile.
"I think we broke your chat," she points out. Stevie turns to one of her monitors to see what's happening.
Among the slew of emotes, only her mod's messages can be seen.
MasterOfChatters: CHRIS WHAT THE FUCK
MasterOfChatters: YOU SAID YOU'RE VISITING YOUR MOM
Chrissy, aka CheerCheer or ChiChi, as she's known online, stirs her drink slowly.
"No, I said I'm visiting Mommy." She grins, throwing her long, bare legs over Stevie's lap. Stevie smiles brightly and her mod, who's also Chrissy's boyfriend, knows it's directed at him.
MasterOfChatters: I'm
MasterOfChatters: appaled. speechless. mad.
MasterOfChatters: and so glad I put these fuckers in emote-only
MasterOfChatters: iF ANY OF YOU EVEN SUGGESTS A THREESOME I'M TIMING YOU OUT FOR 24H
emote-only mode is off
footjoblover: message deleted by a moderator
MasterOfChatters: OR A FOURSOME OR IS JUST NASTY IN GENERAL
milkpudding: message deleted by a moderator
milkpudding: I need fanart refs
MasterOfChatters: @milkpudding THIN ICE
Chrissy, unfazed, turns to Stevie.
"One hundred?"
"I'd do it for free." Stevie gives her the most charming smile while idly stroking up her shin. It finally makes Chrissy blush.
MasterOfChatters: GODDAMNIT CHRIS
MasterOfChatters: ENABLERS
MasterOfChatters: @SailorSteph UNMOD ME PLEASE I CAN'T HANDLE THE CHAOS
milkpudding sent $100
"Well," Stevie shrugs, already leaning in. "A hundred dollars is a hundred dollars, right?"
"Right," Chrissy says softly, parting her lips for the other girl to slot into.
The kiss is sweet and chaste, Stevie's hand squeezing briefly her knee before caressing her cheek and letting go. She smiles at her, pecks her nose, and turns back to the camera.
"Hope you got your money's worth, milkpudding. Thank you for the one hundred." She smiles sweetly.
milkpudding: yes thank you!!!
milkpudding: see you in #fanart on discord later! teheheh
prawncocktail shared a clip: CHEERSCOOPS IS REAL
"Should we tell them now?" They share a thoughtful look. Chrissy shrugs.
"Better get this out now before Eds gets a heart attack."
MasterOfChatters: ?????????
"We made something for Chrissy's socials too," Stevie starts, playing with the hem of her friend's robe. "We can't link it here, but keep an eye out in Discord and her Fansly." She smiles at her with mischief before looking back to the chat to see the chaos they've surely created.
for @steddiemicrofic prompt "dream" | T | 434 | post season 4, pre-relationship, dreams, kas!Eddie
Steve hasn't been sleeping well lately, waking tired every morning from a dream he couldn't recall. Sleepovers or getting too tired to dream helped, but there's only so much jogging he can do before his body needs a break. So he tries to sleepover with Robin as often as possible.
"What's that?" As a frequent guest in her room, he immediately notices the new... thing hanging off her lamp. He walks up to it, but it looks too delicate to touch, so he just looks.
"Oh, that's a dream catcher. Dad brought it from a trip." Robin comes to stand next to him. "It's supposed to filter out nightmares before they get to you."
Steve gives her a skeptical look. She shrugs. "It looks cool."
"Would be cool if it worked, though," he says wistfully.
He sleeps soundly that night, and every other one he spends at Robin's house. In two weeks, he gets a dream catcher of his own, and starts sleeping like a baby. He basically forgets that it ever was a problem, until he doses off on Henderson's couch.
"What was that for, Harrington?"
He vaguely recognizes the voice but it takes him a while to reorient himself, suddenly brought back to his own bedroom. The sound seems to be coming from the window so he opens it up, letting in the chilly night air. The trees outside are covered in cobwebs--huge and thick, and wrapped around a struggling creature.
"Come on, man! I just wanna talk."
Except the cobwebs are the strings of his dream catcher and tangled between them is Eddie Munson. Half-naked and with huge black wings fluttering behind him in distress.
"You gonna help me out or should I wait for Shelob to fucking eat me?" he snarks.
Something moves in the corner of the woods. Their heads snap that way, and Steve wakes up.
Knickknacks roll around when he slides open his desk drawers, but he manages to find a pair of scissors among the clutter and rushes to get the dream catcher's strings cut, until only the empty round frame is left behind.
He waits. But nothing happens.
Sleep evades him the whole night, until the Sun starts tainting the sky. As soon as he catches it he runs to the window, only to find the ropes hanging from the trees, limp and empty. He can only hope Eddie got out in time.
Something loud pulls him back into the waking word. Under his window lays a heap of curtains, limbs, and dark leathery wings.
"Knew I could count on you, big boy." Eddie grins.
