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streamafterlaughter · 2 days ago

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pearl: march 1984

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.2k chapter summary: eddie realises he might like you as more than just his best friend.

content warnings: best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, use of pet names, emotional hurt / comfort, self-doubt / insecurities, recreational drug use, mentions of alcohol - if i missed anything, pls let me know!

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely, if at all, in the story.

pearl masterlist

Detention.

Frankly, a terrible concept and quite possibly one of the worst ways to punish misbehaviour ‘cause who did it really benefit, really? Definitely not the students since it just made them resent everyone involved in the situation even more, and not the teachers either as they do not want to be stuck minding careless brats after their already exhaustingly long day at work.

Detention was dumb. And you weren't just thinking that because of the half-crumpled slip in your hand.

Exhaling, you slowly open the classroom door and enter. There’s a hesitant sway in your strut as you approach the desk, handing the mangled piece of paper to the teacher that drew the short straw today — Mrs. Click.

Judging by the look on her face, she was just as happy to be doing this as you were, only reaffirming your already strong belief that detention was in fact dumb.

“Take a seat,” Mrs. Click grumbles before burying her nose back in the book she was reading.

You don’t bother responding, she clearly wouldn’t care anyway. Turning instead on your heel, you scan the room of delinquents until your eyes land on the one specific culprit that landed you in this mess in the first place.

Not surprisingly, Eddie’s eyes are already on you. He’s got a stupid, shit-eating grin plastered across his face and you can’t help but to roll your eyes at him — what a dingus.

“I can’t believe you’re actually pleased with yourself,” you huff while sitting down in the free spot next to him.

The metalhead chuckles silently before sliding his chair closer towards you.

“And I can’t believe you’re actually annoyed with me,” he teases in response, “It’s just as much your fault as it is mine.”

Your brows string together. “Are you shitting me, Eds?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I’m just saying, princess—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“—, if it wasn’t for your inability to control yourself around me, we wouldn’t be here,” Eddie teases, nonchalantly throwing one arm around the back of your chair.

“Eddie, and I say this with love, you’re delusional.”

“Quiet,” Mrs. Click calls out without lifting her head.

Letting out a faint breath, you lean in your best friend's direction. The curly-haired teen mirrors your movement and the two of you are now mere inches apart — a proximity that in recent months has become all too familiar. But not in a weird way. Eddie was still just your friend, nothing different. Not really. Simply, ever since it became apparent you would be graduating without him this year, being as close to one another as platonically possible, brought some comfort.

“As I was saying,” you begin in a whisper, “I was simply trying to get you to stop annoying me with your childish behaviour. I didn’t think you would land us in detention.”

He gasps inaudibly, placing a hand to his cheek as his mouth pops into an ‘o’ shape. Again, you roll your eyes at his dramatics then gently flick his forehead in an attempt to get him to quit it. The metalhead’s smile is wide as he lets his arm fall back down onto the desk.

“Well, I just hope you didn’t have any plans tonight,” Eddie teases, the shit-eating grin plastered across his face growing wider by the second.

“As a matter of fact, I did have plans. Thanks to you, Eds, I had to cancel on a friend of mine. We were supposed to go to the movies. I should be drowning in popcorn and overpriced soda, instead I’m stuck here with you,” your response is honest and there’s a hint of annoyance detectable in the sound of your voice.

Eddie’s eyes widen slightly and for a split-second you think you said something that hurt his feelings, but then he opens his mouth, confirming your suspicion about not feeling an inch of remorse for landing you in this hell.

“Princess, you’re hurting my feelings. I didn’t realise you had other friends.”

“I told you not to call me that,” it comes out in a half-hiss, half-giggle.

“Quiet,” Mrs. Click repeats and you glance in her direction. Her tone was slightly more stern yet she still doesn’t lift her head from the book in front of her, although you are mighty aware the third warning wouldn’t be as congenial.

Since you seriously did not want to have to do this again tomorrow, ignoring Eddie’s quiet babbling, you reach inside you backpack to retrieve a cassette player. Proceeding to make eye contact with the curly-haired boy, you place the headphones around your ears, silently showcasing you were done with the conversation and just wanted to be left alone for the remainder of your mutual time in this teen prison.

Thankfully, Eddie seems to get the hint. He drags his fingers across his lips in a zip-like motion before shooting you a wink and leaning backwards in his chair.

As the metalhead was no stranger to passing time when forced to stay longer after school, he spent the next hour or so taking what he believed to be a much deserved nap. You on the other hand spent the entire hour staring at the clock on the wall with intensity.

Time dragged. The cassette ended long ago and you felt no effort to rewind it, instead sitting in silence with the headphones still covering your ears.

Eventually, Mrs. Click clears her throat and you immediately turn your attention to her.

“Alright,” she begins and glances at the watch strapped to her wrist before looking up at the group, “I hope you all learned your lesson and we won’t have to see the majority of you here again.”

Her eyes flicker to Eddie and she sighs, “Mr. Munson, please be cautious not to drag your friends into your messes in the future, understood?”

“Noted, ma’am.” Eddie offers a charming smile and you can’t help but snicker next to him, a reaction that causes the denim clad teen to nudge your side with his elbow.

“Good,” the teacher nods at his response, “You’re all free to go then.”

Scrambling from your seat, you slide a bag strap up your arm, resting it on your shoulder, before walking towards the door. Eddie is close behind, as always. He says a sweet goodbye to Mrs. Click and he hurries after you out of the school building.

“I don’t know about you,” Eddie quips, unlocking his van, “But this was a lot of fun. We should definitely do it again sometime.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes once again while settling into the passenger seat.

“Eddie, please be serious. This isn’t funny, this was detention.”

He chuckles lightheartedly. “So? I get detention like every other day, you know that. These teachers, they have it out against me,” he says in his usual theatrical tone.

“They don’t have it out against you, Eds. Everyone wants to see you succeed.”

But he ignores you.

“Can I have that tape you were listening to earlier?”

He’s swift to change the subject because he knows where this conversation is heading — you graduating, him staying behind — and you're painfully aware he doesn’t want to talk about it right now, (or ever, if he could have things his way).

Eddie has only once admitted that he can’t bear the thought of you leaving and he wasn’t entirely sober when he said it, leading you to believe he didn’t even remember talking about it.

Considering avoidance of the topic also worked in your favour, you obey and hand Eddie the tape. He rewinds it with ease and places it inside the cassette player of his van. The first couple of tough yet vulnerable notes from Janis Joplin’s Pearl album blare through the shitty speakers.

Eddie starts the van, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and a smile tugs at your lips as you watch him begin mouthing the lyrics. His eyes are on the road ahead, his curly brown locks are blowing with the light breeze coming in through the parted window.

“Hey, Eds, since you ruined my plans for the afternoon, wanna drive down to Lover’s Lake and share some of your stash with me?”

Eddie smirks at the question.

“Lover’s Lake, huh? Is this your sneaky way of getting me to make out with you, princess? ‘Cause you know you don’t have to convince me too much.”

“No, shut up,” you scoff and playfully smack his bicep, “this is your way of apologising for landing me in detention. Also, in your dreams, hot shot.”

“Ugh,” the metalhead groans, “can we please just agree the fault lies with us both? I can’t have you making me feel guilty until the end of time,” he whines and glances in your direction, “And, side note, aren’t you always the one telling me to chase my dreams?”

Eddie’s insinuation isn’t lost on you, but this kind of flirting blurred the line between platonic and something more which was dangerous so close to your departure.

“You’re an idiot.”

He laughs, looking back at the road as the song ends and the next begins. Eddie starts to hum along with the melody and you watch him, slowly bobbing your head to the beat. The soft sounds he’s producing are so angelic, it causes your heart to soar then crack all at once.

Playing cat and mouse with the subject of graduation worked for you too because you weren't entirely sure you could handle the real world without Eddie. He’s been a permanent fixture in your life for years now. The only person who truly knew every single thing about you. The only person that’s ever cared.

“Okay,” he says eventually, breaking you away from your thoughts, “Lovers Lake it is, princess.”

You gently smack his bicep once again. “Seriously, Eds, don’t call me that.”

“Sorry,” but he’s not. You're certain he’s not. Just like you know he’ll do it again, and again you will tell him not too.

The drive to the new destination is relatively quick. Eddie finds a space to park and cuts the engine causing the music to end mid tune. He tilts his head to look at you, wiggling his dark brows, and you can’t help but giggle at his ridiculousness while unfastening your seatbelt.

You proceed to squeeze in between the seats, into the back of his beat up van. Eddie follows suit, although one of his many metal chains gets caught somewhere in the process and he gets stuck.

“Ehm,” he clears his throat, “A little help please.”

You laugh then skoot towards his trapped frame, scanning for the culprit.

There’s a sudden shift in dynamic. It’s a little strange. Proximity usually isn’t an issue, but you can feel his eyes on you, scanning the side of your face, as you tug at the chain, fingers grazing against him. The air feels unnaturally heavy and you're fighting with yourself not to meet his wandering gaze.

“You know this thing has doors, right?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Eddie bites back playfully.

“Don’t lie,” you begin, fingers mangled around the chain causing this current situation, “You like to stare at my—” But you catch yourself by biting on the inside of your cheek before the rest of the sentence slips from your lips.

There is a semi-awkward moment of silence.

Still avoiding his gaze, you eventually untangle Eddie’s metal chain, freeing him from his shackles, and push back further into the van. The curly haired boy sits across from you and in the spirit of continuous avoidance of yet another topic, he’s quick to whip out a pre-rolled joint from the inside pocket of his denim jacket then lights it.

“Go ahead, princess,” he offers, the joint between his fingers, ready for you.

“No, no,” you protest, “Dealer first.”

He lets out a lighthearted chuckle but shakes his head. “Take it,” he pouts, “it’s heavy, my arm is starting to hurt.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how dramatic you can be?” you joke but give in, taking the joint and placing it carefully between your lips.

It’s moments like these that are your favourite. It is moments like these that make you think how lucky you are to have Eddie in you life.

But it’s also moments like these that make you realise how fucking hard it’s going to be to say goodbye.

And Eddie feels exactly the same way.

Landing the two of you in detention wasn’t the plan. It just sorta happened and honestly, rather selfishly, he was glad that it did. God only knew how many afternoons he had left with his best friend, so he had to make every single one of them count.

This one was turning out to be quite perfect. Just you two, sitting in the back of his beat-up van, about to share a joint.

Eddie observes as you closes your eyes, inhaling the smoke. A warm feeling settles in his core. Honestly, he found himself experiencing this certain tingle more and more lately, although he couldn’t quite decipher whether it was because you were leaving soon and this was serendipity towards everything the two of you share, or whether there was a different underlying reason, one he was undoubtedly afraid to act on.

— Most likely the latter.

Simply put, you had waltzed into his life and flipped it completely. Eddie had spent years putting up emotional barriers, guarding and shielding his heart from further suffering, yet after the very first conversation he held with you, the walls started to crumble.

The metalhead adored your openness, honesty, and effortless ability to be unapologetically yourself. No bullshit. You brought out this sweetness in him, a side he didn’t even know he had. It was as if you took a metaphorical sledgehammer and banged against his emotional barriers until there was almost nothing left.

Almost.

“So,” Eddie begins as you take another puff, “tell me, what’s your favourite song on the record? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

“On Pearl?”

He nods as you pass him the joint.

“Probably A Woman Left Lonely, the lyrics are just next level. I mean all of her songs have these hidden meanings and a level of emotional maturity I can only hope to reach one day, but A Woman Left Lonely in particular…”

“Well, the fevers of the night, they burn an unloved woman,” Eddie quotes melodically before taking a puff and your eyes widen in surprise. A reaction that causes a chuckle to escape his lips.

“What? Didn’t peg me for a Joplin fan? I am a musician, after all.” Eddie quips as you reach for the joint, which he gives up without question. “Or did you think I forgot Pearl is your favourite album?”

“No, I—” you hesitate and Eddie can tell you're not sure what to say. “What’s your favourite song then?” you asks instead and he smacks his lips together, pondering the question for a moment.

You pass back the joint and he takes it from between your fingers to light it again before inhaling, then exhaling a heap of smoke.

“Me and Bobby McGee,” Eddie answers eventually, “I know it’s not a Joplin original but her voice, damn, she does things with that song that literally make me feel weak.”

A smile circles your lips. “Sing some of it for me.”

The request catches Eddie off guard and you can sense his hesitation because you're quick to add a witty remark, “You are a musician, after all.”

The slight jab at his earlier point makes Eddie smirk. “Touché, princess. Touché.”

And you shrugs as if it’s nothing, but the mischievous glimmer in your eyes devices you. Eddie knows you know that he can’t refuse you. He knows you know there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for you. He knows you knows that when it comes to him, you hold all the power.

“Okay,” the metalhead clears his throat and reaches for an acoustic guitar hidden under a blanket. With the joint still between his fingers, he begins to strum the intro chords from memory: G - C/G G - C/G G.

Your gaze is fixated on his frame. He can feel your attentive eyes on him as you tap the palms of your hands against your knees in rhythm.

This isn’t the first time the two of you have done this. Thinking about it now, he actually tends to play the guitar for you a lot, although it’s usually more heavy metal than blues rock, and he hardly ever sings just for you, so he's wondering, why did you ask him to sing? And why was he suddenly feeling nervous?

“Busted flat in Baton Rouge, waitin’ for a train. When I’s feelin’ near as faded as my jeans,” Eddie warbles melodically, now playing D7, “Bobby’s thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained. And rode us all the way into New Orleans.” C/G G

“I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandana. I’s playin’ soft while Bobby sang the blues,” he effortlessly switches to C and muster up enough courage to look up at you — which could have been a big mistake because the smile gracing your near perfect features nearly causes him to fumble up the next part of the lyrics.

“Windshield wipers slappin’ time, I’s holdin’ Bobby’s hand in mine. We sang every song that driver knew.”

D7 C

“Freedom is just another word for nothin' left to lose. Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no-no.” Eddie continues, strumming G, and to his pleasant surprise, you join in for the next part of the chorus, harmonising without flaw.

“And feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. You know feelin' good was good enough for me. Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.” G A A

He holds the last chord for a second longer, not breaking eye contact. His heart is battering inside his rib cage and if he didn’t know any better, he would say it was about to explode.

After ultimately coming to a full stop, Eddie rests his arm on the neck of the instrument. Neither of you speaks for a moment. You're beaming at him and he can’t help but return the happy expression, before putting the bud of what was left of the joint between his lips.

“I guess you are a musician,” you quip and Eddie smirks.

“You doubted me?”

“Maybe.”

You're teasing. Eddie doesn't care though. All he really wants to know is if you liked his mini rendition of the song. Although, wanting to spare himself the humiliation just in case you didn’t, he doesn't dare ask for you opinion.

But it seems you can read his mind ‘cause as he manoeuvres to open the sliding door and discard the reminisce of the joint, you tells him exactly what’s on your mind.

“In all seriousness, that was like really really good, Eds. From now on, I’m definitely going to ask you to sing for me more often. Perhaps A Woman Left Lonely next? Or not just Janis,” you ramble excitedly, once again unknowingly causing his worries to dissipate.

Proceeding to sit beside you, Eddie once again reaches for the guitar. You let your head fall on his shoulder as his fingers strum random chords.

“You know that Irish band U2? I think your voice would really suit Sunday Bloody Sunday. Or, actually, any of their songs really.”

And as you continue listing different artists, an unfamiliar feeling settles in Eddie's core.

Well, shit.

pearl masterlist | main masterlist

#reblogging again bc WAH #fics #i could scream #i might

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streamafterlaughter · 3 days ago

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new chapter is coming soon... i think!!! working hard!!!!!!!

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streamafterlaughter · 3 days ago

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#btvs

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streamafterlaughter · 3 days ago

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the little mess you made.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x singlemom!reader (modern au) word count: 3.9k

summary: five years after he returns home, eddie munson is greeted at the front door of his uncles house by a toddler with a head of dusty-brown locks. hoping for a break from the life he's built for himself, the rockstar is instead faced with another hard truth.

chapter cw: suggestive & mature themes, implied intimacy | non-explicit, one night stand gone awry, secret pregnancy aka no-one told eddie he's a dad, this chapter is kinda angsty, emotional hurt / little-to-no comfort, navigating family dynamics, adult language, some pining / yearning — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

story masterlist

The kitchen is a statement in itself, Eddie thinks.

Wayne’s collection of printed mugs stands on the windowsill above the sink, on full display. Random postcards and colourful post-it notes are stuck to the fridge with plastic alphabet magnets. A calendar hangs by the doorway, a different vintage car on display for the various months and hard to read scribbles on seemingly important dates.

There’s a fancy coffee machine in one corner of the forest-painted counters and a collection of hot sauces in the other. In the centre of the space, there’s a wooden table with mismatched chairs placed around it. A stack of old newspapers lies in the middle, all open to the crossword page. The table also features a vase of tulips and a single ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ photo frame: Wayne, in hospital blues, cradling a newborn.

The kitchen is a statement in itself, Eddie thinks. The statement being: he’s a stranger in his own uncle’s home.

A stranger in the house he bought for Wayne; a brick-faced thank you for everything the rockstar's uncle did for him over the years. Expecting nothing in return, only thinking this could become the place Eddie could possibly return to when in need aka now more than ever. Instead, he doesn’t feel welcome. He feels like he’s intruding somehow.

Wayne has replaced him.

While Eddie was off touring and galavanting around the world, building himself the career of his wildest dreams, it seems Wayne has been busy too. His uncle created himself a family. Somehow got himself a grandson.

“So, whose kid is that?” Eddie asks, nudging his head in the direction of the toddler.

The little boy is kneeling on one of the chairs, the top half of his body is bent over a currently blank piece of paper. He’s gripping a red crayon in his left hand, the tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration as he doodles on the page.

Wayne places a mug of tea in front of Eddie then makes himself comfortable in the chair next to his grandson, across from his nephew. For a few minutes, as the two older Munson men stare at the toddler, it’s quiet. Only the scratching sound of crayon on paper. Wayne’s gaze is filled with adoration, while Eddie’s is laced with uncertainty. There’s something oddly familiar about the tiny head of dusty-brown curls.

Clearing his throat, Wayne gently nudges his grandson.

“Messer, what do we say when we invite someone inside?”

The boy lifts his eyes from the doodles. First, he looks at Wayne, who nods, encouraging. Turning his attention to Eddie, the toddler squeezes his mouth together and offers a timid smile.

“Hello,” he utters simply.

Eddie chokes back a scoff at the absolute insanity of this moment. He wants to ask Wayne what’s the reason for this charade. Why can’t his uncle just tell him what the fuck is going on.

“Hey,” the rockstar replies, forcing a smile.

“My name is Messer,” he introduces himself, not able to pronounce the r so instead, it sounds like he’s saying Messel.

Lifting a hand to his chest, the rockstar says, “I’m Eddie.”

Seemingly satisfied with doing a good job, Messer looks to Wayne for the same type of approval, once only reserved for Eddie and the sentiment makes the brunette rockstar shift uncomfortably in his seat. The eldest Munson ruffles the toddler’s hair and asks him to go play in the living room.

“I’ll join you in a minute, okay?”.

Once they’re left alone, Wayne faces his nephew completely and Eddie now notices the difference a five years can make. A few extra frown lines, wrinkles. His hair is a shade of grey that glistens under the light and the bags under his eyes are a little deeper than before. Overall however, Wayne looks happy. There’s no stress visible across his features and Eddie’s heart clenches inside his chest because maybe coming back to Hawkins was a bad idea.

“What are you doing here, Eddie?” Wayne asks.

“When I called for your birthday, you said the tour wasn’t supposed to be over for a few more months and then you had obligations to be back in the studio.”

Ignoring his uncle’s question, the rockstar fires back with his own. The same one from minutes ago.

“Whose kid is that, Wayne?”

Placing the mug down in front of him, after taking a sip, Wayne relents. He tells his nephew he loves him. Really. The highs, the lows. The crazy antics. Eddie’s dreams and passions, his intense drive for a better life, far away from Hawkins.

“I know all that,” Eddie says.

Wayne sighs. “Your friend, Steve, introduced me to this girl. Twenty-something. Pretty as a sunset.”

“So, you’re playing grandpa to Harrington’s child?”

“No,” Wayne answers. “I am a grandpa to yours.”

The roll of Eddie’s eyes is almost instant. He huffs in disbelief, lips twisting into a smirk at the ridiculousness of the information his uncle is after putting forward because there’s a plethora of reasons why Messer being his kid is near impossible. Top of the list: Eddie Munson uses protection. That’s rule number one and no matter how wasted he finds himself to be, it’s a rule he never forgets.

For crying out loud, he even did a months-long ad campaign for Durex.

Seeing the disbelief spread across his nephew’s features, Wayne continues.

“Following one of your gigs, she found herself in a certain situation and with nowhere else to go, I took her in. There’s plenty of space in this big house you bought me and I won’t lie kid, since you never visit, an old man gets lonely.”

“So she says,” Eddie grumbles, reaching for his own mug of tea.

“Don’t make stupid comments like that, son. I for sure raised you better.” Wayne chastasies. “With your reputation, I had no reason to doubt her.”

That the rockstar can’t deny.

Ever since his fast rise to fame, he's on the front page of every gossip site almost daily — usually with a different girl on his arm. He’s a constant topic of conversation on various pop culture podcasts and social media accounts, primarily Deuxmoi (a pain in Eddie’s backside). Everybody has something to say and it’s not always kind, or true.

Over the years, he’s been labelled a womaniser, an asshole, the lost cause. Satanist. He’s been called reckless, heartless, and brainless. People that have never met him pretend they know him best. The internet mafia. They write how he’s incompetent, a nightmare to work with, and worse of all, void of any real talent.

Yes, the rockstar is known by many names yet, despite his public list of conquests, Eddie never thought he’d add this one to the list: someone’s dad.

“There’s no way…” Eddie begins, but the words get tangled at the back of his throat. There’s no way I have a kid and no one told me. There’s no way I missed three years of his life. There’s no way I’m fit to be a dad.

Almost as if he can feel his nephew's mind spiral out of control, Wayne reaches across the table to grab Eddie’s shaking hand.

“When Messer was born, I knew.” Wayne states, full of emotion. “My heart expanded when I held him for the first time and in that moment, I knew. He’s half you, Eddie.”

They finish their tea in silence.

When the cups are empty, Wayne stands then asks his nephew whether he’s hungry. Eddie shakes his head no, even though he is, and tells his uncle to go be with the kid, that he’ll join them soon. He washes up the ceramics, heart still hammering inside his chest, and after wiping his ring-clad fingers on a kitchen towel, Eddie ventures deeper inside this foreign house.

The living room makes the rockstar feel even more uneasy, but he doesn’t digest every piece of decor upon entry. Instead, Eddie’s focus lands on the little boy.

Messer is playing with a collection of plastic farm animals and makes the different noises with his mouth as he moves the pieces around the carpeted floor.

“You be a cow, granpa,” he instructs, once again soft on the letter r, and passes Wayne the black-and-white animal.

Then his doe-eyes turn to Eddie. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts the hand holding a plastic horse in the rockstar's direction, patiently waiting for Eddie to take it from his grasp.

Hesitantly, Eddie steps towards the toddler and crouching down in front of him, grabs the toy. Messer averts his gaze and continues playing, just like he was seconds ago, while Eddie remains frozen because, in a single second, this kid has shown him more kindness than Eddie’s experienced in his life.

Then, a small smile breaks through Eddie’s features.

The three Munson’s sit on the carpet and knock the animals around. Using a colourful Lego Duplo set, they build what is supposed to be a farmhouse along with a red tractor (and some obscenely large fruit and vegetables). Eddie realises he can’t remember the last time he’s been this naturally relaxed.

Afterwards, when Messer falls asleep in Wayne’s lap, Eddie watches his uncle gently scratch down the toddler’s back. Melancholy washes over him. A wish to be a child again, resting in his uncle's lap without a care in the world. No responsibilities, just afternoons full of play and laughter. Suddenly, he’s met with a new sensation.

“Why did no one tell me?”

The question is almost a whisper, an undertone of sadness flows through it and it’s true, Eddie is holding back tears. Although, he’s not fully sure why. Perhaps it’s longing for the memories he has missed during his kids' life.

“Not you, not Steve, not his mom.” The rockstar lists, pointing to Messer. “I bet half this stupid town knows he’s mine and no one cared enough to fill me in.”

“You’ve been kinda hard to track down,” Wayne tries to reason, which only makes Eddie roll his eyes further into his skull.

“We talk nearly every damn day, Wayne. I’m not that hard to track down.”

Wayne sighs. “This is not a conversation someone wants to have over the phone, son.”

Eddie scoffs. Leg shaking, hand covering his mouth. He’s pondering the waves of different emotions circling through his veins. He’s sad, he’s angry. He’s confused. Sure, Eddie may not have been always available to Wayne over the last few years, and he may also have dodged hanging out with his high school friends on more than one occasion, but keeping this secret from him… That seems below the belt.

Especially because Wayne knows exactly what Eddie felt his entire life, growing up not being wanted by your dad. Surely his uncle wouldn’t want this kid to experience the same hardships.

“He didn’t recognise me,” Eddie says.

Slowly, Wayne nods. He can sense the question at the end of that sentence.

“Messer’s mom thought it best to not tell him yet.”

“Of course she did,” the rockstar mutters and sinks deeper into the large armchair. “So, who does he think his dad is? Fucking Santa Claus or some soldier that went off to fight in a war.”

This makes Wayne laugh. A quiet chortle, as not to disturb the sleeping toddler. He shakes his head at his nephew's dramatic sense of humour, something he has definitely missed quite dearly.

“A musician,” he answers honestly, “Off touring the world.”

Eddie blinks a couple of times, taking this information in.

“She told him the truth, son.” Wayne affirms. “She just didn’t use your name or show him what you look like. She didn’t want him pointing to your photos around the place and asking when you’re going to come home, only to be wildly disappointed.”

Guilt trickles in, another cold unwelcome visitor to the persistent emotions currently overflooding Eddie’s mind and soul. He tries to ignore it. Focus instead on the confusion from moments ago, or the anger, the sense of betrayal, but guilt’s icy current wins.

Eddie clears his throat and says, “That must’ve been hard.”

“What must’ve been hard, kid?”

“Seeing me everywhere while you lived… this life.”

Wayne presses his lips together. He nods again, once, slowly, then looks down at Messer. The curve of his earlobe, the tilt of his button nose. The brown locks and the miniscule freckles, reminiscent of Eddie’s dotted Milky Way.

“That’s not for me to answer, son.”

He wants to tell his nephew just how hard it’s been. The sleepless nights, the colic, the constant anxiety, the eventual weaning, the big emotions. And before all of that, the pregnancy and associated judgement. Wayne wants to tell his nephew he’s got years of making this right, but that’s not up to him. There’s only one person who speaks for how hard this has really been and that person — as he can see from the corner of his eye — is currently making her way up the front path.

The front door opens with a click.

Eddie snaps his head in the direction of the sound, palms of his hands now clammy against his dark denim jeans. There’s a few seconds of quiet shuffling. A bag being dropped and shoes kicked to the side, and then the rockstar hears it. A voice that could calm a storm. A voice imbued with inherent peace.

A voice he’s heard before.

One he thought he’d never hear again.

A LITTLE BEFORE

“Have a great show!” Felix, his tour manager, shouts over the drumroll and Eddie shoots him a quick thumbs-up, before jogging onto the stage with the usual bravado.

Effortlessly, the rockstar spins on his heel, facing the crowd, then throws his arms up in the air as they cheer from below. The screams get louder with each city, tickling Eddie’s second favourite spot: his ego. Tonight is no exception. Thousands of fans squeal and shout up at the stage. They jump in anticipation as Eddie looks to his band. Start.

New York, New York.

The most populous city in the United States and Eddie’s preferred choice, in terms of crowds. They know all of the words to his catalogue of songs, including all of the live chants. They move when he moves, get louder if he encourages. They boo him only when he steps off the stage because they always want more and Eddie’s fucking happy to oblige.

He lives for this. Yes, the fame and the money, but in reality, it’s the shows that keep him going. The control he has over the people that come watch him perform. Up on that stage, night after night, Eddie Munson can do no wrong.

As the third song draws to an end, the rockstar casts his eyes downwards, and for the first time in his to date relatively short career, he freezes.

The tight space between the barrier and the front of the stage is filled with photographers, most of whom Eddie recognises since, night after night, they travel with the band. There’s always the couple of strays, invited from local news outlets, but usually Felix will do quick introductions before the show so they can get a couple of quotes for the releases.

Staring down, Eddie spots the familiar faces and in the midst, he notices a girl.

She’s looking at him through a lens, but even with the camera blocking half of her face, the rockstar sees a glint of pearly whites. Click. A flash. Then, slowly, the girl lowers the 35mm and Eddie’s throat dries — not to sound overly simplistic, she’s the most beautiful creature he��s ever fucking seen.

The next song's opening guitar riff snaps the brunette rockstar out of his sudden daze, albeit briefly. He does a hectic double take, eyes landing on the girl once more as the lights change colour and her smile grows wider. She lifts the camera back up. Click. Another flash. Now, Eddie’s smiling too, forcing himself to focus back on the crowd and the task at hand.

He can feel her eyes on him, however. During the entirety of two full tracks: Won’t Get Fooled Again and Broken Mirror. She’s chasing him around the stage spellbound, as if she was physically dancing next to him, and the feeling Eddie derives from this interaction is other-wordly. He’s floating through space and time. Through galaxies, like a comet streaking across the cosmos. Actually, he’s not just floating. He’s soaring. Powered by this girl’s absolutely insane aura and her fucking gorgeous smile.

Getting lost in the moment, Eddie doesn’t realise she’s gone until the following song wraps and his gaze searches below the stage. He tries to regain focus. A drum roll fills the silence he’s created while wondering who she is and where she went. Eventually, he snaps out of his daze, turning to the crowd once more. “How are we doing tonight, New York!”

They’re doing fucking amazing, is the answer.

“That girl,” Eddie says to Felix after the show, “One of the photographers, what’s her name?”

Felix claps him on the back of the neck, pulling him into a half-hug. “Great show, man. For a minute there I thought you were going to jump through the time-space continuum.”

“The girl?” Eddie repeats; so what if he sounds desperate.

Dropping his arm, Felix laughs. “Always about the ladies with you,” he teases, then adds, “Don’t know her name. Think she’s with the venue.”

Wiping the sweat drops off his forehead with a trusty grey towel, Eddie nods, taking this information in. He glances around his surroundings, wondering if he can spot the venue promoter he met earlier and ask them the same question, but he can’t spot any other faces, aside from the band's own crew.

Felix is still talking about the show. Going over the highs, the aspects that could be improved upon, and what to never fucking do again: which in this instant, is freeze.

“It’s that girl, man.” Eddie tells his tour manager. “I saw her in the crowd and my brain just short-circuited.”

“There’s always going to be another girl,” Felix says plainly, “Chances aren’t as high for another good fucking show.”

Fingers in a fist, he playfully bumps the rockstar on the arm and walks away to chat with the other band mates. Eddie’s in half a mind to yell after Felix, scream at the top of his lungs that somehow this girl is different, but would that be true? All she did was smile. And yeah, maybe it’s the most perfect smile the rockstar has ever seen. Doesn’t mean she’s anything special…

But God, does he wanna find out.

A LITTLE AFTER

“You’ll not believe the day I’ve had, Wayne.” The voice calls out. Close. For the first time in years, it’s within Eddie’s reach.

However, he remains fixed to his current spot.

He can feel his uncle's gaze burn into the side of his skull, waiting just as eagerly to see how this will play out, but all Eddie can think is: what an embarrassment. Seemingly, he’s lost all control of his movements. Can’t even stand to greet the fucking girl. The mother of his child.

“And all before you texted me about the certain visitor.”

That wakes Eddie up.

His brown-eyes lock with Wayne’s, wide. There was a time, not overly long ago, when the two Munsons would present a united front against everyone in this shitty town. A team. Nothing and no one could come between them. So, not only has Wayne gotten himself a new family that apparently doesn't include Eddie, he’s also got himself a new team. The betrayal Eddie’s sensed all afternoon deepens.

“You told her?” The rockstar whispers.

Wayne nods as if it’s the simplest answer in the world. And to the eldest Munson, it is. Because yes, Eddie has been a priority ever since he arrived into this world, screaming his little head off. Eddie’s now in his mid-twenties, with a life on his own. Far away from Hawkins, by design. The toddler sleeping in Wayne’s lap being, at times, the only remaining common thread. A new priority.

“Jesus,” Eddie exhales.

He runs a hand through his already disheveled locks, then down his face. His gaze jumps between the doorway and the window. He could run away and pretend this afternoon never fucking happened, but that would only prove the point they’re all thinking. That he’s a fuck-up, unworthy of being someone’s dad.

A mobile sounds in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of an iPhone ringtone. It’s picked up almost instantly, as if the call was expected.

Then Eddie hears her voice again and his attention settles back on the doorway. Despite his feet being fiercely planted to the carpet below, mainly out of fear, he’s unmistakably drawn to the raw sound. Like he’s a pirate and she’s a siren, calling him to sea.

“Are you on your way?”

Eddie hears and his brows string together. How many people in this godforsaken town have to bear witness to the rockstar facing this colossal mess he’s made for himself — and all because he borrowed a condom from Brick, the drummer from his band. Eddie remembers now. He’s placed the voice in his memory palace along with the night this all happened.

New York, New York. A camera down below. Click. Flash. And the prettiest smile he’s ever fucking seen.

“Okay, ‘cause I can’t face him without you here.”

A moment of shuffling. Pacing, Eddie’s deducted. She’s nervous, he thinks.

“Ugh. Steve—”

The rockstar blocks out the remainder of that sentence because of fucking course. Harrington to the rescue. His gut twists in envy. Always the same old story: Eddie the screw-up and Steve the hero. They’ve circled this scenario since high school. The alibis provided to Hopper, the countless stacks of copied homework, the train of hearts Harrington mended. Even though — one could argue — Harrington is the bigger asshole in their unlikely friendship, his best friend always comes out on top because he has something Eddie thought he himself lacked. Charm.

Although, charm is not exactly an explanation for how Steve has landed himself in the middle of this particular situation.

Casting his memory back, the rockstar doesn’t remember Harrington at the concert in question. In fact, now that he’s thinking about it, Eddie’s sure the two of them weren’t even speaking at the time.

Wayne made it quite clear that it was indeed Harrington who introduced the girl, but when the fuck did he meet her? More importantly, why did she reach out to Steve and not Eddie directly? The questions continue to pile in his head, nauseating.

Eventually, there’s quiet. The conversation has ended and after a beat of utterly anguished silence, light footsteps make their way down the hall. Towards the living room.

Then, for precisely thirty-three seconds, Eddie’s heart stops.

“Hi.”

There’s no smile behind the word. A blank expression greets him, but regardless the rockstar feels elated — if only for a moment.

You.

New York, New York. A camera down below. Click. Flash. And the prettiest smile he’s ever fucking seen.

You.

“Hi,” he says back, throat coarse.

Tongue pressed to the inside of your cheek. Eddie knows what it means, he’s seen it before. An anxious tick. Despite Wayne’s warning, you weren’t expecting him, the same way he wasn’t expecting you.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about, I guess.”

Eddie nods, slowly. His anger subsides with every spoken word that surrounds the living room because he may not have known there’s a kid walking around this world that is half him, but you…

Seeing you after all this time, knowing Messer is also half of you, well, the rockstar thinks to himself: what a fucking twisted little jackpot he’s just hit.

as always, thank you for reading! pls support your writers by commenting & reblogging <3

story masterlist

tagging some cool people that expressed interest (if you want to be removed, just let me know), and if anyone wants to be added- also let me know: @tvserie-s-world @probablyin-bed @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @darknesseddiem @kellsck @althaiareads @streamafterlaughter @ali-r3n @spider-starry

#oh hell yeah #fics #to read

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streamafterlaughter · 4 days ago

Text

pearl: march 1984

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 3.2k chapter summary: eddie realises he might like you as more than just his best friend.

& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely, if at all, in the story.

pearl masterlist

Detention.

Detention was dumb. And you weren't just thinking that because of the half-crumpled slip in your hand.

Judging by the look on her face, she was just as happy to be doing this as you were, only reaffirming your already strong belief that detention was in fact dumb.

“Take a seat,” Mrs. Click grumbles before burying her nose back in the book she was reading.

Not surprisingly, Eddie’s eyes are already on you. He’s got a stupid, shit-eating grin plastered across his face and you can’t help but to roll your eyes at him — what a dingus.

“I can’t believe you��re actually pleased with yourself,” you huff while sitting down in the free spot next to him.