#Corroded Coffin May Mayhem Bingo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

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Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

The Rush

"I'm getting the distinct feeling I'm not welcome here," Steve says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The pair of drumsticks clenched in his fist.

There are four pairs of eyes staring at him, and only one could be even remotely deemed friendly.

Maybe, two. Jeff looks neutral. Steve will take neutral.

"No, it's not that!" Eddie shouts, far too over the top. It is exactly that.

It's not like this was his idea. He starts gathering up all his stuff. It's stupid. He didn't even want to do this, Eddie coerced him, twisted his arm, begged, and now Steve's feelings are hurt for no goddamn reason whatsoever.

It's bullshit.

Steve was just trying to be a good friend. Eddie wanted to get back to playing at The Hideout after everything that happened. But Gareth's hand is still fucked, one of the fingers Jason Carver stepped on didn't heal right, and they had to go in and fix it surgically.

Eddie's been antsy. The Hideout wants to give their spot away, and Steve gets that Eddie wants any sliver of normal that he can get right now.

Unfortunately, Steve was stupid enough to think he could be the one to fix this problem for him.

He can't. He really, really can't.

"You're just not doing it right!" Gareth shouts, the one arm that isn't in a sling, flailing.

"I haven't played drums since fourth grade!" Steve yells back. Everybody had to pick an instrument to play during fourth grade band class. All the boys wanted to play the drums. Obviously. He can keep a steady beat, can play a drum roll on the snare. Can play the fucking timpani if need be, but he's never played a full drum kit before.

He's not a drummer.

It's gonna take him a minute to learn, and it damn well hasn't been made any easier with Gareth hovering behind him, breathing down his neck. Sighing, and grumbling.

"We're just stressed out," Jeff says, "if we cancel one more time, Carl said we're gonna lose our Tuesday spot."

Steve nods. He gets it. But it's not his fault he can't just play like they want him to right away. He was doing them a favor, not the other way around.

"Carl's a fucking liar," Eddie pops off, "Who the fuck else is he gonna get to play in his shit hole for five drunks?"

"Probably not a band led by a supposed murderer," Goodie says, and Steve wishes he wouldn't do that. Wouldn't bring it up. The town still looks at Eddie like he's guilty, and it sets Steve on edge.

"Do we really want to call his bluff?" Jeff asks, and Steve watches them all volley off each other, eyes following the banter.

"And he can't wear that!" Goodie interrupts, drawing the attention back to Steve, berating him for no goddamn reason, pointing an accusing finger at him.

Steve looks down. He's just wearing a polo and jeans. What he always wears. What's wrong with his clothes?

"We can't make him wear a costume," Eddie argues, and Steve agrees there. He can't dress like Eddie. He'd look like a dumbass.

Not that Eddie looks like a dumbass, just that he would look like one if he tried to mimic him.

"Well, we can do better than that!" Goodie insists.

Eddie nods, and this is really the least of their concerns. Steve doesn't know the songs. What he's wearing isn't important at this point.

"Just. Try again," Gareth says, and Steve nods, reluctantly.

Gareth sits on the stool, hitting the kick drum repeatedly, and Steve tries to follow along, sitting next to him. Foot tapping an imaginary pedal.

Eventually, Gareth gets up and makes Steve take over the hot seat again.

And it's going pretty smoothly.

Until Eddie has a fit for no reason that Steve can figure out.

Gareth is leaning over Steve's back, his hand covering Steve's, leading him through a very basic backing beat.

"1, 2, 3, 4," Gareth counts in his ear.

"You're harassing him!" Eddie shouts, and Steve looks up from where he was closely watching Gareth's good hand guiding his own.

"What?" Steve asks, confused. This is the first thing they've tried that's made this even seem possible.

"Stop groping him," Eddie demands, pointing a finger at Gareth, and now they're both looking up.

"I'm not flirting with him, I'm trying to teach him the bare fucking bones of this song, Eddie, Jesus Christ! Get a goddamn grip!" Gareth yells, and Steve hates this whole experience.

He should have never told Eddie he's ever even looked at a drum. It would have saved them all a lot of hassle.

"Just. Back off. Let him try it by himself," Eddie demands, and Gareth takes a dramatic step back. He's been around Eddie far too long.

"How's he supposed to play it without Gareth teaching him?" Jeff asks, and it's far too reasonable of a question for Eddie.

"It'd be easier if he could read sheet music!" Gareth snaps, and Steve looks back at him.

"I can read sheet music," Steve says.

"You can what now?" Eddie asks, whipping around to look at him.

Then, the rest of them turn to look at Steve.

"What?" Steve asks, feeling pinned down. "I can play the piano. Don't all kids have to take piano lessons?" Steve asks, and Eddie barks out a laugh. But Goodie is sort of nodding along, begrudgingly. Steve can tell that he knows the pain of sitting next to Ms. Ruth in her old, musty living room, being forced to learn piano scales.

"You all take twenty. No. Give us an hour. Go get us a six-pack, anything," Gareth says, ushering them out of the garage, pulling the door down half-way behind the three of them. Probably so they don't suffocate in here, it's already hot enough without the door closed.

Then, Gareth turns and looks back at Steve.

"Finally. Peace and quiet. Okay. You know how piano sheet music is written with notes on a scale?" Gareth asks, rifling through the cabinet in the corner, finally comes up with a folder and a dusty music stand.

"Yeah," Steve answers, getting up to help him unfold it, since Gareth's only got the one good hand.

"For drum notation, the staff is instead for which part of the drum kit you should play on. Does that make sense?"

Steve thinks so. At least somewhat.

"Executive decision. We're going easy. They'll have to deal," Gareth says, and spreads out a hand drawn notion for Back in Black.

Then, Gareth starts explaining which part of the staff goes to which drum.

"Notes are for drums, X's are for cymbals," Gareth says, then starts pointing at each piece of his drum set, and then back at the piece of paper where they align, "Snare, hi-hats, crash, high tom, mid tom, ride, low tom, kick. That's it. Eight pieces."

Steve nods, but he's not very sure about this.

"It's easy. I promise," Gareth says, "You won't even need the sheet music in like ten minutes. You'll feel it."

They work up Back in Black and move to Highway to Hell. On that one, Steve comes in behind, or ahead, he's not sure.

He hates this.

"You've heard this song right?" Gareth asks, and it's only slightly mean.

"Of course I've heard this song," Steve snaps.

"Then just listen to it. You're rushing. You know what that guitar part sounds like and you know when the drums come in. Do it then."

If only it was that easy.

Gareth rewinds the cassette, and they start all over again. Steve attempting to play along with it, as Gareth's tapping on his shoulder, counting softly, giving him the beat he should be following. Maybe that's what they can do at The Hideout — set up a curtain, and Gareth can tap him to keep him where he should be. That's an idea.

The song's not good. It's not bad either, which is a definite upgrade.

Steve is sweating, and he wipes his forehead with the tail of his shirt.

"You're not so bad, Harrington," Gareth says, and Steve laughs. He's terrible.

"I'm terrible," Steve argues.

Gareth laughs, "At the drums? Yes. You, Steve Harrington, aren't so bad."

"Oh," Steve says, "Thanks, I guess."

The way Gareth is looking at him is weird.

"What?"

"Eddie's a good guy," Gareth says, "just a little high strung. He means well. He always does."

"I know," Steve says, because he does. They've become friends since spring break. He doesn't need to be sold on Eddie Munson. He's not the rest of Hawkins.

Gareth just nods, "Okay, from the top."

They are on song four, Steve reading the music, only making a few mistakes, when he catches movement and it draws his attention away from the kit.

Eddie is squatted down like some sort of weird owl, head cocked to the side, nearly upside down, spying on them from under the half-open garage door.

"We can see you, asshole," Gareth says, "just get in here. I think he has it."

"I didn't know we were an AC/DC cover band now," Goodie snarks, holding onto his bass. Steve doesn't have time to say there's a Queen song in there, too, and one he doesn't know the band name, before Gareth jumps in to defend his executive decision that they are playing easy shit.

Songs that he could basically boil down to a repetitive pattern. Steve was on board with that. There's whining and grumbling, but Gareth was the only one that helped him learn anything at all.

"Shut up. I could have taught him Stayin' Alive," Gareth sasses.

Goodie shuts up.

"Great. And he can play Living After Midnight, so you can stop your stupid whining," Gareth says, then adds, "These are the songs he can play, and you'll damn well play them, too."

There's bitching and moaning, but they all do exactly what Gareth says, playing them together for the first time.

A week later, Steve sits on the stool in The Hideout, sweating. There's nobody in this goddamn bar, but he's still nervous. Mainly because he doesn't want to disappoint Eddie. Steve's never wanted to be in a band. Still doesn't.

They practiced every day, and it is what it is. Gareth just needs to get that hand healed fucking soon.

Eddie looks back at him, expectantly. Gareth is standing off-stage, and he gives Steve a single thumbs up. So, Steve counts them in. Nervous and shaky-voiced.

And away they go.

It was fine. Nobody booed, nobody paid them any attention to them at all, really, and it was all over before Steve even had time to stop being nervous.

Afterwards, they load up all the equipment in the back of the van.

"You did good," Gareth says, and Steve smiles a little, reaching out to put his hand on Gareth's shoulder.

"Thanks for teaching me," Steve says, "I had fun."

Gareth raises an eyebrow, challenging him. Sniffing out the lie immediately.

"Okay, fun might not be the exact right word," Steve laughs, thinking of what he actually feels, but he's interrupted. Eddie shoving between them, making them step apart. Forcing Steve to yank his hand from Gareth's shoulder, if he wants to keep his elbow from being dislocated.

Gareth rolls his eyes, and walks off, climbing into the van.

Steve watches as Eddie puts the last piece of the drum kit into the van, and then slams the back doors closed. Leaving them standing there in the dark back alley, just the two of them.

"Thanks for doing that for us," Eddie says, pulling his hair across his mouth, "You were good."

"I wasn't good," Steve laughs.

Eddie giggles, and it's too high pitched and weird. He's being weird. He's been weird all week. Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn't want Steve Harrington in his band, but the feeling is mutual. Honest.

He's staring at Steve, and Steve is curious why.

"Why are you being so weird?" Steve asks. He won't know unless he asks.

And Eddie lunges forward, hand wrapping around the back of Steve's neck, tugging him into a kiss.

Oh.

Steve yelps with surprise, and then goes with it. Kissing him back.

This is why he's been weird. He was jealous. He was flirting.

Steve didn't realize.

In that case.

Steve takes charge, taking a big step forward, then another, forcing Eddie to walk backwards until he's pressed up against the back of the van. Steve slides his arm around Eddie's waist, and pulls him close. He can feel how much Eddie wants this, and well, Steve's not about to disappoint him.

Pressing into him, kissing him until they need to stop to breathe. When they do, Steve pulls back and grins.

"So, drummers make you hot, huh?"

Eddie laughs, "Just you. Definitely not Gareth."

And then Eddie is staring in his eyes, "What about you? Does Gareth make you hot?"

Steve giggles, reaching out to touch Eddie's hair, and kisses him again. He's so fucking ridiculous. When they break apart again, Steve can't take his eyes off Eddie's lips. They are so kissable. He'd never noticed that before.

"No, he doesn't. My attention is all reserved for someone else in this band."

Eddie smiles so fucking wide, that Steve doesn't know how he didn't see this mutual crush they've been building on each other for months.

"Let's go dump off the guys and the gear," Steve suggests and Eddie nods, eagerly.

When Steve climbs in the back of the van, Gareth looks at him knowingly, "Did Eddie finally stop being an asshole and get what he wanted?"

Steve laughs, nodding.

"Unless you want first dibs, of course," Steve teases, and Gareth laughs as Eddie reaches around the seat, threatening them both. Jealous of nothing.

It might be fun to gang up on Eddie, though. Rile him up. The real drummer, and the shoddy replacement. A one-two punch.

Steve holds out his hand, offering a fist bump, which Gareth takes him up on.

Maybe Steve's made a new friend.

He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because they all have to hang on for dear life as Eddie wheels the van out of the alley like he stole it.

But Steve gets it. The rush.

They have places to be. Things to do.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #stranger things s4 #stranger things fic #jeff stranger things #corroded coffin fic #corroded coffin #steddie #steddie fic #eddie x steve

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corrodedcoffinfest · 4 months ago

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Corroded Coffin Fest: May Mayhem Bingo

Come experience the mayhem. The reverse tropes. The other side of the coin. The no good, very bad days. The headaches in the making. The absurd.

Complete any vertical, horizontal or diagonal line of 5 prompts for a bingo. Complete all 25 for a blackout. Prompts cannot be combined on the card. You can combine them with prompts from other blog events, that's totally fine! But to get a bingo for this event here, you'll need to complete prompts separately.

All entries must be posted between May 1st-31st, 2025 — in full. You can connect them in a universe, if you wish, but it all needs to be posted by the end of May.

(I know we have other events that will happen before this one, but with so many possible prompts, I wanted to get this one out early, so everyone that wants to take a crack at it would have plenty of time to work. Plus, the prompts for our 2nd Annual Corroded Coffin Fest main event that takes place in July will drop next month! I didn't want to hit you with two large sets of prompts at once.)

You can interpret the prompts any way you'd like, as long as you've focused on one or more members of Corroded Coffin of your choosing. Just read the guidelines below and have fun!

GUIDELINES:

Please tag us here at @corrodedcoffinfest when you post your entries so we can reblog them!

The word count guidelines for this challenge are fics with 300+ words.

You'll get a comment from this blog with a "❌" when it's been checked and added to the queue.

Submissions can be connected to other prompts from the pop-up, but they should still be able to stand alone.

Feel free to use the ao3 collection after you've been reblogged here!

Anyone that completes at least (1) bingo will get their own masterlist post w/completed card. You may also do individual prompts, without working towards a bingo, if desired. Those entries will be included in the full event masterlist, as always!

All submissions should include any pairings featured, a rating and any content warnings (CW) or tags that you think are appropriate. All explicit material needs be under a cut. All ships are welcome, as long as they include at least one member of Corroded Coffin: Eddie, Jeff, Gareth & Freak. Please put the prompt you are fulfilling as well, just to keep things straightforward. A sample could look something like this:

For the artists! Art is definitely welcome! Any entries for the prompts must be Corroded Coffin focused, using any combination of the guys, together or solo. Of course, other characters can be included, too! But you need to have at least one of the CC band members in it for it to count for this pop-up event. Thank you!

Please submit your entries between 12:00 AM EST on May 1st and 11:59 PM EST on May 31st.

SPREADSHEET:

I've made a spreadsheet to help keep track of the prompts and your progress towards any bingo(s) you might want to complete. If you'd like to use it, just go to File>Make a Copy and you'll get a version you can edit in your own Google Sheets.

I also put a little blurb about each prompt, and if there's a TV trope page or something similar, I've linked to that, in case you need jumping off points. But it's totally up to you how you'd like to interpret them!

If you keep track of which prompts you've completed by ticking the Finished? box on the "CCF" sheet, it will populate into the next "My Bingo Progress" sheet, as seen here:

And you'll see what percentage you've currently finished of each possible bingo and/or blackout. (Note: Don't change the sheet names or you'll break all the formulas that make it work!)

Enjoy the mayhem! 💥

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #mod post #rules #guidelines #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #fanworks event #event rules #stranger things #stranger things event

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alicetallula · 28 days ago

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Corroded Coffin Fest : May Mayhem Bingo 2025 - E1 - Childhood Enemies - 'This is not my idea of fun' - 29.05.2025

Here's my first drawing for the @corrodedcoffinfest's May Mayhem Bingo 😊💕

A1 - Sold his Soul for a Donut / A2 - Nice Guy Who Only Hates You / A3 - Too Many Beds / A4 - Riches to Rags / A5 - Grand Theft Me // B1 - Lounge Singer AU / B2 - Spot the Imposter / B3 - Hate at First Sight / B4 - If I Can't Fix Them, I'll Just Make Them Worse / B5 - Marriage of Inconvenience // C1 - Last Kiss / C2 - End of the World / C3 - Free Space / C4 - Lovers to Friends to Strangers / C5 - Meet Ugly // D1 - Locked Door / D2 - Nobody Lives, Everyone Dies / D3 - Time Travel Break-It Worse / D4 - Idiot Ball / D5 - It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better // E2 - Crack Treated Seriously / E3 - Faking the Dead / E4 - True Hate's Kiss / E5 - Mutual Resentment

'This is not my idea of fun' - 29.05.2025

I had a lot of fun doing this Swan Princess AU for Chrissy and Gareth :3 Let's just hope Gareth won't put his foot in his mouth the same way Derek does in the movie xD

For this I had the idea Chrissy really doesn't want to be there as a kid, she's shy and wants to blend into the background, hence the green dress. But her rocky relationship with Gareth makes her bloom and have more confidence as the years go by 😊💕 So those same nuances of green for her dress then make her pop against the wood and stones from the castle.

Done using watercolors, ink pens, colored pencils, gel pens, graphite pencils, acrylic paint pens and Photoshop for the background, Gareth's freckles, lyrics and for the title

AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

Done using watercolors, ink pens, colored pencils, gel pens, graphite pencils, acrylic paint pens and Photoshop for the background, Gareth's freckles and lyrics

AO3 post / Bluesky post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #stranger things #corroded coffin #drumcheer #chrissy cunningham #gareth stranger things #gareth emerson #swan princess 1994 #crossover #stranger things x swan princess #swan princess au #childhood enemies #fanart #tallula03's art

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dame-zoom-a-lot · 2 months ago

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This is an entry for @corrodedcoffinfest's May Mayhem Bingo (I hope this is the right way to post art)

This is also fanart for @fkinkindagauche's ongoing fic II Most Wanted, specifically, the stool mentioned here

Eddie was seated on his black stool with flames painted up the legs, playing his guitar and banging his head. Eddie had initially wanted to quit the band when it became clear that he'd probably never again be able to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. The demobats had done too much damage to the muscles of his hip flexors and around his knees. But the guys from Corroded Coffin had threatened to all quit if Eddie quit, insisting that they could find him the world's most metal stool to sit on during practice and shows. The stool was pretty great.

It's late at night and I had a long day and I'm feeling kinda sentimental so I hope I'm wording this right. But I so so appreciate how their fics hold onto a sense of kindness and community without getting too sappy. They're all really funny, and I have yet to see it be funny in a way that punches down.

I feel like it's really easy to lose a sense of the friendship while writing a romance-centered fanfic. I definitely have issues. And I love how Gauche's fics find that balance, while being hilarious, and while always including at least one (or two) fun (?) fact that I didn't know before. Anyway. Go read it! Here's the link again.

References under the cut

I kinda mashed Eddie's face into this guy holding the guitar and traced over their pose.

Then I pasted on a picture of Eddie's Warlock and sort of shimmied and twisted it around until it was angled semi-right.

#zooms draws #eddie munson #eddie munson fanart

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felixir-of-moths · 1 month ago

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CC Fest | May Mayhem Bingo 2/5

Their youngest fan (AO3)

@corrodedcoffinfest | Prompt : Grand Theft Me

Rated: T | wc: 1,331 | Relationships: Chrissy&Eddie, Steve&Robin | CW: involuntary kidnapping | Tags: AU modern setting, Corroded Coffin on Tour, accidental baby acquisition, pre-Steddie, pre-Buckingham, minor Joncy, kidnapping, implied alcohol abuse, Eddie Munson is a Mess, Babysitter Steve Harrington, Happy Ending

Summary:

“Chrissy, I messed up,” Eddie whispers, eyes closed, head shaking slowly from side to side. “I drunk-hot-wired again.”

- OR -

Corroded Coffin meets their youngest fan after a massive hangover.

🚗👶🎸

Eddie wakes up in a jolt, and smashes his head against the dashboard. The throbbing hangover migraine is instantly doubled. He groans loudly, cradling his painful face in his hands, curling into a ball in the driver seat. What a fucking night. He pats his jacket, hopeful, and sighs in relief when he finds his phone. 37 missed called from Chrissy. 18 missed called from Gareth. 6 missed called from Jeff. 1 missed called from Doug. Oh, that doesn’t look good at all. Eddie tries to emerge from the thick fog of his own brain, squinting his eyes over his phone, looking for clues: he hadn’t be drunk like that in years. He vaguely remembers celebrating the last concert, popping the champagne in the tour bus - then it’s all a blur with a few colorful dots. A traffic cone. An ice-cream truck. A T-rex costume. Piecing clues together is usually one of his strongest skills, but right now, his body feels like a fucking car wreck. Speaking of car. Oh, that is definitely not his car.

“No, no no, no no no,” Eddie desperately mumbles, folding himself to look under the wheel, hoping there won’t be any - “no, fuck no!” he screams at the exposed wires. When his phone displays Chrissy’s photo for a 38th call, he makes sure to not miss this one, and picks up with a hoarse voice. “Chrissy?” “Oh my god, you’re alive,” Chrissy shouts, voice vibrating with concern. “Where the hell are you, Eddie? We looked for you all night!” “Chrissy, I messed up,” Eddie whispers, eyes closed, head shaking slowly from side to side. “I drunk-hot-wired again.” “Shit. Okay, just drive the car back before anybody can see you” she presses. “You can’t get arrested again. Once was good for publicity - twice is just not gonna do it, the label is gonna kill you.” Eddie whines, feeling on the verge of tears. “I don’t know where I took it,” he confesses between his teeth, clutching on the phone. “I don’t even know where I am.” On the other side of the phone, there’s a loud sigh, and three other voices start to talk all at once. “Is he okay?” “He’s okay, he drunk-hot-wired a car.” “Holy shit.” “Where is he?” “He doesn’t know, Christ…” “Tell him to drive back to the bus.” “In a stolen car? Have you lost your mind?” There’s only so much screaming Eddie can takes, hungover as he is. He opens the driver’s door just in time to avoid hurling inside the car. “I knew he was gonna get shit-faced, I told you to keep an eye on him…” “I’m not his mom, Chrissy!” “Yeah, Chrissy, you were shit-faced too!” “I’m your agent, I can get shit-faced!” Eddie wipes his mouth with a disgusted wince. “Everybody shut up,” he pleads in his phone. “I’m gonna drive slow and find my way back.” “Eddie, no-“ He hangs up and throws the phone on the passenger’s seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “At least it can’t get any worse” he whispers to himself. That’s when a shrilling cry echoes inside the car from where he’d just thrown his phone. Eddie twists his head so fast he sees double. On the passenger’s seat, his phone landed on a soft plushy blanket, wrapped around - “Oh fuck.”

Read the rest on AO3 !

#stranger things #eddie munson #ao3 fanfic #steve harrington #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #corroded coffin fest #queer artist #grand theft me #oopsie #accidental baby acquisition #corroded coffin

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medusapelagia · 2 months ago

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Other events: General, Rare Pairs, Character Centered Events - May Update

Join the ST events community Here!

Sapphic Mini Bang (@sapphicstevents) Authors sign ups are closed, but the artists one are open till the 25th of June Event info

Stranger Things Monster Calendar (@stmonstercalendar) This month every week will have its monster! And the first one is... mermaid! Event info Mermay Bingo (Event Info)

Billy Big Bang (@billybigbang) Author Sign-ups Close: May 25th Author Check-in #1: June 22nd Event info

Corroded Coffin Fest (@corrodedcoffinfest) From July 1st thru July 31st Event Info New Corroded Coffin Events coming soon: May Mayhem Bingo: 1May- 31May (event info) Somewhere Over the Rainbow: June 8th-14th, 2025 (event info) Willie Week - 17-23 Aug You sure this is a Holiday? - 18 Sep Mischief Night - 30 Oct Metal Day: These go to 11 - 11 Nov If we make it through December - 13 Dec

Steve Harrington Big Bang ( @steveharringtonbigbang) The sign ups are closed! Event info

Gender Things (@genderthings) Pride Things prompts & mini bingo - sign ups open to the 31st of May Event info

The Monster Hunting Mini Bang (@stoncybangs) If you ship Stoncy, Stonathan, Jancy or Stancy this is your moment! Sign Ups open from April 1st to May 31st Event Info

Dom Steve Month (@domstevemonth) 4 weeks, 16 prompts coming in June! All ships welcomed Event info

Stevie Week (@stevieweek) From the 22nd to the 28 of June. Seven days, two prompts each day! Open to every kind of Stevie! Event info

Stranger Tales (@strangertales2025) A year long event! General info here, more details coming soon!

Stranger Things Rare Pair Big Bang (@st-rarepairbang) Sign Ups Open from June 22nd to August 9th Event info

As always feel free to reblog and add other events!

#stranger things event #general stranger things events #rare pair stranger things event #rare pair #signal boost #general events #character centered big bang #eddie munson #billy hargrove #steve harrington #sapphic #corroded coffin #stobin #robin buckley

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steddie-island · 2 months ago

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Four Ring Circus

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem bingo prompt: Marriage of Inconvenience and for @steddiebingo round 1 prompt: Surprise Rating: M | WC: 943 | Tags: Steddie, implied Gareth/ Jeff/ Unnamed Freak, Las Vegas wedding, drunken shenanigans, crack fic For full list of tags see ao3! | Divider Credit

One of Eddie's rings is missing. It's the first thing he notices when he wakes up, is the lack of the weight on his finger. He cracks an eye open, groans and immediately covers his face with his arm to hide from the blinding sunlight. "Fuck—"

There's movement to his left. He gets flashes from the night before— teeth against his throat, his own digging into the hard line of a collar bone, his fingers surrounded by tight heat. Right, he didn't go to bed alone. And whoever he went to bed with is still there with him, warm and heavy against his side.

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Eddie knows that voice, is as familiar with it as he is with his own, or Jeff's.

"Stevie?"

There's a groan and a warm face buries itself against the crook of his neck. "Shhhh. Turn it down."

Whatever happened last night, at least Steve feels just as terrible this morning. Though, now that he remembers whose mouth was on his dick last night— Steve, Steve, holy shit it was Steve!!— he's feeling less awful with each second. He drags his hand over his face, which reminds him that his ring is gone.

Only when he opens his eyes, it isn't gone. It is, but there's still a ring on his finger. A simple gold band, right where his skull ring had sat before.

Oh goddamn fuck.

"Steve." Eddie's wide awake, much to the disapproval of the marching band in his head.

"Shhh—"

"No, Steve." Eddie shakes him, pushes him a little away, until he can dig Steve's hand out from beneath him and search for—

"Fuck." Eddie whips the blankets off, doesn't care that he's still naked or that Steve is looking at him like he's ready to throttle Eddie with the nearest object. "Did we get married last night?"

"What?" Annoyance is still plastered in every line of Steve's face. He opens his mouth, blinks, and then Eddie watches as it comes rushing back to him, too. He lifts his hand to see his own matching gold band. "I… We didn't… did we?"

Eddie feels like he's three seconds away from a panic attack, which is not how he'd wanted getting Steve in his bed to go. There was a massive difference in getting Steve into his bed and fucking marrying the guy.

"Fuck." Eddie digs through paperwork strewn over the hotel table alongside their empty bottles from the night before. He doesn't even have time to worry about his liver, can barely spare it more than a thought as he keeps digging through every piece of paper he can find.

"It's in the refrigerator."

"What?" Eddie asks without stopping his search.

"The marriage certificate." Eddie looks up and watches the way Steve presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "We put it in the refrigerator. Something about it being… cooler in the morning."

That sounds exactly like something Eddie would say, three sheets to the fucking wind. He opens the door of the mini-fridge and— bingo. There it is, tucked into the little freezer slot. Eddie pulls it out, finds the license and certificate both there, on top of a pack of cigarettes— what the fuck did we drink last night?

Eddie had laughed when Wayne told him not to get married in Vegas, and now here he is. Sweaty, hungover, married to one Steve Harrington.

Er, Steve Munson, if the signature on the marriage certificate is correct.

"Ah, fuck." Eddie stands, nudging the fridge closed with his foot. "Jeff's gonna kill me. Gonna kill us."

"What makes you think he didn't go get himself married, too?" Steve asks. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, is still sitting there with both hands in his hair.

"That's not happening until next week." It's why they're here in the first place, a happy little sendoff for Jeff while they still had a few minutes to breathe.

"This wasn't supposed to happen at all." Steve slips out of bed and Eddie can't help the way he watches Steve's back, then his ass as he finds his underwear and gets them pulled up his thighs. Even hungover Steve's still the most gorgeous person Eddie's ever seen. He delights at the bruises he hadn't been able to see before on Steve's hips, a dark one on the back of his neck, several lighter ones down his spine. His cock gives a twitch of interest as his mind wanders to all of the other places and ways he could mark up Steve's body.

Before he can even think to move and actually do something about it the door on the other side of the room opens up. Eddie actually squeaks as he brings the paperwork still in his hands down to try to cover himself as much as possible— not that they haven't all seen each other in various states of undress before, being on the road and sharing a bus for as long as they have.

"We have a problem," Jeff says. He gives a tug and that's when Eddie notices the silver cuff around his wrist. Gareth is attached to the other end.

"Did you two—"

Jeff hangs his head and holds his uncuffed hand up, showing off his own gold band. "Yep."

"To Gareth?" Steve asks.

"Yep." Gareth holds his cuffed hand up. "That's not the only problem, though."

Eddie raises his eyebrows. The whole situation is so fucked he almost forgets to keep himself covered. "What is, then?"

Jeff and Gareth exchange a look before looking back at Eddie. "Dougie's handcuffed to the bed, and I think we flushed the keys."

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #Steddie bingo #steddiebingo2025 #Steddie #Steddie fic #Corroded Coffin #kintsugi_kid ao3

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thisapplepielife · 27 days ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

a charity case

Prompt: Hate at First Sight | Word Count: 3450 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Underage Drinking, Canon Injuries | POV: Steve | Relationship(s): Steve & Everyone, Pre-Steddie | Tags: Set at the End of S3, Post Mall Fire, But Before the 3 Month Time Jump, Everybody's Coddling Steve, Except for Known Menace Eddie Munson

It starts out normal enough. As most things involving the little shitheads do, but it predictably only spirals from there. Dustin lures him home with the promise of Claudia's lasagna, and Steve's not one to ever turn down Claudia's home cooking. He's no fool. Even if his face hurts. Even if his head is pounding. Even if it hurts to turn his neck. Maybe he has whiplash from that car wreck.

It doesn't matter. He still goes, and they sit and eat in the living room, watching TV. Claudia worrying over the state of his face. Steve reassures her over and over that he's okay. That it looks worse than it feels. Honest.

Steve's not sure that's true, but it's just a little white lie. There's no reason for her to know what kind of danger Dustin had been so close to in the depths of hell in that cursed mall. That he did something stupid, reckless and really brave to save Steve and Robin. He's fine. They're all fine.

He shakes some aspirin out of the bottle in his glove box when he gets in the car, the same bottle from after that fight with Jonathan. The one that threw him into this whole mess in the first place. If he hadn't provoked Jonathan, if he hadn't been such an asshole, he'd probably never know anything about the Upside Down. He thinks about that a lot.

But he'd also probably not know Henderson. He probably wouldn't have a new friend in Robin.

That's not a trade off he'd make. He wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't. But he does think about the what-ifs more than he'd ever admit to anyone else.

Steve tosses the pills in his mouth, and swallows them. He never paid Tommy back for them. He thinks that makes them work better, the spite somehow adding some extra strength to them. He'll be good for a few more hours, the ache in his skull hopefully waning long enough for him to fall asleep.

The next night Nancy calls and tells him to be ready, that Jonathan's gonna pick him up in twenty minutes. That they're going out for burgers. No kids allowed. They swing by and get Robin, and it's kind of fun. Just the four of them. Sure, his face still hurts from the Russian torture, but it's nice to get back to a bit of normal. They don't even talk about the Upside Down or the Russians or that godforsaken mall.

Under the bright lights of the diner, he can see the scrape on Robin's knee, the bruise surrounding it that's worse than it was that night. He touches the skin near it gently.

She bats his hand away, but smiles at him, "I'm fine, dingus."

If she's fine, he's fine, too.

On Sunday, Robin says he has to come to family dinner and meet her parents. They're demanding it, apparently, and won't take no for an answer. They want to know who saved their daughter from the fire. He didn't save her from anything, she saved herself. But he does great with meeting the folks, they usually love him, so he doesn't mind going. He puts on his best polo and makes sure his hair is combed a little neater than usual.

Turns out, her mom is a pretty damn good cook, and they're really kind. Warm. If a little overprotective. But it's nice. Robin's really lucky.

He thinks they assume he's her first boyfriend, and he doesn't make any corrections. Just stretches his arm across the back of her chair, and plays the part. This is familiar, well-trodden ground. Steve Harrington: Boyfriend. That's normal. He can do normal. So, for this moment, he's the old Steve Harrington again. The one before monsters fucked up his whole world.

Charming, delightful and beloved.

It's not until Monday that they all tip their hands. Steve figured it out when Erica was on the phone, inviting him to dinner at their house. He's never set foot in the Sinclair house. And he quickly realized he was being passed around like a hot potato. A charity case.

Poor Steve Harrington, with no parents at home to make sure he's okay.

He's fine on his own. He's been fine on his own for a long time.

But he still can't tell the kid no, not after everything they went through together. Scoops Troop Forever, and all that. And she's just doing her part. He's not sure who put her up to this, probably Henderson. So, he shows up and sits through the most awkward meal ever, with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair not quite understanding why this older teen, especially one with a gnarly black eye, is friends with their children.

He's Dustin's babysitter, Erica explains, and Steve pretends he doesn't hear Mrs. Sinclair calling Claudia on the phone to verify this story she's being fed. Claudia must vouch for him, and of course she would, because Claudia loves him.

After the dishes are washed, Steve walks down the driveway, and gets in his car, rolling the windows down. It's too warm, even after dark. But the summer breeze feels good against his still sore face, and he cruises through neighborhood after neighborhood. Smelling the lingering charcoal cookouts, and hearing a smattering of fireworks still being set off. He's not sure he'll ever be able to look at the Fourth of July the same again. Not with the kind of fireworks he experienced in that mall.

When he pulls up to a stop sign, he hears a band playing live music. It's a little rough, but he pauses in front of the house when catches sight of the open garage door, and sees four or five guys rocking out. A blur of motion and jumping around.

They're definitely entertaining themselves.

He doesn't recognize the song they're playing, but he's not sure if that's because they're bad or if he just doesn't know the song. He thinks it's the latter.

Easing along the curb, he brakes so he can listen a little longer. In no hurry to get home. He squints, but he's not sure who they are. His vision has been kinda fucked since the other day, and he's getting concerned that it might not ever go back to normal.

Oh well. He'll deal with it, as is. His hearing is a bit iffy in his left ear, and he's figured out how to compensate for that. He can do the same with his eyes, if need be.

When they shift into AC/DC he's positive he just didn't know the last song. They really aren't half bad.

It's not until there's a streak of black running across the lawn, that he realizes it's Eddie Munson's band he's been listening to play. Shit.

Steve doesn't flee, he just waits for his tongue lashing for daring to do whatever Eddie's gonna excuse him of, just for being on the same street. Eddie has hated him from first sight, ranting about jocks and popularity and for some reason, his hair. Steve's never made any move to change his mind. It's useless. Eddie Munson has no give, no bend, it's his way or no way at all.

Best to avoid him whenever possible.

Eddie leans down into the passenger window, "Well, well, well, if it isn't Steve Harrington rapping on my chamber door."

Steve doesn't think he was rapping on anything, but okay. It's a free country. He's on a public street.

"I didn't realize this was your place," Steve says, because he didn't. He actually had no idea where Eddie lives. You don't seek out Eddie Munson. You cross the street to not deal with his big mouth bullshit whenever possible. Everybody knows that.

Eddie laughs, "This is Gareth's house. I live out at Forest Hills. You know. The trailer park. For the trailer trash."

Steve didn't say that. Steve didn't even think that. But there'll be no convincing Eddie Munson of anything. He thinks what he thinks, and says what he says. The rest of them just have to let it happen. So, Steve doesn't take the bait.

"You guys are pretty good," Steve says instead. A peace offering that'll never be accepted. But it's the truth, and you should tell the truth. Russian truth serum coursing through your veins or not.

"So you decided to spy on us. Like a little pervert," Eddie accuses, then tugs on the door handle, plopping right into the passenger seat. He immediately starts going through the glove box. Steve doesn't have the energy to stop him, and really? What's he hiding in there? Aspirin? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Let him look.

Eddie seems a little disappointed that he's not riling Steve up more, but Steve can't help that. He's too tired to argue about petty shit with Eddie Munson.

"Take me out to Fair Mart, will ya," he says, but it's not a question. More like a demand. "We need a six-pack."

Steve doesn't argue, just pulls away from the curb, and heads out towards the highway, Eddie Munson in tow.

And there he just thought eating an uncomfortable dinner with the Sinclairs was going to be the weirdest part of his night.

When he wheels up in front of the store, Eddie holds out his hand, "Got any money I can borrow?"

Steve sighs. He knows he won't get a damn dime back from Eddie Munson if he hands anything over, but he still fishes out the bills.

"How 'bout a fake ID? They won't sell to me. You go in."

"Fine," Steve says.

Eddie leans his head out the window, "Get two!"

Steve sighs. Leaving Eddie Munson alone in his car is a recipe for disaster, but he does it anyway. He comes back with two six-packs under his arms, and hands them to Eddie. Eddie immediately cracks one open in the car, putting his feet on Steve's dash.

The old Steve would have protested. The new Steve's not sure he's got the energy for it. His head already hurts, and listening to Eddie Munson rant and rave about the injustice of being asked to not be rude and destructive isn't worth it. So he just backs out, pulling out onto the highway.

Back in front of their practice garage, Eddie bails out, without so much as a thank you. Leaving his empty beer bottle on the floorboard, slamming the car door as he goes.

"You're welcome," Steve mutters under his breath, and pulls away from the curb.

Turns out, Eddie Munson is like a tick. Once he's attached, good luck getting him off cleanly without leaving the head behind. A constant, irritating itch, just beneath the skin.

Everywhere Steve goes, there he is, popping out from behind a bush. Wanting something. Needing something.

He gets it. Find an easy mark, and bleed him dry. Steve's not sure he can actually be a mark if he knows what's happening. Just a sucker for letting Eddie repeatedly try to push his buttons.

"Harrington. We need a favor," Eddie says, standing on Steve's front step, and Steve crosses his arms, but is listening.

"What?" he asks as he sees the three other members of Eddie's band stomping down the driveway. Swim trunks on, towels slung over their shoulders.

"We are under the impression that you have a pool," Eddie says, smiling like a goddamn wolf.

"The city has a pool. It's like a dollar to get in," Steve says.

"And you have a pool we could use for zero dollars," Eddie argues, and Steve sighs, but opens the door, letting them all inside. He doesn't even know their names. Well, one of them is Gareth. Which one is anybody's guess.

It doesn't matter. He's not using the pool, hasn't for a long time, not really. Not since Barb.

But if they want to, more power to them, he supposes.

"Might need to skim it," Steve says, "the pool house is over there."

"Oh, sure, make the poor kid be your free labor, Harrington," Eddie bellyaches, but does fetch the pool skimmer. Only, he decides to thrash it against the water, beating it against the surface, splashing, being a general nuisance until one of the other guys grabs it from him and actually starts removing leaves.

Steve sits in one of the lounge chairs, and is basically ignored as if he's not even there. That's fine. He didn't really expect anything else. It's not like they're his friends.

He watches as they shotgun beers, pilfered from the garage icebox, and smoke cigarettes poolside. Steve feels like he's been thrown back in time. He isn't this guy. Not anymore.

There are monsters in the world.

He's been tortured. It's hard to take a deep breath, because his chest feels bruised, down deep. His head hurts all the time. His neck is stiff. His eyesight is a little blurry. There's still an annoying ringing in his ear.

Splashing around in the pool that Barb disappeared from isn't at all appealing.

But he learns their names by listening to them talk. Jeff. Goodie. And he figures out which one is Gareth.

He stands, intending to head back towards the house, when Eddie comes out of nowhere, grabbing him around the waist, yanking him down into the pool with him.

The old Steve would have loved this, would have enjoyed the roughhousing. Would have been the one to think of it first.

The new Steve shakes out his wet hair and thinks about his now soaked wallet.

He climbs out, and after changing his clothes, Mike shows up on his bike. Steve is ninety-four percent positive Mike's there to drag him off to whatever house has surely been forced into hosting him for dinner tonight.

No more. He's good. He appreciates it. But the babysitter doesn't need babysitting.

"Is that Eddie Munson in your pool?!" Mike screeches.

And Steve nods, at least Eddie Munson is good for something, "Yep. I have company. I can't come to dinner tonight. Sorry."

He's not sorry at all.

Eddie Munson is a nuisance, most definitely, but he just came in handy for an excuse to get out of having to suffer through a dinner with Ted staring at him all night long, looking at him like he knows the ways Steve's touched his daughter. He's not wrong.

Parents love him. Ted Wheeler does not.

"He runs Hellfire Club," Mike says, and Steve doesn't know what that is, "Introduce me. Introduce me. Do it, Steve. Do it. Maybe he'll let us join next year."

So, Steve does. What does he care? Mike can do whatever the fuck he wants as long as it's not a danger to himself or others.

Over the next few days, Steve evades, and the dinner invites eventually peter out. Steve's grateful. He gets what they were doing. He does. But it's not needed. He can take care of himself. Even if he has a headache today. The worst one he's ever had, maybe. Maybe even worse than the one after Billy tried to crack open his skull with that plate.

He feels nauseous. And that's not being helped by someone ringing the doorbell incessantly.

Billy's funeral is today. He should go, for Max. The guy tried to kill him, even before he was possessed or whatever. He was an asshole. But he also died fighting on the same side as them. He stood up, and helped them fight back.

That's not nothing. Helping when you can, Steve gets that. He's just lucky he didn't end up getting himself killed in the Byers' house when he took that first stand, picking up that bat, not at all knowing what the fuck he was getting himself into.

Steve can't get out of bed, though.

The doorbell stops. Then starts up again.

Henderson, probably.

Steve can't navigate the stairs. He can't. Not right now.

Instead, he yanks open the upstairs window, and the sunlight is too bright. He squeezes his eyes shut, squinting them open a crack.

"Hey! Cut it out."

It sounds weak, but that's the best he can manage right now.

Eddie steps back far enough from the house that Steve can see him, screaming, "What's up, Harrington? I need a favor!"

Of course he does.

"Not so loud. And not today, man," Steve calls back down, squeezing his eyes shut. He can't look at him while they talk. "My head's killing me."

Eddie's quiet. Too quiet, and Steve cracks open an eye. He expects a fight, but Eddie just holds up his hands, saying, "Okay. My bad."

That was far easier than he expected, but Steve closes the window, and yanks the curtains closed again, crawling back into bed.

Steve must have dozed off, because he jerks awake when he hears tapping on his window. He looks over. Through the small sliver the curtains aren't covering, Eddie Munson is holding a sack, waving him over.

Jesus Christ. He must have climbed up the side of the house.

As loath as he is to get up, he does it anyway, pushing up the window and shuffling back to the bed. Eddie will have to take care of the rest.

Eddie does, climbing over the now open window sill. He immediately starts removing stuff from his sack, and the smell of food hits Steve.

"You brought me food?" Steve asks, arm slung over his eyes.

"Don't read too much into it, Harrington," Eddie says, and Steve chuckles.

"I'm not really hungry," Steve admits.

"I know. Eat it anyway," Eddie says, "Sit up."

Steve does.

Eddie hands him a bowl, and a spoon. Steve hurts too much to argue. He eats.

"Are you poisoning me?" Steve asks as he takes another bite. It's really good, but he's a little suspicious. This is too nice for Eddie Munson.

"Uncle Wayne would never," Eddie says.

"But you might?"

"I'm a loose cannon. Promises can't be made," Eddie says, lounging in Steve's chair, feet up on the desk. "Just eat it."

Steve does. But he can't help but be curious.

"Why'd you bring me food?" Steve asks. It's very out of character for Eddie. Steve gives, Eddie takes. That's the standard.

This is an anomaly.

Eddie just shrugs, but finally says, "My mom had migraines."

Steve doesn't have a migraine. He has a headache.

"I don't have a migraine," Steve says.

Eddie laughs, "Okay. Sure."

As soon as he's finished eating, Eddie takes the bowl, and then presses a knee into the mattress, leaning close to Steve's face. Steve swallows, eyes trained on him, waiting to see what he's gonna do next.

He has orange ear plugs pinched between his fingers, and he presses one into Steve's left ear, then one into his right. Steve has to adjust them, has to press them deeper, but Eddie gives him a thumbs up.

Then Eddie slides a black satin sleep mask over Steve's head, resting it over Steve's forehead. It feels like something his mother would wear, and Steve kind of laughs.

"Shut up, it's all they had at Melvald's," Eddie says, and then retreats right back out the window.

Steve rolls over, pulls the mask down over his eyes and sleeps better than he has in weeks.

Maybe Eddie Munson isn't all bad.

A few days later, Steve is the one that seeks Eddie out. He finds them in Gareth's garage, where they spend most days. He puts in his earplugs, taking a bit of the edge off, as he sits down to listen to Eddie and his band play. Eddie kicks open a cooler, an offer, and they don't really pay much attention to him after that.

They play. Steve listens, the sound slightly dampened by the earplugs.

Corroded Coffin, the banner in the garage declares.

When they wind down, sweaty and tired, Eddie comes over and plops down on the closed cooler lid.

"We play at The Hideout on Tuesday. Wanna come?"

Yeah, Steve thinks he does, actually. He nods, and the smile Eddie shoots him gives Steve unexpected butterflies in his stomach.

"I'll be there," Steve agrees.

"Good, we need a roadie. It doesn't pay," Eddie says, and Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie cackles, slapping him on the knee. He's kidding.

Steve knows he's kidding, now. He kind of wonders how much of Eddie Munson has always been misunderstood. Yes, he's abrasive. And kind of rude. But maybe some of it has just been for his own entertainment.

And if an Eddie that hates you is hard to shake, Steve's pretty sure an Eddie that likes you might be even worse.

To his shock, he's kind of interested in finding out.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: I know we all (myself included!) often tend to run with the idea that nobody worries about Steve, because Steve's not the squeaky wheel, begging for grease. But I thought, what happens if they ALL worry about him after the mall. 🥺

Fun fact: I originally wrote in after the fourth fireworks being illegal (not true in Indiana) and the illegal open container (also not true at the time in Indiana) before thinking to google those details. It was the wild west over in Hawkins. 🤣

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #stranger things s3 #stranger things fic #corroded coffin fic #corroded coffin #steddie #gareth stranger things #steddie fic #eddie x steve #the party stranger things #scoops troop #robin buckley

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thisapplepielife · 28 days ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Gareth sits in the front row, the only row, really. Everybody in attendance fits under the small, enclosed tent the funeral home set up over the folding chairs. He's never been to a graveside service that was so claustrophobic before. He understands that it was to keep it private. Because when the dead guy has been accused of unspeakable crimes, you don't mourn them in public. Out loud.

No, you do it privately, sequestered away. Long after the fact. Months of limbo, of Wayne saying that they're waiting until the time is right. Until the town has settled down. Until the headstone is ready.

He doesn't know why they waited for that. The town's never gonna settle down about this, about Eddie, and Gareth can barely see the headstone here in the dark.

Of course, there was no rush. No body to bury. No hole dug at all. Which means the fake green Astroturf they've laid is useless. Out for no reason at all. It's wrinkled under his feet, and he toes at one of the bubbles of trapped air.

Gareth's not gonna cry. He's already done that, and he's not about to do it again while seated between Jeff and Steve Harrington.

The preacher from Wayne's church is condemning Eddie. Nicely, kind of, but definitely not sugarcoating the memory of Eddie Munson, or his unspeakable actions, right at his own funeral. Gareth silently fumes, balling his hands into fists. Itching to start a fight. Make a scene.

How much trouble would he be in if he pops Pastor Dave right in the kisser?

Steve Harrington puts a hand over his, stopping his thought before it can fully form into a plan. He looks over at him, and Steve shakes his head.

Fuck. What the fuck does he know? He barely knew Eddie. Not like Gareth did. Not like Jeff and Goodie did. He wasn't friends with him. He doesn't even deserve to be here.

Henderson doesn't even look sad. Quietly joking with Mike as Lucas tries to shush them, and it looks like Steve wishes he'd sat over there instead, just to keep them in line. He didn't need to, apparently, because Erica leans forward, says something short and to the point, and they both straighten up and fly right.

Gareth sulks back into his uncomfortable folding chair, and listens to more lies being told about an Eddie that never existed, a demonized version, as his best friend is laid to rest.

Afterwards, Steve has the other boys cornered near a tree, reading them the riot act. They don't look sorry. Not at all.

Eddie died, and they're already over it. Gareth's never gonna be over it.

Jeff's standing at his mom's station wagon, waiting on Gareth. Goodie is already settled into the front seat, as always. Gareth heads their way, and when he slides in the backseat, he's surprised that Steve Harrington slides in right after him.

"Uh, hi?" Gareth says.

"Drive," Steve says.

"But your car," Jeff answers.

"Nance has it. Drive," he demands for a second time, and well, Jeff drives.

Once they are back on the highway, after leaving the winding roads of the cemetery, Steve starts giving directions. Jeff follows them, and Gareth isn't all that sure why. They don't even like Steve Harrington. Why are they letting him call the shots of where they're going?

Jeff doesn't protest until they're out past the city limits sign.

"Steve, like, I get that you're going through something, but I gotta get my mom's car home," Jeff says, and Gareth knows that's not really true. Mrs. Williams isn't that strict.

"Just drive," Steve says, and Jeff does. They all stay silent as he insists that they turn off onto a gravel road. After following it for a while, ignoring a DEAD END sign, they find a heavy, locked gate. Steve has a key, and swings the gate open, letting them pass. Then he locks it behind them.

Jeff starts easing down the even shittier dirt road that is absolutely plastered in PRIVATE PROPERTY KEEP OUT signs. Jeff meets Gareth's eyes through the rear view mirror. Gareth shrugs. Fuck if he knows.

At the end of the long, bumpy, washed out trail that can hardly be called a road at this point, they come upon a lake, with a trailer right near the water.

"What are we doing out here, man?" Gareth asks. But his question is answered when the door to the trailer swings open.

There's Eddie. Hair cut short, in clothes that look straight out of Steve's closet. But it's definitely him. Alive and well. When he smiles and waves, Gareth makes a sound that he wouldn't have ever assumed he could make, flinging open the car door, and running.

Eddie catches him, but winces, "Easy, I'm still a little chewed up over here."

Reluctantly, Gareth lets him go. He can't believe he's here. Alive. Can't believe that Steve Harrington knew and didn't tell anybody—

Oh.

Everybody at the funeral knew. Everybody but them.

"Does Wayne know?"

"Wayne knows," Eddie reassures, and leads them in through the trailer and out the other side, onto the back deck. It's peaceful, not another soul around for miles. There are birds hovering around a tall birdhouse, wings fluttering, and Gareth catches Eddie watching them.

"Whose place is this?" Jeff asks, looking around.

"Hopper's," Steve answers, reaching down into the old Coleman cooler, pulling out a dripping wet bottle of beer from the ice. He pops off the cap on the railing, and plops down in one of the deck chairs.

"Can I?" Gareth asks, motioning towards the cooler, and Eddie and Steve both say 'no' at the exact same time. Assholes.

"Are you…are you staying here? For good? Or is this just a temporary stop?" Gareth asks.

"Probably temporary," Eddie admits, and Gareth's face falls. Eddie must see it, because he bumps his hip against Gareth's, "Hey. This is a little too close to Hawkins, you know?"

"But—"

"You can come wherever I go. After you graduate. Promise. I'm not getting wiped off the face of the earth. Just laying low."

"You faked your death," Goodie says, "you're not hiding out at Skull Rock. This is a little more than laying low."

Eddie laughs, "Desperate times, desperate measures. All that. Wanna see some gnarly scars?"

And they do, so Eddie sheds his shirt, then tugs his jeans down really low.

"Did it get your dick?" Goodie asks, "Because I don't wanna see your mangled dick. I don't want to see any version of your dick."

Steve laughs, stretching out, putting his feet up on the railing. Crossing them at the ankle. Clearly comfortable here, and not at all interested in Eddie's scars. Though, Gareth supposes he's seen them before. He was involved in this whole mess, Gareth knows that much.

"How'd you? We thought?" Gareth asks, thumb pressing into Eddie's jaw, right above the scar on his neck that looks like it should have killed him.

"Steve's more stubborn than I am, somehow," Eddie answers, and Steve just grins, lips pressed to the bottle in his hand. "The bastard just refused to let me die."

"And I'll do it again, if you decide to do something else stupid," Steve says with a laugh, so they all laugh too, even if it's not all that funny. Not an exaggeration. Because it's evident all over Eddie's skin that the funeral today probably could have been real. He really did almost die.

Eddie pulls his shirt back over his head, and leans up against the railing, looking out over the still, peaceful water.

"It's nice out here," Gareth says. He doesn't know exactly what Eddie went through, and supposes he'll learn the details in time. For right now, he's absolutely certain that Eddie deserves some peace.

"It is," Eddie agrees, smiling over at Gareth, "and even nicer now that you're all here."

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

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thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event and my main card over at @steddiebingo.

Even Strokes

CCF Prompt: Lounge Singer AU || Steddie Bingo Prompt: Chef AU | Word Count: 5430 | Rating: T | CW: Recreational Alcohol Consumption, Language | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Chef Steve, Lounge Singer Eddie, Wooing With Food, First Kiss, Getting Together, Fluff

Also on ao3.

Steve is running the pass, slides two plates forward, and then another two. He wipes the edge of the plate, and straightens a piece of garnish, "Order up."

He waits, and nobody appears.

"Chris! Order up!" he shouts louder, and Chrissy isn't anywhere to be seen. She's usually right where she's supposed to be, without fail. He's never had any server in this place be as on top of it as she is, and she could be working a white-tablecloth somewhere, making real cash. If such a thing existed out here in BFE.

He's not letting these die on the pass.

"Hands!" he yells. Someone, anyone, will do.

Chrissy pops up, "Sorry, Chef. I'm here!"

He nods. It's fine. He just has higher standards than this casino really, truly allows. It's not even pretending to be fine dining, he's over qualified for the position. But he's not coming down to their level. He'll drag them all kicking and screaming up to his own.

Either way, for now, another four-top has plates down.

Honestly, the casino isn't all bad. Sometimes the tips are great when a whale gets hot, getting generous, even with the kitchen staff. He's a chef, but this place doesn't really have the need for one, so he's working more like a line cook with far too much experience.

He doesn't really mind.

Steve prefers the heat of the kitchen to doing paperwork in an office any day. He's got a good crew, and he doesn't mind rolling up his sleeves and working elbow to elbow with them. Even when they are in the weeds, like they are tonight.

Argyle brings him three more plates.

"Pick up, table three!" Steve announces, wiping the edge of one of the plates, and rings the bell. He hates the bell. But it works better than yelling all the time. Just because they aren't a Michelin star establishment doesn't mean he can't make things look nice.

Chrissy grabs it from the window with a smile, and is off again. She works her tail off, and that's why she easily makes the most on nights like this. They do steady business most nights, but on the nights when the lounge singer is here, it quadruples. Steve doesn't get the hype. He hasn't seen him, but he's heard him, and he's fine. But definitely nothing to bum rush the place about. Music stuck in the fifties and sixties, chosen carefully to please the masses. Straight out of Kellerman's, with no Johnny Castle to shake things up.

Sometimes he has a live band, sometimes he doesn't.

Steve pauses, listens, and thinks tonight is a solo set. He's singing Be-Bop-a-Lula, and Steve can hear the crowd's drunken hooting.

Nancy drops off another ticket, and he picks it up, yelling over the constant noise a kitchen brings, "Kill a ribeye, SOS ranch sub, fire!"

He hears the groaning and moaning, but Argyle throws down the cut of meat he's been tasked with cooking to death. Robin is plating the salad, putting ranch dressing in a ramekin on the side, instead of Steve's own homemade house dressing.

Steve's tried to bring up the quality of the place, but he can't make the clientele eat out of their comfort zones. This isn't that kind of establishment. So, a well done steak and passing on a fantastic dressing they're scared to try is par for the fucking course.

Oh well. He'll continue to do what he does best, and accept that that's all he can control. Not being able to grasp that is what made him end up here in the first place.

He's bullshit.

A fraud.

Closing his eyes, he counts to five, takes a deep breath, and heads back to his station, grabbing a ribeye roast from the walk-in along the way.

Picking up his boning knife, he trims the lip off the edge of the roast, getting rid of the excess fat. Then he switches knives, and lets his blade do the work, cutting precise, even steaks.

He looks up at the clock.

Three hours to go.

Steve's finishing up his closing routine, when Chrissy pops her head into the kitchen through the swinging door. She's got a guy he's never seen before at her elbow, and she asks, "Hey, Chef. Is it too late to order something?"

It's absolutely too fucking late to order anything. The kitchen is closed, the crew already long gone.

But Steve looks him up and down. He's got long, dark hair pulled up on the top of his head, and one dimple as he smiles sheepishly. And it's Chrissy. She's beyond sweet, and if she's found a straggler she wants fed, Steve can wax this table himself. Because if this guy is important to her, then he's important to Steve. They're family. That's just the way this works.

Steve waves him in, and points to a stool in the corner.

"Thanks, Chef. This is Eddie. He's the singer," she says, then turns back to Eddie, patting his shoulder, "Steve will take real good care of you."

Steve wipes his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, "Hey, man. The kitchen's closed, but I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, my van won't start, so I'm stuck waiting for my friends to come help me, and I'm starving."

"You picky?" Steve asks.

Eddie shakes his head, "Not even a little."

Steve smiles at that, and it makes him more willing to fire the grill back up. If he can stretch his skills, use the muscles that are lying dormant in this place, he's thrilled for the opportunity.

Especially for someone that looks like Eddie.

He hasn't eaten either, but usually settles for a PB&J at home after a long day in the kitchen, unwilling to cook for himself once he gets home. But, if he's already doing it for Eddie, adding something for himself isn't a big deal.

Pulling the remaining piece of ribeye loin from the walk-in that he was going to use as a small prime rib roast, he instead hand cuts two steaks. Thick, and perfectly even. He doesn't need a scale to know that. He can feel it these days, see it. He can also feel Eddie's eyes on him, watching his every move.

"So, you're the lounge singer?" Steve asks. They can't just sit in silence.

"That's me," Eddie laughs.

"You're not what I imagined," Steve admits.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie asks, and when Steve cuts a glance at him, he's grinning. "What you'd imagine?"

"Older," Steve says, "pudgier. Maybe a toupee."

Eddie tosses back his head, laughing like he's delighted. And Steve can't help but notice that he's gorgeous. He really should have made time to see his show sooner. Nobody told him. He'll have to fire them all.

"Not yet. Maybe in a few more years," Eddie says, and Steve's very charmed by this guy Chrissy dropped in his lap. He won't fire her, he decides.

Steve works while they talk. Chopping lettuce, and tomatoes. Grabbing other prep containers from the walk-in, and when he's done, he puts a salad down on the worktop in front of Eddie. He can at least get started with that. Tide himself over.

"This dressing is amazing," Eddie says, jabbing his fork into the lettuce again.

"Thanks, man, that's my own recipe," Steve says, and someone willing to try it, let alone liking it, is a rarity these days.

"And the croutons!" he adds.

"Homemade," Steve confirms. He uses the leftover bread from the day before and makes them fresh. There's a difference, for sure, and he appreciates that Eddie can tell. Not everyone can, he's learned. Most are just fine with the commercially available bags.

Steve's not, though.

Maybe Eddie needs to work in the kitchen instead of on the stage. That way he could see him every night.

Once he's done cooking, Steve pulls up another stool, and puts down both plates. Steaks, duck fat fried potatoes and steamed veggies.

"This is amazing," Eddie says, picking up his knife, "I was fine with a PB&J, anything."

Steve grins, "That's what I usually eat when I get home."

"No way! When you can do all this? Blasphemy."

Fork to his mouth, Steve chuckles, "I do this all day, every day. I don't usually find the energy to do it at home, after. I just melt into the couch, and subside on scotch and cigarettes."

"Sounds familiar," Eddie says with a grin, "I'm glad you decided to eat with me tonight, then. We can both eat peanut butter tomorrow."

And Steve laughs at that. They can indeed.

Eddie's singing again tonight. Steve's been paying close attention, waiting, which is a little pathetic. But he's been thinking about him since the other night. His smile, his kind eyes.

He's nursing a hell of a crush like he's some kind of kid. And he hasn't been a kid in a long fucking time.

Steve takes off his apron, and picks up the two sandwiches he'd wrapped in wax paper.

"I'll be back to help clean up," Steve tells Robin, and she rolls her eyes.

"Sure you will."

"I will," he stresses, and then he pushes through the swinging doors out to the floor, and makes his way backstage. He's not even sure if Eddie's still around. He may get the hell out of here fast. Steve would if he could.

But Steve stands in the hall outside of the dressing room for the acts that perform every night. When Eddie finally opens the door, Steve holds up one of the sandwiches, an offer.

"I think peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were mentioned."

Eddie chuckles, and takes it from him, dropping his duffel at his feet. Then they both lean against the wall, and unwrap their sandwiches. The bread is a little fancier than store bought sliced white sandwich, but the concept is the same. Better, even, Steve hopes.

"Damn, this jam is good," Eddie says, licking some off his fingers, which Steve watches intently.

"I made it," Steve says, and he's showing off. He knows that. Trying to woo the cute dude with his jam making skills. He's gotta use what he's got. And kitchen skills are about it.

"Well, I'm impressed," and Steve feels his cheeks flush. He definitely wants to impress Eddie.

The next time Eddie has a set, Steve repeats the process. If it worked once, it's apt to work a second time, too.

When Steve walks into the corridor this time, Eddie has left open the door of the sparse dressing room they let him use.

"Hey! C'mon in," Eddie says, sitting on the couch, like he has nowhere else better to be. Lucky for Steve.

Steve hands over one of the sandwiches, and watches as Eddie unwraps it, and takes a big bite.

"Damn, these are grilled. I've never had anything like it," Eddie declares, grinning, patting the couch next to him. Urging Steve to sit, to stay.

Steve sits, getting a little drunk off Eddie's open palate and easy-flowing praise. He's got a praise kink, one that works even more when it's about his food being good. At least, when the compliments are falling out of Eddie's mouth, that is.

These sandwiches have bacon and caramelized onions. He was definitely trying to impress him by doing something different, something special, he can't lie to himself about that. Caramelizing onions takes a long time, nearly every recipe on earth lies about how long knowing a home cook won't do it if they have that information up front, but Eddie was worth the time he invested in the process.

Steve eats his own sandwich, splitting his attention between it and Eddie. With all the happy moaning and groaning he's doing on the other end of the couch, all Steve can think about is how fucking good it would be if Eddie would just press him back into the cushions.

He doesn't.

But they talk until Carl the night janitor pauses in the doorway, clearly surprised to find that he's not alone.

They take the hint and part ways, but Steve will ride the high of Eddie's presence for the rest of the night.

Two weeks later, Eddie's finally back on the schedule, but this time has his full band, and since Steve isn't sure where they actually stand with each other, he just stays in the kitchen. He doesn't want to embarrass Eddie or himself. For all he knows, Eddie has a family at home, and he's just the overly friendly casino cook that keeps feeding him and monopolizing his time.

Steve's wiping down his worktop when the door opens, Eddie peeking his head in.

And he's not alone.

"Eddie really talks your food up," the shortest one says, "I'm ready to be impressed."

"Gareth," Eddie warns, then meets Steve's eyes, "you don't have to cook for him, for any of us. Ignore him. I just wanted to say hey."

"Hey," Steve answers, and smiles, already turning the flat top back on. The one he just cleaned.

Steve will cook for them, he wants to. If he can win over Eddie's friends, well, that can only work in his favor, he supposes.

He goes out to the darkened dining room, and flips over chairs that were already balanced atop a four-top.

"Where's the menu?" Gareth asks, and Eddie cuffs him on the back of his head.

"You'll eat what he makes, got it?" Eddie asks, and Steve wants to kiss him. Eddie needs to work every table, every night, in charge of passing along that message to the rest of the customers. Steve would have a lot more fun if he did.

"Geez, fine," Gareth says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Any allergies or anything?" Steve asks, and they all shake their heads, so Steve turns to head back to the kitchen.

Pushing through the swinging doors, he realizes Eddie's on his heels.

"Can I help?" Eddie asks.

"Sure," Steve says. He tosses him an onion, "Can you finely chop that up?"

"You betcha," Eddie answers, and Steve starts prepping the rest of the food.

When he looks over, the onion is being butchered. Massacred. It's a crime scene on the bench.

He laughs and walks over, a fresh onion in hand.

Then, Steve slides up behind Eddie, getting close, probably too close, but reaches around, and brushes the half of the onion Eddie's already chopped off to the side, "Here. Let me show you."

And Eddie nods, hair brushing Steve's cheek as Steve puts both of his arms around Eddie, and picks up the knife, "Leave the root on," he says, cutting the onion in half.

Then he slides one half around, "Let your knuckle be the guide. Don't cut your fingers off."

Eddie laughs, and Steve smiles. He smells good, and his hair is damp, so he must have showered after the show.

"Tip towards the root," Steve says, sliding the knife through the onion over and over, quickly, uniformly.

"Press it together," he instructs, doing just that, "slide it in halfway," he says, drawing out the words as he's making horizontal cuts, "and then squeeze it all together. Get a good grip on it."

He hears Eddie swallow. Literally hears his throat working, and Steve grins.

Turning the onion, he says, "And then, even strokes. Use the weight of the knife, feel it slide in and out, all the way to the root."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie mutters, and Steve laughs, delighted.

"You try the other half," Steve insists, and he puts his hand over Eddie's, helping him line everything up, and watches as he cuts it. It's not perfect. It's not fast. But it's ten times better than the original onion he was chopping up all willy-nilly.

Once it's all cut up, Steve takes a regrettable step backwards, "That's good. You did real good."

Eddie nods, rapidly.

"Want me to show you how to sauté them?"

"I'm not sure I'd survive it," Eddie admits, and Steve just grins, thankful they both appear to be on the exact same page.

Steve can feel Eddie's eyes on him as he plates each dish, careful with the presentation, even if he's absolutely certain not a one of them is gonna care about what it looks like. Still, he likes Eddie's attention and praise.

He hands two of the plates to Eddie, and carries the other three himself.

They all oh and ah, and Steve loves this part of cooking for people.

Eddie sits at the table with his friends, and Steve leans up against one of the high tops nearby, and settles in to eat. But Eddie has grabbed another chair from a nearby table, and scooted his own chair over, making room.

"Sit down," Eddie demands. Steve's used to being on his feet, used to eating standing up, but if Eddie wants him to sit, he'll sit.

"So, you're a band?" Steve asks, but nobody's paying attention to him, all too focused on their plates. He chooses to take it as a compliment, and not a slight.

Eddie's paying attention, though.

"Yeah, we haven't made it big or anything. That's why we play these gigs, to make ends meet, you know? But someday, maybe."

Steve nods. He gets it. You gotta start from the ground up. You don't just walk into a place and immediately become the head chef, or a famous band, he supposes. But they aren't young. Eddie seems close to his own age, and he feels bad for thinking it's probably not gonna happen for them if it hasn't by now. He doesn't know about the music industry, but he kind of feels like breaking into it is most often a young man's game.

"What kind of music do you play?" he asks, because he assumes it's not what they do here in the casino.

"Metal," Eddie answers with a grin, "we're Corroded Coffin."

Steve smiles. That seems right. It fits him better than covering the standards for the early bird seniors ever has.

Getting to spend a little time with Eddie is worth all the extra clean-up he's gonna have to repeat tonight.

Steve's bored. He's in a meeting with all the heads of department, and all he's thinking about is the prep he could be doing for tonight's dinner service instead.

The casino is hosting a charity event full of entertainment industry people to promote the soft opening of the new theater at the casino. They're hoping to get more acts, bigger acts, booked and they're dragging everybody out to wine and dine them. That means Steve is catering a charity event. He's done it before. But it'd be nice to be asked, instead of told.

There are three rich, old ladies holding court at the front of the room, talking ideas. He's uninterested. They'll give him a boring, basic menu and he'll follow it. That's how these things always go. He's well versed by now.

"And we're short a band, one of the opener's fell through," one of them says, "we've got feelers out. But if anyone has a connection, let us know."

Steve sits up straighter. He has a connection, and maybe getting Eddie and his band in a room full of industry insiders is just what they need.

He raises his hand.

It isn't until after he's made his pitch and left the meeting that he realizes he doesn't exactly have a way to get a hold of Eddie, unless he waits for him to be scheduled for the dinner theater stage.

He doesn't have that kind of time.

That's how he finds himself digging through the Rolodex on Gary's desk, Robin holding the flashlight, an accomplice.

"We're both gonna get fired," she whispers, and well, maybe. But he's not especially concerned. Who else are they gonna get to run their kitchen? It's not as if it's a highly sought after position.

Flipping the cards, he hopes that it's in here, because taking a number from a Rolodex sitting out in the open on a desk is far less creepy than picking the lock for the personnel file cabinet to find it.

Luckily, it's there.

"He's gonna be so weirded out that you dug up his number," Robin says, and Steve has thought about that. But he's trying to do Eddie a favor. Surely that's a good enough reason.

"Thanks, Rob. That makes me feel great about this decision."

She shrugs, "I'm just saying. He's gonna think you're a big creep."

Well, that's the risk he's gonna have to take.

Eddie doesn't seem to even question how or why Steve is able to call him, far too focused on the information Steve's just dumped all over him.

"We don't have a manager!" Eddie shouts on the other end of the phone, after Steve's given him the details on how they can book this event, probably pretty easily. The committee women had seemed very interested in having an easy fix, and Steve had offered them a very easy fix.

He didn't provide any additional information that they didn't explicitly ask of him. It's not like they said no to heavy metal, anyway.

"Just pretend to be your own manager," Steve says, that's what he'd do. "Talk your way into what you want. Lie."

"I can't just pretend to be our manager! They'll know I'm lying," Eddie shouts, "I'm a terrible liar!"

Steve smiles into the receiver, "It's gonna be fine. These old broads aren't gonna know or care about the music industry. They just know they need another band, and with the people they're gonna have in the room that night, I think you should be that band."

"Steve, I think this is a little bit above our level. Those are real bands, playing for real industry insiders. We're just a garage band. A bar band."

"You're good! I've heard you play."

"No, you haven't! You've only heard the bullshit we do at the casino. That's nothing like we really are. They'll hate us!"

"Who cares? Maybe somebody in the room won't? Maybe somebody will hear you and want to sign you!"

Eddie laughs, sounding a little hysterical, "Maybe I'll get fired! Ever think of that?"

Steve laughs. He thought this would be an easy sell. He had no idea Eddie was gonna be such a weird chicken about it.

This is only making him feel fonder.

Steve rolls his eyes, "Fine. I'll call them. How much do you want to make for it?"

"They're gonna pay us?!" Eddie shrieks.

"Well, I fucking hope so," Steve laughs. "I'll call them. Pretend I'm your manager, I guess. But I don't know what the going rates are. At least give me a ballpark quote. Can you at least do that?"

Eddie laughs, and Steve grabs a pen and notepad off his desk.

It was easy. They didn't even question him. And Eddie's ballpark was so low, it was ridiculous. So, Steve haggled for an even higher appearance fee than their first offer, just to see if he could. He did, and it wasn't even hard.

If he ever wants to leave the restaurant business, maybe he's got a career in being a band manager waiting for him. He laughs at the thought.

"They're gonna pay us what?!" Eddie asks, voice getting loud and high.

Steve just giggles into the phone, "You're welcome. Just get ready. Don't let your manager down."

Catering for two-fifty means Steve isn't gonna have the time to see much of Eddie's set, and that kind of sucks.

The theater is bustling with action, wheeling and dealing, schmoozing. Trying to make sure the millions of dollars they put into this expansion won't be for nothing. It's not a huge theater, it is off a casino, after all, but it's much bigger than the one off the dining room where Eddie usually plays.

They wanted a place where they could host all kinds of acts from different genres. Be the go-to spot in the community. So, tonight, they've put together a lineup to show what different acts could look like playing in the space. Eddie's band won't be out of place at all, just another option among many.

There's even a small ballet troupe, showcasing that they could put on The Nutcracker at Christmas.

Steve carries out a tray of stuffed mushrooms, looking for a server to hand them to, to swap out for an empty tray. Usually he'd wait in the kitchen for them to come to him, but he can't seem to keep himself from peeking, waiting to see if he'll get a glimpse of Eddie and Corroded Coffin.

Right now there's a young singer on the stage, just a girl and her guitar. She's brave, Steve's pretty sure. There are a few people paying close attention to her, but the room is mainly filled with the low hum of conversation. Steve worries that Eddie's gonna feel like this isn't what he signed up for, but it's too late now.

Chrissy sees him, and switches trays. There's one lone goat cheese stuffed date left on her tray. They are going through them at the exact pace he'd imagined, which is good. That means they aren't gonna get in the weeds before the dinner course.

"He hasn't played yet," she says, smiling knowingly. "I imagine my tray will need to be refilled the moment he does, though."

Steve squeezes her shoulder, and smiles at her, before heading back to the kitchen. If she's gonna give him the heads up, he can get back to work until then. He just hopes it's not when the sit down service starts. He'll definitely not have time to linger around watching if that's the case.

Steve's checking on all his held dishes, making sure they aren't deteriorating, when Chrissy is suddenly at his shoulder.

"He's going on," she says, and picks up a tray of pigs in the blanket.

"Thanks," he says, looking at his watch. He only has about twelve minutes before he has to supervise plating the mains.

But he pushes out of the kitchen and walks across the floor, and slides into the back of the theater. Trying not to stand out in the sea of fancy clothes in his white jacket, inevitable stains on the front.

The first thing he notices is that Eddie isn't at the mic, Jeff is. When they start playing, he realizes he'd always just assumed that Eddie was their singer, but he's not. He's off to the side, digging deep on a gorgeous, sharp-looking guitar with a red and black finish.

They sound good, and Eddie looks good. Really good. He's in leather pants, and Steve's not sure he was prepared for that. He watches, listening to them, eyes trained on Eddie as his hand moves up and down the frets.

When Robin appears at his side, he knows he's stayed longer than he'd planned.

"Sorry," he says, looking down at her, "he's good."

She nods, but he knows she's just concerned with getting the food out the door.

He follows her back across the casino floor, the machines chiming and ringing out as players keep feeding their hard-earned money into them.

"Just ask him out," Robin says, as they turn the corner towards the hallway to the kitchen.

Steve just shakes his head. Eddie's never acted that interested, at least not enough to ask Steve out himself, so Steve's held back, too. It's been nice to have a friend, even if half of their interactions feel sexually charged. At least to Steve.

The onion. He thinks of the onion.

He's probably delusional.

"Did you see him up there? He doesn't want me," Steve says, holding out his hands, his burn-scarred arms. He's a nobody. A chef at a medium-sized casino because he couldn't handle the stress of a big city kitchen. He can cook at that level, he knows that, but he couldn't handle all the other stress and drama that came with it.

He's headed down, Eddie's headed up. It'll never work.

"Steve. Stop being a dingus. He wants you," Robin says, pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen, and the discussion is over. They've got work to do.

Steve is leaned all the way back in his office chair, feet up, a glass of scotch resting on his knee. His feet are killing him, and he's absolutely certain he wasn't paid enough for the extra work that tonight entailed. There was talk of a bonus, but until it's in his hand, he's not counting his chickens before they hatch.

The kitchen is dark, everybody long gone, every last dish done. He runs a tight ship, he doesn't want anybody having to stay longer than he does, not even the dishwashers, so he makes sure nothing piles up. Even if that means he has to help do them himself once his other work is caught up. Being a team player matters. He doesn't want to be the kind of head chef that stands around and yells at everyone. That's what drove him out of the impressive big city kitchen he'd worked so hard to earn his way into, only to find out he couldn't actually hack it.

He hears the door to the kitchen swing open, and then closed, assuming Robin's here to collect him.

It's not Robin.

Eddie appears in the doorway, and Steve smiles.

"You guys were good, what little I got to see," Steve says, and Eddie strides over, leaning down. Sliding his hand behind Steve's neck, pulling him into a kiss.

Steve's surprised, but kisses him back. Trying to keep from toppling all the way backwards to the floor.

When Eddie pulls back from the kiss, he's smiling, "I think we have interest, real interest, from a label. Thank you."

"I didn't do it, you did," Steve says, pulling his feet down off his desk, moving to stand. He's stiff. He feels twenty years older than he is.

He puts his glass down on the desk, and leads Eddie back through the kitchen. The only thing running is one of the warmers, and he pulls out a plate. Eddie reaches for it, and pulls his hand back, "Goddamn, that's hot. How did you just touch that with your bare hands?"

Steve laughs, "Time and experience. Calluses."

"I've got some of those from years of playing the guitar, but they must not be in the right places," Eddie laughs, blowing on his fingers.

Steve uses his foot to drag over a stool, and pushes Eddie down onto it. He'd saved a little bit of everything he could back for Eddie, on the off-chance that he'd show up after he was done playing. This late, he'd assumed he was long gone.

"We had a meeting, and like, we need to get a manager—"

"—what am I? Chopped liver?"

Eddie laughs, "A real manager. An agent. A lawyer, something, but I think we're gonna get offered a deal. A little deal, I'm sure. But a deal. A chance."

"That's great, Eddie. I'm so proud of you."

"You were the first person I wanted to tell," Eddie admits, his big brown eyes looking right into Steve's, and Steve knows he's so far gone on this man that he may never recover.

Steve rests his hand on Eddie's shoulder.

"Are we finally gonna do this thing? You and me?" Eddie asks, reaching up, covering Steve's hand with his own. Thumb brushing against his scarred skin. "I'm tired of tiptoeing around it. Tired of wanting, of waiting, and not having."

Steve's tired, too. Maybe it won't work. Maybe Eddie will leave town with his band, never to be seen again. But for now? Steve wants this. Wants him, wants all of him for as long as he can have him.

"Fuck yes, we are. Eat up, you're gonna need your energy for what I have planned for you tonight."

Eddie grins, a wicked expression, as he picks up his fork and starts shoveling it into his mouth, only pausing to praise Steve's cooking.

Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's neck from behind, leaning down, hugging him as he eats and talks. He's unsure of what will happen in the future for them, he can't know that. Life changes all the time. What you thought you'd be, you aren't. Where you thought you'd live, you don't.

But Steve's absolutely certain that whatever happens tonight is another major fork in the road, and one that will change his whole goddamn life.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event! And don't forget to head over to @steddiebingo - you still have time to sign up for card two!

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thisapplepielife · 2 months ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Sympathy for the Devil

Prompt: Sold His Soul For A Donut | Word Count: 6666 | Rating: E | CW: Unprotected Sex, The Devil Doesn't Just Want Sympathy, But Praise Too, Mild Dom/Sub BDSM Vibes | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie, Eddie & Gareth | Tags: AU, Accidentally Selling Your Soul, Like a Dumbass, But With A Happy Ending, Steve Harrington is the Devil (No, Really)

Also on ao3.

Now

Eddie runs right into the back of Gareth, not paying a damn bit of attention where he's going, like always. But this isn't all his fault. He didn't expect Gareth to stop short.

"What? Why're we stopped?" Eddie asks, looking around, like he might find the answer. They're supposed to meet Jeff and Goodie back at the hotel in fifteen minutes and they are at least twenty minutes away by foot.

"Don't you smell that?" Gareth asks, looking through the window of the bakery he's paused on the sidewalk in front of, hands pressed to the glass like an unruly child.

"Smell what?" Eddie asks. All he smells is yeast from the bakery. He guesses it smells good, but not so good that he needed to stop and drool on the glass.

"The donuts. They smell so good."

Okay? He should just get a donut. They aren't rich, but they definitely have donut money. However, there is a long line backed up to the door, and they don't really have time for that. But Jeff and Goodie know they'll be late. That's just a given. They have met them before. It's kind of their fault for letting them wander off by themselves, if you really think about it.

"I'd sell my soul for a donut right about now," Gareth says, and Eddie's laugh is cut short by a voice coming from the doorway of the donut shop, the bell jingling over his head.

"I can help with that," the man in a sharp black suit says, as they both turn to look at him. He pops open the lid of the red bakery box, and inside has to be one of every donut the shop Gareth's drooling over must sell.

Gareth may have been onto something, they all do look amazing.

The guy holds out the box a little further, and Gareth reaches for one that looks like it might be a carrot cake donut, from the little icing carrots piped around the ring of fried dough. Carrot cake is his favorite, he was never gonna be able to resist that one.

Then the guy then offers the box to Eddie, and Eddie shrugs, taking one too. The one he picked has Honeycomb cereal, Eddie's favorite, stuck atop a bright yellow glaze.

"Thanks, man," Eddie says, and Gareth nods in agreement, also saying thanks. The guy just stands there grinning, and it would look way creepier if he wasn't so good looking. He watches until they've both taken a bite. It's good, but not as good as Gareth's acting like it is, taking a stumbling step backwards like the wind has been knocked out of him.

And everybody says Eddie is the dramatic one.

The guy then reaches into his shirt pocket, balancing the box in one hand with ease. Pulling out a business card.

It's a striking red, and looks expensive. Eddie reaches for it. And it feels like it's linen or some shit that feels good under Eddie's thumb.

But he takes it from Eddie's hand, and gives it to Gareth instead, and that fucking figures that the hot donut man wants to fuck Gareth and not Eddie. Eddie pouts, just a little.

"In case you need to find me," he says, and Eddie would like to find him alright. Gareth, though, well. Dude's barking up the wrong tree. Sucks to be him. He was just used for his free donut.

Then he's gone. Gliding down the street, his black overcoat billowing behind him before he turns the corner, disappearing from sight.

Gareth hands the card back to Eddie. There's an address on the back and nothing else.

"Weird. What kind of business do you think he runs? A sex dungeon?" Gareth asks, and Eddie laughs. He fucking wishes.

It starts slow, a callousness that he's never had before. A bite. And at first Eddie assumes the tour is just getting to Gareth, making him pissy. That happens. Being trapped with each other for days on end. In cramped hotel rooms, living on top of each other.

But that doesn't feel right. Gareth's never acted like this before, he loves to tour, loves being in the van more than any of the rest of them.

Eddie can't put his finger on it, but it makes him feel unnerved.

The rest of them talk about Gareth in hushed tones behind closed doors. Something's wrong with him, and they're not sure what they should do about his new attitude he's been sporting. But they find there's no answers, no easy fixes.

Gareth just looks at them, staring blankly and uncaring. You can't shame someone that doesn't seem to have any shame left.

The final straw is when he makes Goodie cry. Goodie, for god's sake. The one well known for dishing it out and being able to take it in return. Eddie's never seen Goodie cry a single tear in all the years he's known him.

Until tonight.

Eddie has to do something. They can't go on like this.

In the morning, on his nightstand is the business card from the donut guy. He knows it wasn't there the night before, at least he doesn't think it was. Surely he'd remember that.

But his gut twists with gnawing clarity. What he's silently suspected.

Eddie holds the card in both his hands, like it might disappear if he doesn't hang on tight. The building is unassuming, and he pulls open the door. It's a big, spacious room with a single red elevator at the other end.

His boots click across the marble floor, and despite all the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, he presses the single button.

The down arrow lights up.

Well. He guesses he's going down.

And down he goes. It feels like one of those expensive hotel elevators that moves way too fast. There's no floor indicator, so he's just along for the ride until it comes to a smooth stop.

His ears pop, and that can't be good.

When the door opens with a ding, he's right in the middle of an office, and Steve Harrington is sitting behind a large, ornate desk.

He motions for Eddie to take the seat across from him.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," Steve says, "I'm a man of wealth and taste. I've been around for a long, long year and stole many a man's soul and faith. I'm Steve Harrington."

"Uh, that's The Stones," Eddie says with a laugh, and Steve chuckles along with him.

"Perhaps it was written about me. Perhaps a deal was made. Long ago. A better one than for a donut," Steve says wryly, and Eddie swallows. No fucking way. He thought, but not really.

"You took his soul?" Eddie asks, just to make sure.

Steve nods, and waves his hand at the rows and rows of what looks like built-in mailboxes all along the wall behind him, "It's right back there. With all the others."

"Did you take mine?" Eddie asks. He doesn't feel like anything's changed, but maybe Gareth doesn't feel like anything has changed either. Even if it definitely has.

Steve shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.

"Why not me? Why not mine?" Eddie asks, sitting across from Steve, fingers digging into the ragged holes in the knees of his jeans just for something to do with his hands.

"You didn't summon me, you didn't make me an offer I couldn't refuse," Steve says, arms folded across his chest. Smiling.

"I ate a donut, too," Eddie argues.

"That was freely given, because you're so nice to look at," Steve says, and Eddie kind of hates that he's into that.

"So, what? You're the devil? Lucifer?"

"I prefer Steve."

"Yeah, yeah, what can I do to get his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"You want to make a deal?" Steve asks, leaning forward across his desk.

"Not like that! I like my soul right where it is, thank you," Eddie answers. He doesn't want to get tricked into anything, here. He knows he needs to be very careful.

"I could make you all very famous. I've done it before. Many times over. It's my specialty, actually. Keith and Mick struck a hard bargain, Mick studied finance, you know. I could give you the same deal. Not a ten year standard contract. Those are a dime a dozen. Boring."

Eddie hates that he almost believes this shit. If anyone struck a crossroads deal, it could have been Keith Richards. There's no reason he should still be alive and kicking, playing the goddamn guitar that well today.

There has to be a reason. And maybe that reason is Steve Harrington.

"I'm not giving you my soul to be famous. That's crazy."

Steve chuckles, and leans back again, "If you're not willing to part with your soul, then I'm not sure what you can give me of equal value. My hands are tied," he says. Folding his hands under his chin, elbows propped up on the desk. He's wearing a pinky ring, and Eddie can't look away from it. A signet, of some sort.

Now, Eddie's worn lots of rings in his life, but he's sure none of them have ever looked that goddamn hot.

He forces himself to look away from it.

"You said I'm nice to look at," Eddie says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He digs his fingernails into his kneecaps.

"I did," Steve says.

"You can't have my soul," Eddie says again, "I do not consent. Can you take it by force?"

Steve shakes his head.

"Why should I believe you?" Eddie asks. You don't trust the devil. That's like rule number one in all the books.

"I'm a man of my word. I only take what I'm offered. What are you offering me, Eddie?" Steve asks.

And a chill runs down Eddie's spine, making all the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He never told Steve his name. He's sure of it.

"Is your dick weird?" Eddie blurts out, and Steve laughs, a truly delighted sound.

"Do you want it to be?" Steve asks, a glint in his eye, and Eddie can't help it, he laughs. Pulling his hair across the front of his mouth like he's a giggly schoolgirl looking for a prom date.

Not a fully grown man, propositioning the goddamn devil.

Eddie isn't sure what he's just signed up for, but Steve snaps his fingers and the room changes, shifts, and he's suddenly in a dark bedroom. All reds and blacks. Expensive draped fabrics.

It's a little on the nose for Lucifer, he's gotta say.

"What do you want from me?" Eddie asks, and he's equal parts concerned and excited.

Whips, chains, hot pokers. Maybe he'll be hogtied and helpless. It could be anything, everything. Pleasure, or pain. Maybe both at the same time. Eddie'd be lying if he didn't admit to being excited by the prospect.

Instead of any of that, he watches as Steve sheds his clothes, and when he lays down on the bed, it's facedown, head propped on his arms. He snaps his fingers and a bottle of fancy-looking lube is suddenly in Eddie's hand.

"That's a neat trick," Eddie says, and Steve laughs. He seems so normal, so human, it kind of scares Eddie that he's not terrified of him.

He's not human, he just happens to look like he is. No horns, no tail. Just miles of gorgeous skin. Eddie leans a knee down on the mattress, sinking in as he rubs his hand along Steve's back, over the curve of his ass. His skin is hot to the touch, a few degrees beyond warm, Eddie would wager. And always having cold hands, Eddie's immediately addicted to it. He glides along, caressing him, just barely brushing his hole with the edge of his thumb. Teasing him. Testing the water.

He's even hotter there. Goddamn.

Steve sighs contentedly, and closes his eyes.

Okay, then. Eddie smiles, so much for getting fucking freaky with the devil. But if that's not what Steve needs, well, Eddie will meet him where he's at.

"You like that, sweetheart?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods as his breath hitches in his chest at the endearment.

Well, good. He'll take care of him, then. He can do that.

He squeezes a good amount of lube on his fingers, and rubs them together. He wonders if this is even necessary. If Steve can just snap his fingers, and be loose, ready.

Where'd the fun be in that, though?

Instead, Eddie works him open, first with his fingers, and then his tongue. It feels like it's burning him from the inside out, and he could get addicted to this. He always knew he'd tumble face-first into hell, he just never imagined it'd be like this. Eating out the devil. His palm pressed into a warm ass cheek, keeping him spread. Getting him wet, and sloppy.

Getting him ready to be fucked by Eddie.

Goddamn.

Eddie's enjoying listening to him slowly lose control. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that it makes him feel powerful, having the devil himself bowing under his touch, his tongue. Opening for him. Begging for more, yearning for him.

Turning over his control, which must be deep and powerful. Everlasting.

When Eddie finally pushes into him, he's snug and extra warm. Like he was made just for Eddie specifically. Eddie's never put his cock in anything this inviting in his whole goddamn life. It feels like he was always meant to be here, doing this with him. For him. Eddie leans forward so he can brush Steve's hair out of his eyes. So he can see all of Steve's face. If he's fucking the devil, he definitely wants to see him.

And he has no complaints when Steve's suddenly on his back, legs up, Eddie never pulling out, never even missing a stroke.

That's another neat trick.

Steve stretches his arms up over his head, his chest raising, and Eddie's eyes focus on a previously unseen mole in his armpit, barely visible on the edge of all that dark hair. Then Steve's gripping the metal bars of the headboard, and Eddie watches as his hands are suddenly bound to the bars, red scarves perfectly knotted at his wrists.

That's an even neater neat trick.

Eddie knows Steve's not really restrained, probably can't be, but that he wants to at least pretend he is, is doing something for Eddie.

Face-to-face is so underrated. He loves seeing Steve's face, because he doesn't want to miss a goddamn second of this experience, and he reaches down, wrapping his fist around Steve's hard cock. It's thick, big, absolutely perfect. Like it was designed with every ridge and vein being what Eddie would choose, if his personal preferences were taken into consideration. Eddie wishes he could choke on it while he fucks Steve. He's not sure if Satan has a prostate, but if Eddie had the power to bend things to his will, he'd make sure he had one that was easy to hit for goddamn sure.

Top priority.

Eddie tilts his hips, and Steve whines.

"Look at you being so good," Eddie says, and Steve keens. Mouth parted, tongue wetting his lips. Interesting. That's very interesting. A subby, needy bottom isn't what Eddie had assumed he was getting when he agreed to hop in bed with the devil.

He rubs his hand against Steve's hairy thigh, fucking into him, "You like that. Don't you?"

Steve nods, white-knuckling the bed frame.

All in all, it's way more tame than Eddie had been expecting. He assumed he'd only leave here limping, scratched, bruised and scarred. But this isn't that. This is good sex, fuck yes it is, but it's not quite tormented sex dungeon.

Eddie jacks him firmly as he thrusts, trying to keep a good pace to keep those beautiful sounds escaping from Steve's parted lips.

"That's it, darling, let go," Eddie coaxes. And he does. Hips leaving the bed as he comes all over Eddie's fist and his own taut stomach. Thick ropes of white, clinging to the hair below his belly button.

Goddamn.

Eddie thinks about pulling out, that's what he'd normally do, but Steve can maybe read his mind, which should scare Eddie more than it actually does, as he wraps his foot around Eddie's ass. Pressing inward, a blatant invitation to stay exactly where he is.

To keep fucking him.

So, Eddie does. Keeps the same pace, listening to him moan with every thrust. It doesn't take much longer, and as Eddie's hips stutter, his rhythm lost, he presses as far into Steve as he can. Coming deep with a long, satisfied groan.

He stays buried to the hilt, eyes focused on Steve's chest, heaving with exertion underneath him. Sweat clinging to all the hair on his chest.

He's gorgeous.

When Eddie pulls out, his come is already leaking out of Steve's used hole. He presses his thumb against the hot, puckered skin, pressing it back into him as best he can. Fingers toying with him, unable to stop touching him. If he could get hard again right now, he would. He'd slide right back into Steve and fuck him all over again.

He'd never stop.

Instead, he gently lets Steve's legs down, and carefully unties his wrists, even though he knows Steve could do it on his own. He wants to, and when he's finished, he curls up against his side, wet fingers brushing through his chest hair, finding his nipple.

Steve giggles at the sensation, and Eddie laughs. Kissing both of his wrists, even if there's no indication he'd been tied up at all, before he presses his face into Steve's shoulder as they lay there together and catch their breath. Coming back down to earth, or wherever the fuck they are. Eddie isn't really sure, honestly. He might literally be in hell.

He can't find it in himself to care either way.

But he does have a question that's itching the back of his skull, demanding an answer.

"Why would you give us your card? Wouldn't it just be easier to disappear without a trace with his soul?" Eddie asks, laying in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, in his entire life. The silk sheets are a little much, but the mattress truly is to die for.

Steve turns his head to meet Eddie's eyes, and smiles. He looks a hundred percent human, with his tanned skin, moles and chest hair.

"Well, that's the general rule, yes."

"Then why—"

"—you, of course," he interrupts.

Eddie smiles, "Me? Seriously?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He's here.

"You don't bring everybody home after you try to steal their soul?" Eddie asks.

"First off," Steve says, a hint of bitchy in his voice that really works for Eddie, "I don't steal anything. I take what I'm offered. And second, no, this isn't part of the arrangement most people get."

"How unlucky for them," Eddie teases, and Steve laughs. "Besides making a deal with The Stones, who else did you make deals with?"

Eddie has to ask. He's super curious.

"In modern musical history? I'd say it starts with Robert Johnson," Steve says.

"So the crossroads legend is actually true?"

"Not fully true, no. I didn't tune his guitar. That was an embellishment to make the story better. I don't even know how to play the guitar."

"Who else?" Eddie probes.

"Well, the whole 27 Club, basically. Those are mine. You don't get that kind of talent and fame in such a short period of time without some help along the way."

"Steve Harrington, were you making deals with minors?" Eddie asks.

"Oh no, if you want to join that illusive club, you'll take less than the average ten years in exchange for the notoriety. It's only fair."

"Does Gareth only have ten years, if you don't give his soul back?" Eddie asks.

"No, we didn't make any such deal. Those aren't done so easily. He got his donut, I got his soul, end of story. Most people, you know, those that think these things through, keep their souls until the end of the agreed upon contract. Gareth was just one of those souls so easily offered up that I sometimes choose to go ahead and collect."

Eddie nods. Steve didn't say he'd give it back, but Eddie thought it was implied. Maybe not, maybe he's been played, too. Just in a different way. Maybe he should have got it in writing, but that would have felt too much like prostitution. He didn't sleep with Steve only to get Gareth's soul back. But that was what brought him here in the first place. Obviously.

Maybe Steve never intended to give it back.

He can't think about that right now.

"Stevie Nicks?" Eddie asks, going back to a more comfortable topic.

"No. No, no, no. I don't mess with witches. No way."

"Elvis?"

"Of course. (You're The) Devil in Disguise is about me too, you know. Basically anyone who's covered Crossroads is mine."

"We've covered Crossroads!" Eddie yells, swatting at Steve's arm, and laughing as Steve ducks away, and then gathers Eddie up against his chest. Holding on tight. The devil is playful. Who fucking knew?

"Recorded," Steve amends, "not covered in a dive bar. I don't have that kind of time in the day, or the storage space, honestly."

Eddie just laughs. It shouldn't be funny. These are people's souls they willingly gave away for fame and fortune, no matter how fleeting. It makes him sad.

But also, wildly curious.

"The Kennedys?" Eddie asks.

"No, I don't deal in curses, and that's a cursed family if I've seen one. Whoever lost that rabbit's foot fucked it all up for the entire bloodline. I ain't touching that with a ten foot pole."

Eddie grins, "Ooh! The Beatles?"

Steve nods.

"Wow. Paul must have struck a much better deal than John," Eddie comments, and Steve smirks, a shit-eating grin if Eddie's ever seen one.

"No way!" Eddie says, rolling onto his side, "Paul is dead?"

Steve just shrugs his shoulders.

"Holy shit. Tell me more," Eddie demands, curiosity getting the best of him. He wants all the dirty details. He loves to gossip, and this is the best pillow talk ever.

"Jacksonville in the sixties was a hotbed for dealmaking. You wouldn't believe the deals that could be made with people just trying to escape that swamp."

"You took Duane from us! And Berry!" Eddie accuses, pointing his finger at Steve, then thinks for a second, adding, "And Skynyrd?!"

"Who doesn't put fuel in a plane, honestly?" Steve asks, and Eddie knows the question is rhetorical. "Sometimes my job does itself for me."

Eddie goes through all the talented guitar players in his head that he knows came out of Jacksonville around that time.

"Mike Campbell?"

Steve makes a face, touching his fingers to his lips, looking like he's disappointed, "Unfortunately not. All his talent is god given. Tom Petty was mine, though. I wandered down to Gainesville, just to see what they had to offer. You know, I think that's what made their music together so good. The devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. In perfect harmony. Blood harmony, as only brothers can be. It was probably that prick Gabriel that touched him. And what does he know? I was the angel of music. He's just a baby."

Eddie can sense a family squabble when he hears one, and chooses to just ignore it. He's not sure he's equipped to offer guidance on a fight between archangels, fallen or otherwise.

He changes the subject.

"Stevie Ray Vaughan? Please tell me you didn't take SRV from us?"

When Steve doesn't deny it, Eddie flops his head into the pillow, "You are the devil."

"As I've said, repeatedly," Steve banters back, "pleased to meet you."

Eddie shakes his head, before the next name pops into his head, "Buddy Holly?"

"No! That was just a terrible accident. You're not pinning the day the music died on me! No way. I don't only deal in plane crashes, you know."

Eddie just laughs, "I know, sometimes you use motorcycles, apparently."

Steve just glares at him.

"Touchy, touchy. Easy there, Beelzebub. You just tell me who else if you're gonna get all bent out of shape about my guesses."

"Do you follow sports?" Steve asks. Eddie doesn't and shakes his head accordingly.

"Oh, well. The Chicago Bulls dynasty in the 1990s was thanks to me, and in football I signed quite the trifecta: a quarterback, tight end and the head coach. You want a dynasty? You'll have to pay for it."

Eddie laughs, he has no idea what he's talking about.

"So, yeah, I've done some sports deals. Tiger. Olympians, every four years, like clockwork. But I just have a preference for guitar players."

"Gareth's a drummer. Your aim was off," Eddie teases, and Steve just smiles at him.

"I don't know, I think I got exactly what I wanted out of that interaction," Steve answers, pulling Eddie tighter against him, and Eddie feels his face flush.

Eddie should run fucking screaming, but instead he slides closer to Steve, pressing his thumb to Steve's neck. He can feel the pulse thrumming there, beating against his skin. He's alive. But he's been around for decades, maybe centuries. Maybe forever.

Because he's the goddamn devil.

Eddie just can't find it in himself to care.

He slings his leg up over Steve's hip, and presses their lips together in another kiss.

Then he hooks his chin over Steve's shoulder, holding onto him tight. They just hug in the silence for a while, before Eddie says, "I could teach you to play the guitar, if you want."

Steve slides his hand up Eddie's back, letting it splay between his shoulder blades, fingers gently rubbing circles against Eddie's skin. It takes a few moments, but Steve finally speaks, "In all my years, nobody's ever offered to teach me to play before. Thanks, Eddie."

Steve falls asleep burrowed under the covers, back to Eddie, and Eddie wasn't sure if the devil needed to sleep, but apparently he does. The only reason Eddie's pretty fucking sure he's actually asleep is because the room shifted, changed, as if it couldn't be held in the state it was without Steve being conscious. The facade, gone.

It's a normal bedroom, now. Light gray walls, the bedding piled high on the bed, all so incredibly soft, and in shades of deep, stunning blues. It's cozy, and comforting.

It feels like a home. Not a sex lair out of some sort of B-movie.

And for some reason Eddie feels grateful that he was invited to peek behind the curtain.

There are pictures lining the walls. Some look old, very old, and others appear more recent. He wonders if these are of his chosen family, people, loved ones that he found after he fell from grace. If the devil is even capable of getting attached to humans.

He's definitely interested in finding out. He wants to know everything about Steve.

Eddie stills, frozen when he sees a shadow moving through the hallway outside of the door. His imagination runs wild. Hellhounds, demons, something straight from the depths of hell coming to dispose of him.

It's just a woman. In fuzzy slippers, and a long t-shirt. Her hair cut into a cute bob, even as mussed as it is from sleep. When she spots him, she stops in front of the door, and they stare at each other.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispers, and Eddie wonders if this is a warning. If she's trapped here, if she doesn't want him to meet the same fate. If—

She reaches forward and yanks him by the arm, tugging him into the hallway, hissing, "Steve doesn't bring anyone home, how'd you get here?"

"Uh, he fell asleep, I think," Eddie answers, and she looks around him, back into the room, like she's trying to decide if he's telling the truth or not.

Then she grins, "Did he really?"

Eddie nods, and she slugs him on the arm, "Look at you go, little weirdo."

"Who are you?" he asks, rubbing his arm. "His wife?"

"Ew. No. I'm Robin. His lesbian best friend. Don't hurt him or I'll make you pay," she says, and he swears her eyes flash red, just for a second.

"I'll try not to hurt the devil," he says sarcastically, but she just smiles, looking him up and down.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Eddie," she says, and he swears to god, is he wearing a nametag he's not aware of?

She just gives him a push back into the bedroom, and then she's gone.

The devil has a lesbian best friend named Robin, and they live in the suburbs? As if his day could get any weirder.

Eddie turns and looks back at the bed. If the room changed, Steve probably did, too. A nervousness twists in his gut. The urge to look, but also the urge to stay in the dark. To not know what he really looks like. To not know what he just had sex with.

But, bad news first, always.

And he creeps to Steve's side of the bed, and the comforter is pulled up over his shoulders, but his face is visible. Cheek pressed to the cotton pillowcase, features slack, as he very slightly snores on each exhale.

He's still Steve.

Eddie shakes his head at his overactive imagination. He doesn't know why he expected him to suddenly have red skin and horns, but he definitely did.

So, the room is a facade. But Steve isn't. That's really what he looks like, and isn't that just unfair. A handsome devil, indeed.

Eddie stands in front of the window, the moonlight casting shadows, a single street light illuminating the corner where a black cat sits and licks its paw. He could be anywhere. In any neighborhood. But looking out at it, all he cares about is that it looks peaceful.

Eddie carefully crawls back under the pile of bedding, and slides an arm over Steve's side, pressing his face into Steve's back. If he lives until tomorrow this will be a hell of a story, that's for goddamn sure.

When he wakes up, he's back in the dark, silk-covered cave of a bedroom. Not the homey one. Steve's already up, dressed in an all-black suit, the only color is his deep red tie.

Once Eddie's up and re-dressed into yesterday's clothes, Steve walks him to the rows of mailboxes, and his hands still in front of one. They aren't even marked with numbers. They all look identical to Eddie.

"Is that his?" Eddie asks.

"Yes," Steve answers.

"Do you have, like, a chart? A logbook?"

Steve laughs, "No. I have a good memory."

Eddie finds that to be a little suspect, but he watches as Steve adjusts the dials, using the combination to unlock the box.

"What if you're wrong? What if that's not his soul? What if that's Ted Bundy's soul?" Eddie asks, his hand covering Steve's.

Steve laughs, "Just trust me."

Eddie pulls back his hand. When he does, Steve opens the mailbox and a swirl of pure white light escapes, it's nearly blinding as it bounces around the room, nearly frantic in movement, before slipping into the crack of the elevator, suddenly gone from sight.

"That was Gareth's soul?" Eddie exclaims, and Steve smiles, closing the door on the box once again.

"That was his soul," he confirms, "Feisty little thing."

"And it'll find him on its own?" Eddie asks, needing to make sure. He can't have it just bouncing all over the world. He needs it back inside Gareth, like, yesterday.

"It will," Steve answers, "but let me assure you, this won't be fun for him. Once you're here on earth, souls are only supposed to go one way: out. Through death, or a trade. A deal. Going back in isn't really advised."

"But it'll work? He'll be okay?" Eddie asks, nervous. Gareth needs his soul. The rest of them won't be able to stand him without it.

"It'll work, but he might wish it hadn't for a few days," Steve says, and Eddie nods, swallowing hard.

Eddie stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Unsure of what happens now. Does he just leave?

"So, we're good? He has his soul. I have my soul?" he clarifies.

Steve grins, "Yes, you have your soul. I can't take it without it being offered. Without you making a deal, a trade for it, no matter how fair or unfair the terms and conditions."

Eddie nods, but Steve keeps talking.

"And I kind of like it where it is. It's what makes you, you," Steve says, rubbing his palm against Eddie's sternum. Eddie reaches up, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck, kissing him.

When they break apart, Eddie looks into his dark eyes, "Will I see you again? Or, will this place vanish the second I step out of the elevator?"

Steve giggles, a delightful sound, "You watch too many movies. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, quite literally for eternity. And as long as you have my card, you can always find me. The address may change, but the place will not."

"Fuck, I gotta keep track of the card?" Eddie asks. He's not the most organized person on earth. He's lost four wallets in six years.

"If you lose it, I'll know. I won't let you get away that easily," he says, "you still owe me."

Eddie feels momentarily uneasy, but it passes looking at Steve's open face, "What do I owe you?"

Steve cradles Eddie's cheek in his large palm. It feels so warm against Eddie's skin, "Another night together. Dinner. A date."

Eddie laughs, leaning into his touch. He's gonna date the fucking devil, and he's somehow a thousand percent on board with that idea.

"Deal," Eddie says, and Steve laughs, brushing his thumb against Eddie's cheek.

"Don't say that word. Don't make deals. I'm not the only thing out there that can take advantage of it."

Eddie swallows, and nods. No deals. Got it.

"Okay," Steve says, pulling back and Eddie knows that's his cue to go.

Steve walks him to the elevator, and presses the single up button, the arrow lighting up red over their heads.

He guesses this is it.

It's not until the elevator doors close behind him that he realizes he's got an extra ring on his finger. Steve's gold pinky ring is now on Eddie's own hand, standing out against all the silver. He twists his hand under the lights in the elevator, watching it gleam, and he grins.

That's when he recognizes the drum beat, the familiar guitar lick that leads into the riff coming through the elevator speakers. That sultry, laid-back sound.

Eddie smiles as the lyrics kick in. Steve's giving him permission. To love him, or to not. A direct message that Steve thinks he won't run away, and well, he's right. Eddie won't.

He's definitely feeling like it's love, even if that seems ass over teakettle crazy.

"It's alright...it's alright," he sings along under his breath, as much to himself as anything else as the elevator makes the long, smooth climb upwards.

Then, the ascension finally stops, the elevator chiming, announcing his arrival topside.

The doors open, and Eddie feels rooted to the floor. They start to close again, but he shoots his hand out, and sees that golden ring, leading the way.

And he finally steps out.

It feels warm on his finger all the way back to the hotel across town. Like Steve's own fevered skin is touching him, constantly. A reminder. He adjusts his half-hard cock in his jeans at the idea of somehow being claimed by Steve.

That should terrify him, but it doesn't. It really, really doesn't.

When he opens the door to the room, Gareth is shivering in bed.

"Are you back to fucking normal?" Eddie asks, crawling into bed beside Gareth. Hands finding his face, checking him over. Looking for some sort of sign. A light in his eyes.

He knows what his soul looks like, now. How bright, how energetic.

Gareth nods. He's shivering, and fucking bawling. Good. Maybe next time he won't make a goddamn deal with the devil for a fucking donut. He's burning up. Steve said this would happen. It's supposed to be a one way exchange. Putting one back isn't as easy as it sounds.

But he did it, for Eddie.

Eddie climbs back out of bed, runs cool water over a washcloth, and presses it to Gareth's forehead when he climbs back in bed with him.

Eddie pulls Gareth into his side, pressing the damp cloth to his skin, "It's fine now. You're fine. I fixed it."

Gareth nods against his chest, and then croaks out, "What'd you have to do?"

"You don't want to know," Eddie answers, but the smile that spreads across his mouth is wide. Steve's card is burning a hole in his pocket, and he can't wait until he gets to see him again. It may be a terrible idea, but for some reason he's choosing to trust the devil he now knows.

"Eddie," Gareth pleads, coughing, a wet hacking sound, "Was he the devil?"

"Yeah. That's Steve. You'll like him."

"He took my soul, Eddie," Gareth whines.

"Yeah, but he gave it back, so you better be nice and grateful the next time you see him. Got it?"

Gareth mumbles under his breath, but Eddie flips the washcloth, offering the cooler side, and he settles against Eddie, "But what did you have to give to get it back?"

"Don't you worry," he says, pressing his lips to the top of Gareth's head, "it was nothing I didn't want to give away freely."

Later

Eddie stands on the stage, and wraps his hands around the mic as it's secured in the stand, center stage. Guitar slung loose at his side. He grips the mic, and can't help looking at the gold pinky ring, the stage lights making it gleam.

The crowd screams for the encore. The stadium is packed to capacity. Another sold out show, on another sold out tour. A career other bands envy and have tried desperately to emulate, with little success.

Clamoring for the secret, the one Eddie isn't willing to share. It doesn't matter, there isn't another deal like it, and never will be.

Four souls, fully intact.

Only his love, given freely.

The deal that wasn't really a deal at all. But one he'd make it again, and again, all the same.

Eddie smiles as Gareth starts gently banging on his conga drum, setting up the percussion loop as Eddie entertains the crowd. Then he does the maracas, and the guiro. Eddie hears when the loop is set, and is ready for Gareth to start in on his snare groove, using one stick to bounce off the head, and the other to hit the rim. Wood on metal.

The crowd screams, knowing what's coming, what song they always end their shows with. The same song, night after night, tour after tour. The one constant.

Glancing stage right, Eddie sees his familiar arms folded over his chest, the black suit making him nearly invisible in backstage darkness. But Eddie can see his own silver ring, a shining beacon off-stage. Catching his eye, and his heart. A promise, a commitment.

A love.

Eddie pulls the mic closer to his mouth, grinning wickedly before he starts singing the familiar song, written about the devil himself, who just so happens to also be Eddie's whole goddamn world.

"Please allow me to introduce myself…"

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Welp. Sympathy for the Devil will now forever be tied to Steve Harrington to me. I don't make the rules.

This was one of those fics that I didn't know what I was going to write for the prompt until I opened the doc, and it just kept pouring out. Those are always so much fun! The first 5,500 words were written in 24 hours! And once I realized I was in the ballpark of 6,666 I had to go for it. Obviously.

It was fun to run with the age old myths and conspiracies theories that celebs sell their souls for their fame and fortune: That Paul is dead. That Keith will outlive us all. That the Kennedys are cursed.

The football trifecta was left intentionally open. It could have been the Patriots (Brady, Gronk & Belichick) or the Chiefs (Mahomes, Kelce & Reid) - it was readers choice, lol. Or if you weren't into sportsball, like Eddie isn't, it truly didn't matter. There's just no universe in which Steve Harrington, sports enthusiast that he is, wouldn't be putting his thumb on the scale for sports, too.

Duane Allman and Berry Oakley, both members of The Allman Brothers Band, died in separate motorcycle wrecks, almost exactly one year apart, the wrecks happening three blocks from one another. Both were 24. They are buried beside each other in Macon, Georgia.

Something was in the water in Jacksonville, Florida with all the guitar talent that came from there in a very short period of time. I couldn't resist giving Steve credit for it here.

The elevator song was Breakdown by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, that starts like this:

it's alright if you love me, it's alright if you don't i'm not afraid of you runnin' away, honey i get the feeling you won't

And finally, here's a playlist of some of the mentioned artists that may or may not have sold their souls to Steve Harrington. I had fun picking out songs that either directly referenced the devil, or at least could be interpreted that way. 🤘

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #steddie ficlet #stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #devil steve harrington

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thisapplepielife · 2 months ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Hellfire

"Goddamn, watch where you're going, kid! Fuck!" Eddie snaps, watching as his lunchbox skitters across the hallway, making an awful racket. Clanging end over end, probably getting even more dented than it already was.

At least it didn't spill open. That wouldn't have been great.

He shoves the kid that ran straight into him as he turned the corner of the school hallway.

The kid stumbles, before folding down to the floor like a cheap suit, "Sorry! Sorry. Jeez."

And he should be sorry. He needs to watch where he's going.

Eddie watches as he collapses in on himself, getting down on his knees, scrambling to pick up his spilled books and loose sheets of paper. Hands scraping the tile floor as he tries to scoop everything back up.

Eddie feels slightly guilty. But only slightly.

One piece of paper has slid further away, and Eddie puts the toe of his shoe on it, dragging it towards himself.

"Give that back!" he shouts, and the kid has fire in eyes. Eddie'll give him that.

Bending down, Eddie doesn't listen to his pleas, and picks it up, turning it over.

Oh.

He was expecting homework, he guesses. But this is a drawing of a demon, with a red face and long horns. A flaming sword, and a mace. With the word Hellfire at the top.

It's good. It's really good.

And there's dice. A d20.

"Are you into D&D?" Eddie asks, astonished, looking down at him. He hadn't suspected, hadn't even noticed him around the school, and usually he's better at reading people. At sniffing out one of his own. This one slipped past him, though.

"Fuck you," he says, blue eyes furious, hair just starting to curl around his ears. Like he's growing it out. Eddie's been there, done that. The awkward stage is hell.

Eddie cackles, first impressions aside, he thinks he likes this little shit. Maybe he could be his first sheep. Eddie knows he's destined to take on a flock of impressionable youth, he just hasn't gotten around to it yet. That's all.

"Wouldn't you like that?" Eddie banters back, and the kid's cheeks flush a deep red.

"I don't, I wouldn't!" he snaps, and Eddie squats down in front of him, the art still in his hand as he looks at it again, carefully. He has an idea. A plan.

"If you say so," Eddie teases, "but listen, I have a proposition."

"What's that?" he asks, and he looks every bit of fourteen. Eddie remembers those days, and wouldn't go back for anything.

"I've been trying to start a club for D&D. If we can use this for our logo, you can join," Eddie offers, and the kid looks suspicious. "No tricks. It's me, and a few other kids so far. We're trying to get the school to recognize us as an actual club. We just need to convince them. I'm Eddie."

"I know who you are," the kid says, and Eddie's eyes catch on something else in his pile of spilled shit. Eddie's hand snakes out.

"Do you play the drums?!" Eddie asks excitedly, grabbing the loose drumstick from the mess at his feet. "I have a band, you know. And we need a drummer."

"Sounds like you need lots of things," he mutters, and Eddie smiles. He does like him. For a little twerp.

"Maybe I do. You interested?"

If the universe is gonna throw this kid at his feet, he's not gonna ignore it.

The kid looks suspicious, and rightfully so. Eddie's not known around school for being especially nice and kind and reasonable. It's a persona he's carefully cultivated. But Eddie just looks at him, giving him his most innocent smile. He knows what his eyes can do, and he's not above using them to get what he wants, never has been.

"I'm Gareth," the kid finally says, and that's not a no. That's not a no at all.

"Gareth the Great," Eddie christens him, grinning, patting him on the shoulder.

Eddie stands, and watches Gareth get to his feet as well, then asks him, "So, tell me. Do you already know Jeff and Goodie?"

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #hellfire club #meet ugly

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thisapplepielife · 2 months ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Despite All My Rage I'm Still Just a Rat In a Cage

Prompt: Locked Door | Word Count: 3335 | Rating: M | CW: Kidnapping/Hostages, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Injuries | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Future Fic, Famous Eddie, Teacher Steve, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Finding Themselves in a Predicament, Getting Together, With a Drastic Nudge

Also on ao3.

It's day three.

At least, Eddie thinks today is day three. But he's not certain. Mainly because he doesn't remember how he got here in the first place. He went to bed, then woke up here, kidnapped and drugged. At least he assumes so, because things were fucking fuzzy at first, and now he's been stuck in this dark, dingy, slightly damp room.

There's holes in the ceiling, letting beams of light filter through at certain times of day, but screaming for help hasn't seemed to produce any results. His throat is just scratchy and raw. Worse than playing a week of shows straight.

He never hears anything from outside. No street noise. No sounds of life.

Surely people are looking for him. His friends, his band. Wayne. The media, in general.

"Eddie," comes the voice over a crackling walkie talkie mounted out of his reach. The voice is disguised in some way, and sounds almost inhuman.

He's sick of the creepy disembodied voice. They never tell him anything. Just taunt him, trying to make him submit.

Never. He'll fucking never. He'll die first.

"Just kill me or let me go!" he screams, rolling over onto his knees, struggling to stand. If this was a ransom mission, it's gone on too long. He's not sure what the end goal is, just that he's being kept.

"Calm down," the voice says. "I have a present for you."

Eddie doesn't want anything from this asshole besides his freedom.

"Since you're so lonely. All those songs, all that pain, all that longing," he says, and Eddie doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about. He seems like a loner in public, but that's not true. Not outside of his stage persona.

He has a lot of people in his corner.

The door starts to open for the first time, and Eddie's ankles are chained together, so he can't move fast, but he tries his best. There's no time. The door opens, a man with a burlap sack is shoved into the room, and then the door clangs shut again. Heavy locks turning.

The guy is shoeless, only wearing a pair of shorts. His hairy chest on display, and he looks like —

No. No, no, no.

Eddie reaches up and yanks the sack off his head, and lets out a pained whine. He shouldn't be here, and he put up a fight not to be, clearly. His nose is caked with dried blood, and his left eye has a painful looking bruise forming underneath it.

Eddie's heart sinks.

"Steve," Eddie says, taking a step closer, hands cupping his cheeks, "Harrington? Can you hear me?"

"Eddie?" Steve asks, and then just starts crying. Eddie's gonna kill whoever is responsible for this. It's one thing to snag him, with the hope of getting a payday or whatever. But invading Steve's life? Hurting him like this? That's unforgivable, and they will fucking pay if it's the last thing Eddie does.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks, checking him over as best he can. They've done this before, after Vecna, and he hates that he has to do it again now. Steve never deserved another ounce of physical pain.

Steve shakes his head, and it was a dumb question. Of course he's not okay.

"I went out to get the paper," he says, "I just stepped on my porch."

"I know," Eddie says, even if he doesn't. He has no idea how he was nabbed.

"They grabbed me."

"More than one?" Eddie asks.

"Yes. I think. I don't know. It had to be right?"

Eddie doesn't know, but he takes off his jacket, and moves to drape it over Steve's shoulders. He can't put it on better than that, not with his hands bound. But it's reminiscent of days gone by. Back when they were healing from that shitty Spring Break. When they both needed help to do lots of things for a while.

When he turns him, there's a key taped in the small of Steve's back, with a note. Eddie is gentle with the tape, not wanting to cause him any more pain. Though, he knows tape is nothing compared to what he's already gone through.

The key is to the cuffs, he's sure of it.

He frees Steve's hands, and then tries the lock on his own ankles, just in case it works for both.

It does.

His raw ankles are grateful when the cuffs fall loose, but he's cautious when he unfolds the note. It's the ramblings of someone very out of touch with reality, and Eddie reads it three times trying to understand.

His songs were too sad, and they wanted him to have the one thing he couldn't have?

And that's…Steve?

They've never, they're friends. Just friends. Old friends. And now they've both been taken hostage because someone musically illiterate they think Steve is the thing missing from Eddie's life.

Steve's in Eddie's life, and Eddie realizes now that's what caused this. Seeing them out and about, as friends, made this psycho snap for whatever reason.

This is all Eddie's fault, and he doesn't know how to deal with that.

They sit on the floor, and at least Eddie's convinced that Steve's okay, now. He looks better than he did when he was thrown into the cage. The door locking behind him.

It's easier, having someone else in here with him, especially someone he knows as well as he knows Steve. He just wishes Steve wouldn't have gotten dragged into this, he's suffered enough bullshit over the years. He deserves his quiet life, with his classroom full of little kids that are surely missing him like crazy.

Eddie's not sure who will be the bigger news story: Famous Musician, who is a little rough around the edges or the All-American Teacher, who looks like Steve does.

He wonders if their disappearances will be connected. If the media will even put together that they know each other.

Nancy will. Robin will. Henderson. Erica. The band. Taking Steve is going to throw up so many red flags that none of them will be able to ignore it. Eddie disappearing off the grid for a while? Maybe they could explain that away. Steve, though? No fucking way.

This dude just fucked up, and Eddie laughs to himself. As much as Eddie hates that Steve's been dragged into whatever the fuck this is, involving someone as well-loved as Steve is gonna be the downfall for this asshole. Fucking good.

"Tell me again how it happened," Eddie requests.

"I went out, and then I was grabbed. I fought them, took an elbow to the face," Steve says. He's told Eddie over and over.

"And they said sorry," Eddie says.

"They said sorry," Steve confirms. It makes no sense.

The door to the bean hole slides open and another bag of fast food is tossed in. It's scary how well they know him from their stalking. No matter what they drop off, it's something he'd order, customizations and all.

When he opens these, they even got Steve's burger right. No tomatoes.

It's unnerving.

Eddie's jolted awake by the speaker crackling to life.

"If you'd just get on with it, you could go, you know?" he asks, and Eddie doesn't know what he's talking about.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Just open that door and face us like a goddamn man, if you're so powerful. If you think you can take us. Try."

"That's not what this is," he says, voice steady, as if his feathers are never ruffled, "it's not about me. It's about you, both of you, making it right with each other."

Making it right with each other? They aren't fighting, they've never been fighting, not since Eddie's whole world turned upside down. Literally.

"We're good. Look at us? Are we fighting? You've made a mistake. Let Steve go. People are gonna be looking for him, and when they find you, you're gonna wish they didn't."

Eddie believes that fully. If they don't want to experience the full wrath of Nancy Wheeler, they'd better backtrack, fast.

The speaker cuts out, and Eddie slumps back again.

"Wheeler is looking for you," Eddie says, "Buckley. All of them. I know it."

Steve nods, "Yeah, probably. We knew you'd holed up somewhere, Wayne called. Looking for you, thinking maybe you'd decided to camp out with us for a while. He said he was getting the runaround from the boys and didn't like it. I mean, I didn't expect that this is what happened. I'm sorry we didn't round up a posse."

Eddie laughs, "I'm not mad you didn't assume I'd been held captive. That's quite the leap to make. We're experts in otherworldly things, not human monsters."

"Yeah, I guess," Steve says, and Eddie squeezes his thigh.

"They'll find us," Eddie reassures, and Steve just nods.

The sliding door to the outside, where the food is thrown in, is opened and closed again. Eddie hears it. And when he grabs the bag that thudded hard on the ground, it's not what he expected. Instead of food, there's a bottle of lube.

"Is this a fucking joke?!" Eddie screams, "What's it for? For you to continue fucking us, for what?!"

The speaker crackles on, "I'm not gonna fuck you, you idiot."

"Then what—" Eddie starts, when Steve speaks up.

"It's for us. Right? You want us to…?" Steve asks.

"I knew one of you would be smart. I should have expected it to be the teacher, I suppose."

"You're a sick fucker!" Eddie shouts. They're friends. And they definitely aren't gonna fuck for this sicko. If they were gonna do that, it would have happened years ago. It didn't. Such is life.

"Eddie," Steve says, pulling on his pant leg from his spot on the ground.

"We aren't fucking for his perversions," Eddie snaps, "don't worry."

"Eddie, just sit. Calm down," Steve says, and Eddie does. If Steve asks, he's gonna do whatever he wants. That's how this goes. He can sit and try to calm down. For Steve.

They sit in silence for a while, Eddie trying to not be so goddamn pissed off.

"We could just do it," Steve says.

"No way," Eddie answers. "I'm not letting some sick fucker get his way to get his rocks off, or whatever. He's probably filming us. He can do whatever the fuck he wants to me, I'm Eddie Munson. Freak. Nobody will be surprised. But I'm not letting him get footage of you like that. You have a job you love. No way."

"Eddie," Steve says softly, but that's all he says. There's nothing else to say. They'll just sit here.

Another day, and Eddie is plotting this fucker's death. He's never killed anyone, or anything, but he's gonna make an exception when he gets out of this shithole.

Steve is leaning against his shoulder.

"We should just do it," Steve says. "Just fuck me."

He's said that fifty times over the past day.

Eddie shakes his head. Again. Not happening.

This time, Steve huffs out a breath of annoyance, "I know you don't want to fuck me. I get it. Message has been received loud and clear. But, like, can you just suck it up and get us the fuck out of here? Take one for the team? Goddamn, Eddie. I'm tired."

Eddie stills. That's. That's not what's happening here.

"I'm not raping you for his pleasure, what the fuck?"

"You can't rape the willing," Steve says, and Eddie laughs, he can't help it. But Steve laughs, too, and Eddie can feel the tension drain from between them.

"You're ridiculous," Eddie says, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulder, patting his arm.

"I'm serious," Steve says, "like, I get that you're not really into it."

Eddie's into it. Eddie's always been into it.

Eddie laughs, "I'm not not into it, Steve. What the fuck? I'm just not about to do this," he says, waving his hand between the two of them, "because of this. Because we're trapped here, okay? I'm not. If we didn't get there on our own, it wasn't meant to be."

Steve is quiet, too quiet, and Eddie looks over at him to see what's going on. Steve's just staring, like he's working through something in his head, before finally asking, "Did you? Did you want to? With me? When?"

When? Always.

"That summer, after," Eddie says, because that's the truth. The first truth. "But you were trying to work through your feelings for Nancy—"

"Nance stayed with Jonathan!" Steve snaps.

She did. That didn't change that Steve was working through it.

"I know, but that's where you were. Where your head was. Your heart. With her, not me."

Steve presses his fists into his eyes, "You're a fucking asshole."

Eddie laughs, "Well, yeah. That's the deal. The whole persona."

Steve laughs, pulling his hands away from his face, "I was interested. I thought you weren't."

The smile falls from Eddie's face. He feels it slip, and this is no longer a fun conversation to be having. Had they? Was there? Had there been a chance and neither one of them took it? Fuck.

"I was interested," Eddie says, "fuck, Steve. I was in love with you."

Probably still is. The asshole behind the curtain pulling the strings probably didn't misunderstand his lyrics at all. Eddie's just been in deep denial for years and years. Desperate to make sure he didn't fuck up their friendship. He couldn't afford to lose Steve totally.

"Still am, I suppose," Eddie admits, and the sound that comes out of Steve's mouth is full of pain and sorrow.

"We're both idiots," Steve finally chokes out, and presses his face into Eddie's shoulder.

Well, no shit. Of course they are. Eddie could have told him that years ago.

Steve shifts, and rests his head on Eddie's shoulder, "We've wasted a lot of time. Can we not waste anymore?"

And fuck. Steve's asking, and Eddie wants to give him anything he wants.

"Okay. Okay, c'mere," Eddie says, and Steve crawls onto Eddie's lap, straddling his thighs.

And then he's kissing him. It's what Eddie's always wanted, but not here, not like this. Both of them are dirty, and neither have great breath. Eddie resents that this is how their first time is gonna go. Being watched.

Eddie slides his hand down the back of Steve's shorts, fingers just barely brushing against his hole. He reaches for the lube with his other hand, and hears the lock on the door click open. A heavy, echoing sound.

He freezes. Nobody comes in, and maybe it's a trick. Maybe it's their doom. Maybe they should stay right where they are, doing this, because maybe it's the last chance they'll ever have to do it.

But if the door is unlocked, and this is their chance to escape, they gotta take it.

Eddie slides his hand out of Steve's shorts, and lifts his arms, letting Steve push himself to his feet, before pulling Eddie up after him.

They walk towards the door, cautious, leery of what they might find on the other side.

Eddie pushes on it, and it's heavy, but it swings open, revealing more of the same, just a larger area of an old warehouse instead of the room where they'd been holed up. He takes Steve's hand, and they head for the other door across the way. When he grabs the knob, turning, they are hit with bright sunlight. They both shield their eyes on instinct, before Eddie forces himself to look around.

There's a car. His car, actually. Sitting along the deserted road. The keys are in the seat, on top of a note. Steve gets in and Eddie hits the automatic locks, locking themselves behind another set of doors, however, this one seems safer.

Unfolding the note, in a marker, it just says: Congrats. You finally did it. Tell Steve sorry about the black eye. He put up more of a fight than we expected.

That's it. There's no other explanation. He hands it to Steve, and Steve reads it, and then just says, "Huh."

Eddie starts the car, they don't explode which he was only slightly concerned about, and pull down the dirt road. He has no idea where they are. Not what state, hell, maybe not what country, though he assumes they didn't go too far if his car is here.

"Do you recognize where we are?" Eddie asks, paused at the stop sign onto a highway.

"Not at all," Steve answers.

"Left or right?" Eddie asks, and Steve looks in both directions.

"Right."

Right it is.

They stop at the first motel they see. Ready to get cleaned up, ready to call someone, report that they're safe. First, they'll call home, then the police. In that order.

Eddie knows once that official call is made, all hell is gonna break loose. A media circus that he just isn't prepared for yet. They're safe. It can wait a second.

Steve sits on the motel bed, and presses the touch tone buttons on the phone. It rings and rings, before it finally connects.

"Robin," Steve says.

"Hey! Way to not check in after your flight landed," she says, very clearly annoyed.

"My flight? Where did you think I went?" he asks, and Eddie leans close so he can hear, too.

"Hawaii? With Eddie?"

Eddie snatches the phone from Steve's hand, "Who the fuck told you that?"

"Jeff," she says. "Are you not in Hawaii?"

"We are not in Hawaii. I don't think," Eddie says, and looks at Steve, who shakes his head. There's no way they're in Hawaii. "We were kidnapped. Nobody was looking for us?"

"Well, no? We didn't know we were supposed to be! Steve Harrington, did you get kidnapped and not tell me?!"

"You thought Steve Harrington just skipped school?! Just didn't show up to work? And that didn't worry anyone?!"

"It's Spring Break," she says, "I thought. Shit. I just thought he'd finally, that you'd both finally…nevermind."

Eddie hangs his head. Nobody was even looking for them. They could be dead in a warehouse and nobody would even know to start looking for longer than Eddie's comfortable with.

Steve takes the phone back, "We're fine. I'll call you back."

Next, Eddie calls Gareth. No answer. No answer from Goodie either. Jeff, however, does pick up.

"Why the fuck did you tell Robin I took Steve to Hawaii?"

"Did you not?" he asks, like he's totally unbothered.

Of course he fucking did not.

After getting off the phone with Jeff, Eddie's now trying to decide if they were all duped by a psycho stalker fan that snagged him or if those three assholes are who locked them up together. In some sort of horribly misguided matchmaking scheme.

"You think it was them, don't you?" Steve asks.

"Well, kinda. Why else would they lie to Robin? And Wayne. Something's not adding up, and if I find out they threw us both in a cage to try and get us to admit our feelings or whatever, I'm gonna kill them. That's not their business. And they hurt you."

Steve reaches out and grasps both of Eddie's shoulders, "I'm fine. Maybe we needed a little sense knocked into us."

"You didn't need a black eye," Eddie seethes. "Or another concussion."

"I'm fine, Eddie. Look at me. I don't have a concussion. I need a shower, yes, but other than that, I'm good. We're good."

"What would they have done if we'd called the cops first?"

Steve laughs, "Well. We could always call them and tell them that's exactly what we did, and see if they flinch."

Eddie cackles. Oh, hell yes. If it was them, he's gonna make them squirm. They deserve it.

Even if it's probably gotten him what he's always wanted: Steve.

Still. If he finds out this was them, they're gonna pay for it, dearly.

"Shower first," Eddie says, "retribution later."

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Title from Bullets With Butterfly Wings by The Smashing Pumpkins. (I wondered where this note had gone. I accidently put it on yesterday's fic, lol. Whoops.)

Did the CC boys kidnap them? I don't know. You tell me. 🤣

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction

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thisapplepielife · 2 months ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

Books, Covers, You Know What They Say

Kindergarten

Jeff hates him.

He's mean, and nobody wants to be his friend, but they're all scared of him, so they do whatever he wants.

Jeff doesn't want to go to kindergarten anymore. He doesn't have any friends in his class, and the boy he has to sit beside stole all his good crayons. How's he supposed to color grass on his worksheet with no green?

He wants to go home. He wants to stay with his Mommy, and not go to school at all. Especially since they have to all go to the nurse's office and get a shot later. He doesn't want to get a shot, and he's afraid he might cry.

If he does, he'll make fun of him.

Jeff hates him.

Third Grade

Jeff hates him.

He's mean, and nobody wants to be his friend, but they're all scared of him, so they do whatever he wants.

He hogs the beanbag chair, and keeps the best books hidden under it, so you can't get to them without going through him. You have to beg, and Jeff won't go through the hassle, so he always chooses something else, even if it's something he doesn't want to read as much.

So, Jeff picks Stuart Little, and sits on the corner of the rug.

"I have Green Eggs & Ham over here," he says.

Jeff ignores him.

"And The Phantom Tollbooth," he adds.

Jeff ignores him.

"Charlotte's Web."

Jeff ignores him.

"Charlotte dies in the end and Wilbur gets sold for bacon," he sneers.

"Charles!" Ms. Franklin snaps from across the room.

Serves him right. Because that's not even true. Not really. Wilbur does not get sold for bacon, and Jeff knows that because Jeff's mom read him Charlotte's Web last year. He cried, but he's definitely not telling anyone else that. He's not a baby. He'd just wished Charlotte could go back to the farm with Wilbur, too. That's all.

"Don't call me that," Charles mutters under his breath, too low for Ms. Franklin to hear. Not so brave now, is he? And that makes Jeff smile behind his book.

Charles huffs. He's tried to change his name, and nobody is listening to him. Not even Ms. Franklin.

Serves him right.

Jeff hates him.

Seventh Grade

Jeff hates him.

He's mean, and nobody wants to be his friend, but they're all scared of him, so they do whatever he wants.

Except Jeff.

And that really makes him mad.

Jeff is walking towards the bus stop, the first day of a new year always makes him nervous. Jeff slows to a stop when he sees him sitting on the bench. He doesn't even ride the bus. His mom usually chauffeurs him around, rain or shine, like the spoiled brat he is.

Looking around, Jeff tries to make a decision. Ride the bus and get bullied, or walk all the way to school. It's too far, he might be late if he does, and his mom will be mad. He's supposed to ride the bus.

So, he pretends he doesn't see him. Stands down the sidewalk.

He's reading, and Jeff tries to see what it is. But he's too far away.

"Dungeons & Dragons," Charles says, answering the unasked question.

Jeff's heard of that. Sounds interesting, but he'd never admit that to Charles.

Charles pulls a second book out of his bag, and holds it up. An offer.

No, a trap.

Jeff knows how this goes. He'll reach for it, and Charles will laugh, snatching it back. No thanks.

The bus comes, and when Charles sits across the aisle from him, Jeff just looks straight ahead.

Then, the book is placed on the seat next to him.

Jeff picks it up: Dungeons & Dragons: Rules for Fantastic Medieval Wargames Campaigns Playable with Paper and Pencil and Miniature Figures.

Cracking it open, the front copy says in neat, all-caps print: PROPERTY OF GOODIE GOODWIN.

"Read it. Let me know what you think," he says. "If you like it, maybe we could have our own campaign."

Who is this pod person and where is Charles Goodwin, class terror?

Jeff hates him.

He hates him, right?

Ninth Grade

Jeff hates him.

He's mean, and nobody wants to be his friend, but they're all scared of him, so they do whatever he wants.

Except Jeff.

And Goodie.

Eddie Munson is a fucking asshole and now he wants them to join his club? No thanks.

"It's a trick," Goodie says, and Jeff nods. But what if it isn't? Jeff thought Goodie was tricking him on the bus, too. And he wasn't. Now they're best friends. So, well, maybe Eddie's more like them than they realized?

"Maybe we should go. Just see what it's like. If we hate it, if he's an asshole, we can just leave, right?" Jeff suggests.

Goodie still looks suspicious. Looking at the crude flyer in his hand.

"I don't know…"

"C'mon. If he's a dick, we'll bolt."

Eddie Munson is holding court in the drama room, waxing poetic about his vision, about this club he's trying to get the school to let him start.

Hellfire Club.

He talks and talks and talks. All he does is talk. Hands waving, shaking his book in the air. Dice and figurines all over the table. He's got plans. Big plans, apparently.

And he's really, really into this thing that they also love.

Jeff cuts a look at Goodie who can't ever hide what he feels. It's always all over his face, for better or worse.

And right now, they're on the same page.

They don't hate him.

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic

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thisapplepielife · 1 month ago

Text

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem Bingo event.

we went down swingin' (yes we did)

Prompt: Too Many Beds | Word Count: 7117 | Rating: E | CW: Spouse Swapping, Some Cuckolding Kink, A Little Dash of Dom/Sub Vibes | POV: Eddie, Steve, Gareth | Relationship(s): Steddie, Gareth/Di (OC) + the Swinging Pairings | Tags: Future Fic, Everybody Lived Nobody Died, Middle Aged, Road Retired Corroded Coffin, Lifelong Friends, Bored Empty Nesters, Swinging, Key Party

Also on ao3.

Eddie

Nancy is holding a fish bowl, and she shakes it at them with a grin when they walk in the front door. Eddie and Steve both dig into their pockets, and toss in their car keys in, as demanded.

It was weird to arrive separately, and since everybody else did the exact same thing, the cul-de-sac is filled with more cars tonight than this party is indicative of, with every half of each couple in their own car.

She walks away, and Eddie looks at Steve, "You sure about this?"

Steve runs his hand along Eddie's shoulders, squeezing, "It's just sex. But if you've changed your mind, we can slip away."

"She just took our keys!" Eddie hisses, and Steve digs into another pocket, pulling out his spare set. Eddie laughs. Steve is never unprepared. Eddie should have been ready for that.

"You wanna bail?" Steve asks, those big eyes giving him an out, because Eddie knows Steve would leave with him. They could just escape right back out the front door, and their friends wouldn't ever say a word. Probably wouldn't even be all that surprised.

"Nah," Eddie says, he honestly does kind of want to see this crazy idea through. He thinks it's gonna be an adrenaline rush he hasn't had in years, an unknown. Something he hasn't felt since they retired from touring.

He's just nervous. Not about Steve, never about Steve, they're on solid ground. He just always gets nervous about a performance, and this feels like a performance.

Eddie turns into Steve's chest, getting Steve to wrap his arms around him, hugging him tight. Kissing him. Like it's his last chance to do so, even though he knows that's not true.

"Do we just need to give Eddie Steve's keys and get it over with?" Goodie hollers from the other room, and Eddie smiles against Steve's mouth while raising his hand to flip Goodie off.

Everybody's laughing, and it makes him feel far more at ease. They're his friends. He just can't believe they all decided to actually do this. They've been talking about it for months, maybe a year.

What started as a group joke, has turned into reality tonight.

They ate like everything was a normal group dinner night, like they just might play a board game after, when it most definitely is not. Eddie's knee is bouncing under the table. Steve rests his hand on it, settling him.

"Want to run?" Steve whispers. Another out.

Eddie shakes his head no.

Nancy stands at the end of the table and is shaking the mixed up keys. She has really spearheaded this whole night. "Okay. We're all friends here, if you decide you're not into it, for any reason, just tap out. Right?"

Everybody nods.

"Okay, then. Robin goes first, right? Everybody else is still down for anything?" she asks, confirming one more time.

"Way to single me out," Robin says, acting like she's all offended.

Eddie knows better. So, he can't resist fanning the flames.

"Yeah!" Eddie chimes in, "That's rude, Nancy!"

Nancy rolls her eyes, looking perturbed, "Sure. We'll just let her pull Steve's keys and see how fast she wants to be singled out."

"Good point," Eddie quickly says, "proceed."

And Nancy holds up the bowl, trying to keep it out of Robin's line of sight. She pulls a set and wiggles them.

"Those are mine," Nancy says, and Eddie can see the blush creeping up Robin's neck. He wants to catcall them, but he restrains himself. He can be good. Sometimes. In theory.

When Nancy turns to add all the men's keys into the mix, Eddie leans over Steve and taps Robin on the thigh and she brushes his hand off. He grins. She's so embarrassed. He loves it.

Gareth is sitting back, relaxed, his arm stretched across the back of Di's chair. Eddie doesn't understand how he looks so calm. He figured Gareth would be a simmering ball of jealousy. But he looks chilled out in a way Eddie could only dream of feeling.

Maybe he's medicated.

Maybe he'll share.

"Vickie?" Nancy says, offering her the bowl next. Vickie pulls out a set of bare bones keys.

"Uh, mine," Jonathan says, and the room all kind of laughs.

"You're just straight up doing a partner swap," Eddie says, waving his finger back and forth, poking at them.

"Luck of the draw. Vickie, get your own keys out," Nancy orders, and Vickie shuffles through them until she has own pulled from the bowl. "If you're so smart, you can just go next," Nancy says, holding the bowl out to Eddie.

He swallows, and sort of glances in the bowl. She raises it higher.

He reaches in and fumbles around with them, feeling them out, like maybe he could identify Steve's car keys that way, and escape with his husband.

"Eddie!" Nancy snaps, and he grabs the closest set and pulls them out of the bowl. They're Jeff's. He knows it. Recognizes them.

Jeff laughs, as easy-going as he always is, "Oh, this should be interesting."

Steve laughs with Jeff, and Eddie elbows him. But he settles back in his chair. Jeff works. He knows Jeff. He can do this. No problem.

Then, Eddie watches as the rest of the keys are drawn and divvied out.

Seeing the mass exodus across the lawn is fucking weird. He feels like the neighbors must know what they've all agreed to do tonight. That, or they think a cult meeting has just adjourned. Eddie gets in his own car, and his instinct tells him to follow Steve. Of course, that's not what's happening tonight.

The caravan starts splitting off as they pull out of the cul-de-sac. Eddie watches as blinkers go on, and wrong, wrong, wrong pairs disappear together down different streets.

Jeff turns on his blinker, and Eddie follows suit, turning when Jeff does, losing sight of Steve's car in the process.

Eddie squeezes the steering wheel. This is gonna be an interesting night, that's for damn sure.

Steve

"Tell me what you want, what you don't," Steve says, because he isn't going to feel around in the dark. He knows Di, and well, so there's no reason they can't talk this through together.

Steve didn't have a preference on who he ended up with. That's a lie, he supposes, but only because he was concerned it'd be Nancy and then Eddie would read into things that aren't there, and haven't been there in over thirty years.

It's just sex.

"I want you to fuck me," she says, grinning at him. She's not shy, and knows what she wants. Steve appreciates that. There's no need to dance around what they're doing tonight.

"I can definitely do that," he says, grinning back at her.

He puts his hands in her hair, and presses his mouth to hers. It's weird. And it's weird that it's weird. He's kissed her platonically before. Hellos, goodbyes. But this is just different. The first thing he thinks is that he hasn't kissed a woman in years, decades. It's only been Eddie.

The second: Gareth's gonna kill him.

Steve was surprised when she led him to their master bedroom. For some reason that never crossed his mind. Nobody is at their house tonight, so he supposes he doesn't have to think about it too hard. If this is what she's comfortable with, then he's good, too.

He sheds his jeans, letting them drop to the bedroom floor. He's already getting hard, and he cups himself through his underwear, speeding up the process.

She's on her knees, watching, and when he finally tugs the waistband down, stripping totally, she scoots closer across the bed on her knees.

"Goddamn, I knew it," she says, wrapping her hand around his cock.

"You knew it?" he asks with a laugh.

"Steve. You know we can all see the outline of your cock all the time, right? It's not a secret. We've all talked about it. For years."

"We?" he asks, gripping her shoulders.

"Me, Chris, Barb. The wives."

He tilts his head back and laughs. Alright, then.

"You could have just asked Nancy. Or Eddie."

"Where's the fun in that?" Di teases, and he grins at her. "Lucky Eddie. That's the consensus."

He laughs. Alright. He supposes he doesn't have anything to be embarrassed about, he's not totally unaware.

"Maybe don't say a word to Gareth. For both our sakes."

She giggles, letting go of his cock, taking his hand instead. Inviting him into her bed. He climbs in, and she pushes on his shoulder, getting him to lay back, then straddles him. She lifts her hips, palming him, giving him one more stroke as she's guiding him.

And then he's in her.

Sliding right in, she's so goddamn wet and ready. He lets out a long, low groan as he squeezes her hip, trying to regain some sense of control. It's been a long fucking time since he's been inside a woman. It's not better, just different.

He'd forgotten how different.

He's being hugged all the way down. All that wet, warm pressure down the entire length of his cock. He'd kind of forgotten.

"Oh, that's good," he says, and she starts setting her own rhythm.

Riding him, hips working herself on his cock. Her hands in his hair, holding on. He knew, has always known, how much her and Gareth fuck. Has seen more than he's ever wanted to on the road, but he never expected he'd be the one inside her, on the receiving end.

This is going better, easier, than he anticipated. He hopes everybody else is having the same experience.

Gareth

"You're not fucking me," Goodie says, and Gareth glares at him from his spot where he's slumped on the couch, arms crossed.

"When did you hear me ask to?" Gareth snaps. If he's gonna be an asshole, Gareth will be one right back.

Seriously, though? What's the plan? What are they gonna do? Stare at each other all night?

"So, what? We're just gonna sit here and stare at each other until the sun comes up?" Gareth asks.

"Well, we could talk about how your wife is definitely getting fucked by Steve right now, if you want," Goodie offers like an asshole, but Gareth won't take the bait.

"Well, when your wife comes home from getting fingerbanged by Chrissy she may never want to fuck your annoying ass again," Gareth snarks. He doesn't believe it, but Goodie started this childishness. He always drags Gareth down to his level. It's a given.

Goodie grumbles under his breath, but doesn't say anything.

This is rotten fucking luck. He gets paired up with Goodie, and Eddie gets paired with Jeff? And they've all spouse swapped in some way. It's like the universe is trying to blow up their band after they made it through the other side of moderate fame and the stress of touring unscathed, still friends.

"We could go into my studio and play. See if we can write something. Be productive at least," Goodie suggests, and that's not a terrible idea. Not at all. Sure, songs don't start with the rhythm section, but they can jam a little, at the very least. Something might sound good and stick.

Eddie

Eddie can't stop laughing, and really, he's not sure that's what this night was supposed to bring forth.

Jeff is just laying on the bed, taking it all in stride.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Eddie says, and Jeff just shakes his head.

"We don't have to do this," Jeff suggests, and Eddie knows it's to let him off the hook. He doesn't want off the hook, he just needs a minute to pull his shit together.

Maybe two.

"No, no. I want to. I just need to get this out of my system," he says, and then bends over at the waist, laughing again.

Steve

He pushes her up against the sink, his hand gripping her slick hip. She just got out of the shower, but he's ready to go again. And she made it clear if he was ready, she was ready.

Nudging his cock along her hip, it slips along her wet skin.

"Yes," she says, and he pulls back, lining up, pushing back inside her. She moans, and he watches her grasp for the edge of the countertop, looking for something to hold onto.

He reaches around a grabs a handful of her boob, thumbing at her nipple, "These fucking tits," he says. And they are so fucking good. He had no idea. Small, but don't look like any boobs he's seen on women her age. All he needs is a handful, and that's what he's got.

"Harder," she demands, and he fucks her harder. Solid, punishing thrusts, his hips digging into her ass. Shoving her into the vanity with every stroke.

She comes. She comes so fucking easy, he's learned. And isn't Gareth goddamn lucky. Squeezing his cock, spasming around him, and he just fights to hang on.

Fucking her, one of her feet up off the floor, because she's so fucking short. He's got a great view of her back, and the tattoo she has for Gareth along her ribs. He's got one for Eddie on his chest. Both of them committed to this dog and pony show, and have been, since forever. When Corroded Coffin was making the circuit, city after city, tour after tour, bus after bus, plane after plane.

It was a hard life, but they all made it.

Steve slams his hips into her ass one more time, and comes with a long groan, catching her eyes in the mirror. She's smiling, and he smiles back.

He pulls out, and she turns, hoisting herself up onto the vanity. Pulling one leg up. He moves closer between her spread thighs, and she runs her fingers through his chest hair.

He'd ask her if she's good, but he can tell that she is, and she reaches her arms up, getting him to bend down, so she can wrap them around his neck.

So, he stays pressed against her until she plants her foot to his hip and pushes him back a step, and he's not sure why at first, until he looks down. She's leaking his come, right onto the marble, and she wanted him to see it.

Goddamn.

Gareth

It's a tasty fucking groove, even if he feels slightly off on this kit that isn't his own. Well, it is his. It's not like Goodie has other drummers over to play. It's just not his. It's a set bought for Goodie's small studio, not his regular kit at home, or his damn near dupe at Eddie's. Or even his old road backup kit that lives at Jeff's. The places he plays the most.

He doesn't spend a lot of time in Goodie's studio, none of them do, it's too small, and really just exists for Goodie to noodle around in alone. Recording ideas they might want to use later.

Goodie's clearly feeling it, and while they definitely don't write songs starting with the rhythm section, maybe Eddie and Jeff can work some magic with this. They don't tour, not anymore. A group decision he's never regretted. But they still put out music from time to time. When Eddie and Jeff aren't writing songs for other artists.

Playing like they are, it's almost easy to forget why they're here, just the two of them without Eddie and Jeff.

The final notes dying off, Gareth watches as Goodie unstraps his bass. Reaching for his drink up on the railing. The ice is melting, watering it down. It's warm in the little studio, and Gareth lifts his shirttail, wiping the sweat off his face.

They haven't played that hard just for fun in years.

Standing, Gareth pushes his hair up and out of his eyes. He studies Goodie, changed out of the wife-approved clothes he wore to Nancy and Jonathan's earlier, now in his own ratty Corroded Coffin shirt that's seen a lot of shit over the years. Miles of road, decades spent together.

"You can fuck me if you want," Gareth blurts out without thinking first, chest still heaving.

Goodie stills. Lowball glass pressed to his lips.

And Gareth hates that he said that. Hates that he ruined this good time they were having. Hates that Goodie's surely gonna—

—push him onto the ratty studio couch. Okay, that's not what he expected.

Goodie reaches over, and puts down his glass, then crowds him. And Gareth lets him. This is what they were here to do tonight, even if Goodie acted like he had no interest. Goodie's all bluster. Gareth knows that. A hard shell you've got to chip away at, piece by piece, if you want to see the real deal inside.

"Have you ever?" Goodie asks, heel of his hand pressing down on Gareth's cock, already half-hard and trapped in his jeans.

"Gotten fucked?" Gareth clarifies.

Goodie nods.

"Uh," Gareth says, weighing his options. Deciding how much he can handle Goodie knowing about him and his sex life.

Goodie raises an eyebrow, waiting. Rubbing Gareth's cock a little harder. Like he's trying to work an answer out of him.

"Yeah," he says, "yeah. I have. Fuck."

Goodie pulls back, staring down at him.

"When did you get fucked? We were all attached at the hip as kids. I'd have known. You'd have made sure we all knew."

Gareth just looks at him.

"Earth to Gare," he says, snapping his fingers.

Gareth takes a deep breath. He'll probably live to regret this.

"Di has pegged me," he admits.

Goodie's eyes get comically wide.

"Shut up!" Gareth snaps, whacking him in the side.

Goodie laughs, rubbing at the spot Gareth hit him, "I didn't say anything! I knew she was freaky though. I just knew it. You've never deserved her."

Gareth laughs. He doesn't disagree.

Eddie

Eddie grips Jeff's shoulder with his free hand. Laying face-to-face, jerking each other off. This he can do. Definitely.

Jeff's hand is firm, and Eddie looks at his face. Jeff grins, and Eddie can't help returning it. It feels really good. Different from Steve's hand. Guitar calluses that he's only used to feeling on his own fingers.

Eddie looks down between them, at their cocks being stroked, knuckles brushing.

"Fuck," Eddie says, letting his head fall closer to Jeff's. Breathing against his lips.

And when Jeff kisses him, Eddie kisses him back. It's not even weird. Jeff's seen him in all manner of ways over the years, and this is just another one. He doesn't know why he was so in his own head.

Steve was right. Steve's always right. It's just sex.

Jeff's got a good rhythm going, a grip that is really working for Eddie. A firm grasp as he moves up and down. Then his thumb teases under the head of Eddie's cock, and that's it. He's gonna come. His whole body tenses, and he feels the rolling pleasure of his orgasm hitting him. Coming all over Jeff's hand and stomach. Cock twitching, heart hammering against his chest.

Fuck. He groans. That was good.

Eddie has slowed his own hand, not on purpose, but when he realizes, he pushes Jeff over onto his back, and slides down the bed, nudging his thighs apart.

He loves sucking cock, is good at it, and he wants to show off. Just a little. For his friend.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Jeff says as Eddie takes him deep right away, opening his throat, letting him slide in.

Eddie hums his contentment, and works him over real good. Cradling his balls, putting a little pressure on his taint, his whole bag of tricks.

Pulling back, allowing Jeff's cock to drag along his whole tongue, meeting Jeff's eyes as he does it. Eddie rubs the head of his cock along his bottom lip. Teasing him, before going deep again.

Jeff squeezes his shoulder, a warning, and Eddie just swallows around him. Feeling Jeff tense as he's coming down his throat.

Eddie eventually pulls back, giving the head one last lick that makes Jeff laugh.

Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning as he does it.

"You're quite the cocksucker," Jeff teases, and Eddie flops over onto his back, laughing. He really is. He's glad Jeff noticed. Flattery works on him. Always.

"Why, thank you, Jeffrey. I'm so glad you've acknowledged my area of expertise."

Gareth

Gareth's bent over the edge of the couch, and it's pretty fucking great. He's never been fucked by a real-life dude before, and Goodie is pounding into him. One hand resting on the small of his back, the other on his hip.

Gareth moans when he hits his prostate, head bowing toward the cushions. It's good. Warmer than getting pegged. Though, that has Di, and nothing will ever beat that.

But still. This is good. Really good.

"I'm gonna come," Goodie says, and Gareth reaches for his own cock, determined to get there, too. It's overstimulating in the best way.

"In you," Goodie pants, tapping Gareth's hip, "or out?"

"In," Gareth answers. It's Goodie.

Goodie groans, slams his hips against Gareth's ass one more time, and comes with a long, loud moan.

Gareth's almost there, almost. He reaches his hand back, and finds Goodie's hip, "Stay in me, let me come," Gareth requests.

Goodie presses closer to Gareth's ass, keeping his softening cock snug inside Gareth. It feels so good, feeling full. He's always liked coming this way.

He strokes his own dick, forehead resting against the cushions.

When he comes his orgasm feels ripped from him. He tries not to make a mess all over the couch, but he feels too good to really think about anything else. He clenches down on Goodie's cock, and lets the last of the waves roll through him. Sighing as it slows to a stop.

"Can I pull out?" Goodie asks, thumb rubbing back and forth on the small of Gareth's back.

"Yeah, yeah," Gareth answers, and when he does, Gareth feels empty. But really good, too.

He's glad he suggested it after all.

After they've gotten cleaned up, and he's wiped up his mess on the studio couch, he has a realization.

It's all on tape.

Audio only, thankfully.

But still, there's proof of what they just did together.

Gareth just laughs. It's absurd. But they had fun. Which means hell must have frozen over.

"We were still recording, weren't we?" Goodie asks, coming to the same conclusion Gareth had reached.

"Yeah. Be sure to cut that off the version we give Eddie."

"No shit," Goodie says, but he's smiling.

Eddie

Eddie is resting the back of his head on Jeff's thigh, plucking at the guitar on his lap. Jeff's feet are up on the coffee table, and they've already written a song that Eddie kinda assumes they might be able to shop around.

This isn't out of the ordinary. Not really. Whenever they're together this is usually what happens.

Maybe a little more touchy, but Eddie's handsy and always has been. Nobody would think twice if they saw them like this. It's only different because Eddie knows what they did earlier.

"Do you have anything for the bridge?" Jeff asks, and Eddie keeps plucking his guitar, thinking. Not yet. But they'll come up with something. He knows they will.

They always do.

That's why they make the big bucks as a professional songwriting duo. If anything Eddie does could ever be considered professional, that is.

Steve

Steve is dressed, showered, and it's time to go. When he gets to the living room, she's on the couch, feet tucked under her, a cup of coffee resting on her knee. She's in a big fluffy robe. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek.

"See you for dinner?" Steve asks, because it's Sunday. And they always all get together on Sunday night for dinner. Just the four of them.

"Yep. I'm making pasta," she says, and it's business as usual.

"I'll get stuff for a salad—" he says, but is interrupted by her phone ringing, making them both jump. Steve laughs. It's Gracie. And it's eight in the morning, so Steve waits.

Di's listening, and finally Steve asks, "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's good," Di says to Steve with a smile, then covers the receiver, "Sorority house drama."

Steve laughs, nodding. He can only imagine.

And then Di says into the receiver, "No, it's not Dad. It's Uncle Steve."

She listens some more.

"Gracie says hi."

"Hi, girlie!" Steve shouts. The girls are off at college, which seems impossible. But they are all empty nesters. That's how this whole idea started, he's pretty sure. Trying to recapture some wild youth they all experienced on the road, back when Corroded Coffin was touring hard. Before they retired from the road to let those who had decided to have kids, raise them. Now, those kids are all grown.

"No. Dad's on band business. Uncle Steve came and worked on the plumbing."

She says it with such deadpan boredom. Like he may have actually came over bright and early to snake the drain. He's sure Gracie would actually not even question that. Steve swats Di's arm, making her grin. She's evil, but he loves her. She's family.

If she's good, he can go.

"You have fun with your little yappy lap dog when he gets home," he whispers, giving her a wink. He can't imagine how insufferable Gareth's gonna be. Not that expects Eddie to be any less high strung. He knows them both too well.

Di laughs, swatting his arm back in retaliation.

"Nothing, Uncle Steve's just being funny. He's leaving. Continue."

And he slips out the front door, walking down the driveway towards his car.

Eddie

He hears tapping. Somewhere. Faintly.

He pulls his headphones off, and glances around Jeff's studio. Chrissy is tapping on the glass, holding up his ringing phone, shaking it at him.

It's Steve, she mouths.

Eddie hurries into the booth, snatching it from her, and she kicks him in the shin as he goes. He cackles as he runs back into the studio where they're paused for him, and swipes to accept.

"Are you ever coming home again, or have you left me for Jeff?" Steve asks, as soon as the call connects.

Eddie laughs, glancing at his watch. Shit. It's almost noon.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Guess you'll just have to keep Di."

Gareth hops up from behind the kit, "The fuck if he will!!"

Steve must have heard him, because he laughs in Eddie's ear.

"Seriously, though. We wrote a song. It's good," Eddie explains. "And Gareth and Goodie wrote, too, and they somehow happen to fit together pretty damn nicely. It's like we were in sync from afar."

"Through your cocks," Steve teases.

Eddie laughs. Yeah, maybe.

"Can't wait to hear it," Steve adds.

"I'll be home in twenty minutes," Eddie says.

"So, you mean an hour," Steve banters back.

"Or two," Eddie teases. Steve knows him all too well.

Steve

Eddie flops on the bed, hair wet from his shower, and dripping onto his t-shirt, wetting his collar. It jostles Steve, who struggles to keep a hold of the book in his hand. He took a short nap, but he knew if he slept all day, he'd be fucked.

So, he's compromised by just lounging in bed, reading.

"Easy tiger," Steve says, but Eddie just presses his face into Steve's neck, sending cold droplets of water down his skin, and around the back of his neck.

Steve flinches, rolling his shoulder upwards, trying to combat the steady trickle that's escaping Eddie's hair to try and freeze him to death.

"Tell me everything," Eddie demands, and Steve lowers his book, resting it on his chest.

He looks at Eddie over the edge of his reading glasses, knowingly.

"What? Tell me!" Eddie demands, and Steve just grins.

"Tell me about the new song."

"No! You won't distract me," Eddie argues. "Tell me the truth."

"You can't handle the truth!" Steve banters, and Eddie flops over onto his own pillow, laughing.

Steve grins at him.

"It was good. It was just sex," Steve says, and Eddie turns his head, giving him a look.

"It was just sex," Eddie repeats like he doesn't quite believe it.

"What? Was your roll in the hay with Jeff not just sex?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Mine was a comedy of errors. Jeff thought I was crazy."

"Jeff's always thought you were crazy, so nothing new there."

"I couldn't quit laughing," Eddie admits.

Steve grins, "Sounds about right."

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face, and makes a dramatic noise that Steve's all too familiar with.

"You good?" Steve asks.

Eddie looks at Steve as he pulls down his cheeks, stretching his lower eyelids downwards, like a weirdo. He's over fifty, but nothing ever changes.

Steve puts his book on the end table, and rolls over, settling on top of Eddie, pressing his lips to Eddie's neck.

"I'm good," Eddie answers.

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Want me to give you a — hard reset — just to make sure?"

Eddie laughs, sliding his hands over Steve's shoulders, "You just want to get all the mileage you can out of your recreational boner pill. Which was cheating, by the way."

"It wasn't cheating!"

"You don't have ED."

Steve laughs, he doesn't. No more than anyone else does at their age. He just wanted to make extra certain he could go all night, no matter what, no matter who.

"Don't be jealous you didn't get to experience it. Di says hi by the way."

Eddie growls, and it's not menacing in the slightest.

"If you can't go again so soon, I get it," Steve taunts.

"Pants off, Harrington," Eddie demands, and well, Steve does what he says.

Once stripped down and naked, Eddie straddles his thighs and squeezes. Then lifts his ass, like he's gonna slide right down on Steve's cock.

"Whoa, how about we don't try that," Steve laughs. They don't need an embarrassing trip to the emergency room.

Eddie doesn't listen, never does, and just grips Steve cock, guiding him as he sinks down. Easy, already loose. Of course he is.

"I got ready in the shower. How do I compare?"

Steve laughs, reaching up to push Eddie's wet hair out of his face, "You're crazy. You know there's nobody that compares to you."

"Good answer," Eddie says, working himself on Steve's cock. Steve's the one in him, but somehow he's just along for the ride, like always. Catering to Eddie's every whim.

He wouldn't change a thing.

"Is your cock harder or has it just been a minute?"

Steve laughs. Both. The answer is both. His dick is getting a little pharmaceutical boost, and it's been a while since Eddie's bottomed. Mainly because Steve just prefers to get fucked by him, but he gets that Eddie needs to plant his flag. Or, needs Steve to plant his, as it were.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Steve lies, "it's always been this magnificent. All the women are saying so."

Eddie sighs, and wraps his arms around Steve's neck, "I don't care what the women are saying. It is. And you should only fuck me with it."

He sounds like he's teasing, but Steve knows him too well. If Eddie is one and done, Steve's one and done, too.

That's more than okay with Steve, and he cups the side of Eddie's head, "Only you."

Gareth

"I already told you," she says, stirring the pot of sauce simmering on the stove, "we did it with the lights off. Under the sheets. He was a perfect gentleman."

Gareth tilts his head, "Diana Jones, I wasn't born yesterday."

She turns and grins, biting at her bottom lip, and he knows he's in trouble now. The next thing that comes out of her mouth may ruin him. He needs to hear it immediately.

"He fucked me up against the bathroom sink. You wanna see the bruises on my hips?"

His cock throbs, hardening, trapped in his jeans. He palms at himself as she goes back to stirring.

Then she hits him with more.

"I didn't change the sheets. You wanna smell him in our bed?"

And that's it. He can't be expected to just stand by idly. He grabs her around the waist, pulling her away from the stove as she squeals, tucking her feet up, letting him lift her off the ground. Then, he thinks better of it, pausing just long enough to reach over to turn off the burner on the stove. Putting the lid on the pot.

They might be a while.

Only then does he jostle her in his arms, tossing her over his shoulder, swatting her on the ass. Hauling her towards their bedroom, like they're still kids. She's laughing, and he can't wait.

He puts her down on their bed, getting underdressed, and when he finally yanks down her underwear, she wasn't lying. There are faint bruises forming where her hip bones made contact with the marble sink.

"I'll kill him," he says, sealing his mouth over one of the bruises, sucking. If she wants bruises, they'll be his. Not Steve's.

She whines, grabbing a fistful of his hair, letting him get it out of his system before guiding him downwards. He buries his face in her pussy, and breathes deep. Then, presses his tongue into her. There's nowhere else on earth he'd rather be than between her thighs.

"Do you still taste him?" she asks, and he pulls back just long enough to rub his stubble against her sensitive inner thigh. Eyes meeting hers.

She giggles, and he goes back to eating her out in earnest. But she just keeps talking.

"He came inside me so many times, Gare. He fucks just like you think he would. Eddie's so lucky."

She's taunting him, he knows what she's playing at. And maybe it's his fucking imagination, but he thinks he can taste him, but he'll mark his own territory soon enough. Right this wrong.

She's just gotta come first, and he's the expert on making that happen. Not Steve. Not anyone else. Just him. He's had years to perfect his craft.

"Right there," she says, and he shoves two fingers inside her, tip of his tongue running circles over her clit, knowing that'll help nudge her over the edge.

It does. She has barely finished jerking from her orgasm, when she turns the tables, grabbing his shoulders. He lets her manhandle him, turning him onto his stomach. Then her hand is pressing the back of his head, forcing his face into the sheets, both of his hands in hers as she pulls them backwards, securing them behind him.

"Breathe deep," she says, "I got so wet for him. Before, after, feeling his come leaking out of me all over our sheets."

"Di," he says, but he presses his face into the soft cotton that does smell like sex, and not just their sex.

He grinds his hips into the bed.

"If I let your hands go, are you gonna be good?" she asks, and he nods. He will. He leaves them clasped behind his back, right where she put them.

She nudges his knees apart.

"Feel it?" she asks, and then her slick fingers, wetted from her own pussy, are pressing against his asshole, "Did you get fucked without me, too?"

He nods. He did. And she pushes her fingers into him, one then two. He's loose enough, but he still whines. This is the hottest, dirtiest thing they've ever done and they've done some raunchy shit together over the years.

"I wanted him to fuck my ass so bad," she says, "but he wouldn't fit."

Gareth's whole body tenses, his cock jumping, throbbing, trapped against the dirty sheets.

"He's that big, Gare. Maybe you'd like him to fuck you," she says, twisting her fingers inside him, finally making contact with that bundle of nerves that lights his whole body on fire. He wants to ask for the whole thing, the strap, all of it.

But he just lets her run the show.

He isn't surprised when she lets him up, and shifts their positions until he's back over her.

Gareth knows what she wants, and he slides into her, as he imagines Steve doing the same thing. He wonders how he did it. What speed, what rhythm, as he starts hammering into her. Hard. Fast.

Just like she likes it when she's this worked up.

She's moaning, thumb brushing her own nipple. He knocks her hand away and does it himself.

"I'm so fucking jealous," he says, and she covers his hand with her own, pressing his hand into her chest, right over her heart.

"Gare," she says, far softer now. "It was just sex."

He slows his pace, just grinding into her. Rolling his hips, just like she likes, pressing his pubic bone against her clit.

"No, no, I know. And it was Steve. I trust Steve, like, if I could have handpicked anyone there? I'd have picked him. Because I'd have no doubt you'd be taken care of," he admits, and that's the fucking truth. He only trusts Eddie more, and he cannot imagine Eddie having sex with a woman, even if Gareth knows he has before. It's still a foreign concept.

Steve, though.

"Then why are you jealous?" she asks, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He's not sure. But it's bubbling inside him.

"I didn't get to watch," he finally says, and she grabs at his side, squeezing his love handle as she comes, pulsing all around him, hugging his cock while involuntarily trying to push him out at the same time.

He loves that feeling, has always loved it.

"You…you wanted to watch?" she asks on an exhale, a whine, as he keeps rocking into her.

And, yeah. He thinks he would have enjoyed that quite a bit. Which is kind of a new revelation. He's definitely never thought of sharing her before the key party talks started.

But now. At least pondering the idea of what happened last night. Yeah, maybe.

He nods, "My imagination can't possibly do it justice."

"If we ever decide to play again, you can watch," she promises. "Fuck, please. But right now? I just want you."

And that's all he wants, too.

Steve

"Hey, darlin'," Eddie says, taking the covered dish from Diana's hands when they walk into the kitchen. She was in charge of the main dish this week, and he's pretty excited. He's never had anything she's made that he hasn't liked.

And Eddie isn't destroying their kitchen with dirty dishes. So, win-win.

Gareth walks by Steve, and reaches out, tapping the back of his hand against Steve's dick. A little harder than necessary, Steve thinks.

"Ow," Steve giggles, cupping his junk, and Gareth laughs.

"You fucked my wife," Gareth says, like that wasn't the whole idea.

"You can fuck my husband if you want to," Steve suggests, teasing.

"No, he definitely cannot!" Eddie declares, and they all laugh.

Gareth leans up in Steve's face, and smacks a kiss against Steve's lips, "I don't know what you did to my wife, you goddamn animal, but we fucked about it all afternoon. Thanks, man."

Then he winks, and Steve shakes his head, laughing.

"I could always give you a demo if you want. Teach you a thing or two," Steve says, taunting him.

Gareth shakes his fist at Steve, and Di slides in front of Steve, getting between them. Steve wraps both arms around her shoulders, hugging her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head.

It's nothing he hasn't done a million times before, but watching Gareth's blood pressure rise in real time is sorta fun. They're close, have always been close, all of them. Now, they're just a little bit closer in an unexpected way.

"Yeah, Gare. You want a demo?" she asks, teasing, but Steve feels like there's more to it the way color spreads across Gareth's cheeks. It's interesting. Gareth might actually like that.

He's a horny little freak, though, always has been, so Steve's not too surprised. Not really.

Gareth crowds in close, pressing up against Di, wrapping his arms around the both of them, squeezing, pressing his fingers into Steve's back, probably a little harder than he really needs to.

"Stop that, all of you. We're not having an orgy," Eddie says from where he's putting a salad together. It's their Sunday tradition. "We're having dinner. That's it."

They all laugh, and Steve feels relieved it's all so normal. Di takes a step away from him, and he lets her go. She sits at the table next to Gareth, and Steve walks over and wraps his arms around Eddie's middle, hugging him from behind, "No orgies. Got it. Who knew Eddie Munson would be the prude among us?"

Eddie spins, salad tongs in hand, putting them right in Steve's face, "You take that back! I'm a freak!"

Steve laughs, and holds up his hands in concession, "My bad. You're a freak."

"He's not a freak, he's an imposter," Gareth says.

Eddie growls at him, and it's far less scary than he thinks it is. But they all just humor him, like they always do.

Steve carries the salad to the table, and Di takes the lid off the pasta. It's all so normal, and they easily fall into regular conversation. Like they didn't do something new last night.

"We've got a good one," Eddie says, "the song. We're keeping it for us. It's a Corroded Coffin song. Could be a single. Hell, maybe we'll do an EP."

Gareth is nodding, "He's not wrong. Songs don't usually come together that quick."

"That's what she said," Eddie jokes.

"She definitely didn't," Steve banters, and Gareth kicks him under the table.

So, nothing's changed. That's good.

Eddie

Steve's bending over in the fridge, looking for pie he bought for dessert. Eddie bangs his groin into Steve's ass, sending him off balance, making him laugh. Eddie squats beside Steve, looking lower, finding it on the bottom shelf. He presents it to Steve on both hands, making him laugh.

Steve takes it from his hands, and places it on the counter to be cut, as Eddie starts a pot of coffee. Eddie can hear Gareth and Di talking in the living room, and he knows he was worried for nothing.

It was only sex.

And what's a little sex between friends?

And if you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the May Mayhem Bingo Event!

Notes: Title from Swingin' by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, which has nothing to do with a key party. (But everything to do with Di, lol.) However, Brief Encounters by Franz Ferdinand is much more likely about that, and it definitely got some listening time while writing this.

May Mayhem has been so much fun, writing borderline unhinged things I'd never probably considered before. 🤣

#corrodedcoffinfest: may mayhem bingo #corrodedcoffinfest #steve harrington #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #stranger things fic #corroded coffin #freak stranger things #gareth stranger things #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #gareth x ofc #eddie x jeff #gareth x goodie #steve x ofc

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