#corroded coffin (stranger things)

[marvins-linguinie]

corroded coffin has gotten really popular. im talking 'a stadium full of people for a single show' popular. steve, being eddie's husband, wants to be at every one of his concerts, but can't. and the day that eddie breaks the news of his world tour to steve, a flood of emotion sweep over him. of course, he's ecstatic, because people want to see cc play!

but, he knows he won't be able to go. steve has never left hawkins, and he's afraid something will happen if he does. that's part of the reason. the other part is his job. he can't miss a lot of days, let alone however long the tour takes. he teaches kids, and he can't just stop in the middle of a year. eddie knows steve can't go, but promises to call him everyday.

eddie's flight is early in the morning. steve drives him there, and robin and nancy tag along. they don't know how long it'll be. the drive is mostly quiet, beside the cool breeze from the windows. everyone knows how sad this goodbye is going to be. it's not forever. eddie kept repeating that, hugging steve. robin and nancy weren't sure if he was trying to convince himself or steve, but they were on the verge of tears. eddie and steve share one last kiss, and he walks away with his guitar case slung over one shoulder, and his duffel bag slung over the other.

steve drives home. he's shocked by how much eddie has affected the world. he's upset. over the next year, he keeps imagining eddie playing, and the crowd cheering. imagining him running to eddie on the stage, hugging him. robin and nancy stay over sometimes. the tourism dies down in hawkins. the only reason they were there in the first place is because they wanted to see cc live. eddie knows steve doesn't go out of hawkins, so most of his shows are based there, mostly so steve can watch them. eddie follows through with his promise, calling him every night, bragging about the different foods, and how fancy the hotel is, what some of the fans gave him.

a few more months pass. steve feels numb. eddie is getting tired, and wants more than anything to be back home, with steve. one night, eddie calls steve, and he doesn't pick up. eddie goes into panic mode. he immediately calls robin, and she simply explains the time difference, and how it's 2am in hawkins. eddie's emotions take over, and he just starts to bawl. he misses the morning kisses, he misses steve's smile whenever eddie has a show, he misses not being alone in a bed. and, however nice the fan art, and the gifts may be, he misses steve. he would give anything to be in steve's arms.

turns out, cc finished all of their tour early. he couldn't get in contact with steve, to tell him that he was flying home, and figured it would be better as a surprise. once the band arrives in hawkins, eddie knows steve is at the high school. it's a friday, and around 10 am, so he's teaching a class. perfect. eddie always loved dramatic entrances, and this was an incredible opportunity for one. eddie stops at the front desk, and has to get a visitors pass. he starts walking to steve's classroom, practically bouncing with excitement.

his boots make an echo down the empty hallway, at he makes a stop in front of a door. he quietly knocks. no answer. he knocks again, this time, opening the door, cautiously. steve has his back faced toward him, writing on a chalkboard. the whole class goes silent because 'oh my god superstar eddie munson is standing in our classroom?' one student squeals, and eddie puts a finger over his mouth, getting the kids to stay quiet. as steve is explaining the homework, still faced toward the board, eddie steps closer. eddie has a goofy grin on his face, as he raises his hand. "Mr. Harrington," he says, "what's the homework again?" steve sighs and turns around, and then realizes.

"You guys call him that, right?" eddie asks. steve's mouth is open, and his eyes are glassy. the room is mostly quiet, from confusion, and trying to figure out what the hell eddie munson is doing in their classroom. steve scans eddie's body. eddie's hair is longer, even longer than it was. he's wearing new rings, but still has his wedding ring on his middle finger as he did when he left. the bell rings, and as some of the kids flow out, some ask for signatures, and eddie scribbles something down on a piece of paper for each of them. the last student walks out, admiring the gibberish on their paper. steve stands still, tears slowly running down his face.

eddie steps toward him, and steve runs to eddie, practically jumping into his arms, sobs coming from both of them. robin walks in, and gasps. eddie doesn't let go. he never wants to. steve has some stubble, and his hair has grown out. steve sinks his face deeper in eddie's shoulder. he doesn't want to let go either. god, he's missed this. that part of steve that disappeared when eddie left, is finally there. like a puzzle piece.

eddie is his puzzle piece. the one that fits perfectly into place, and connects the other pieces. he's never loved a person more. robin will always be steve's platonic soulmate, but eddie.. eddie is his not platonic soulmate. and everything is okay again. steve is okay. eddie's okay. no more empty beds, no more envisioning the other's face, no more feeling empty. no more.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Eddie goes to a very interactive and scary haunted house with CC. They get separated, one thing leads to another, and Eddie finds himself crouched behind a dusty curtain, trying to evade a masked killer with a spiked bat.

But then his smart watch lights up, and he realizes that he needs to turn it off.

Except his shaking fingers accidentally press the "find your phone" function. One moment, Eddie is suppressing his labored breathing. Now, he's scrambling to turn off his phone as it keeps screeching "I'M HEEEREEEE!" in an obnoxious voice.

The curtain opens and the killer stares at him from above. Even with the mask on, he seems disappointed.

Eddie just stares at him.

The killer stares back.

Then, as an act of mercy, he takes Eddie's phone and turns off the noise. He returns the phone and uses his bat to give the gentlest bonk to Eddie's head.

Eddie still stares and isn't moving.

The killer sighs, removes his mask - and wow. Maybe fear scrambled Eddie's brain, but the guy's so cute!

"Oh wow," he whispers. "If I knew you were so pretty, I would have let you catch me sooner."

He half expects the guy to be disgusted, but he just snorts. "That can still be arranged. But now," he lowers his mask back, "you have five seconds to start running. And if I catch you, you don't get to ask for my number."

Eddie runs like hell. He makes it past the exit gate, he rolls on the floor, wheezing and sweating. But he still finds the words. "Your...oh fuck, my ribs...your name...big boy? And number?"

The guy didn't even break a sweat. He walks up to Eddie, takes his phone and types in a number, plus a name - Steve.

He cocks his head to the side. "My shift ends in three hours. Try not to disappoint me again, hm?"

And then he leaves.

Eddie's friends stare at him, having witnessed the whole scene. But Eddie doesn't explain anything, he just clutches the phone close to his chest and says: "I'm gonna marry that guy."

And surprisingly, he ends up being right.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Gareth: You really think we're going to like Steve Harrington just because he's your boyfriend?

Eddie: Nope!

Steve: *brings homemade devil shaped cupcakes for Hellfire like he's trying to be scout mom* Hi! 😊

Gareth: Goddamnit.

Eddie: That's why you're going to like Steve.

Jeff: It's like someone used magic to turn a golden retriever into a human.

[stevieschrodinger]

When Corroded Coffin make it big, Eddie leans into the persona in a big way. Face full of black and white make up, often made to look like blood is dripping from his mouth. Big, wild hair, usually shirtless, usually leather pants covered in chains, fingers covered in rings.

Eddie does photo shoots in the get up; Eddie wears the persona to interviews. He accepts awards dressed that way. That is what Eddie Munson looks like.

Eddie Munson maintains that he 'doesn't do relationships' and is famous for having a different girl on his arm to every event. They never go home with him.

So when Eddie wants to live his life, he just...doesn't wear makeup. Puts the hair in a man bun. Takes off the jewellery. Steals one of his husbands happy sweaters.

Eddie Munson, possibly one of the most famous people in the world, can walk with Steve in public and never get recognised.

[tartarusknight]

Imagine if Corroded Coffin got popular and over the years they released a shit ton of music. But one year they came out with a metal Christmas album. All of the songs going hard and exactly what everyone expected. Except, the last song was Not metal.

The cover of Santa Baby is more stripped down than the rest and Eddie changes the words of the song to Santa Buddy. But he puts in so much sexual tension in his singing that everyone is freaking out.

But then they post a music video for Santa Baby. And instead of one of the Corroded Coffin boys in the Santa outfit, it's some guy no one recognizes. Eddie dances around the guy, and it's the gayest thing anyone's seen.

And well, only their close family recognize it as Steve, Eddie's (illegal) husband.

[unkreativstermensch]

Corroded Coffin making it big after touring with Metallica, but at this point they’re basically immune to being starstruck ever again (because…well, they’ve toured with Metallica) so they’re pretty chill around famous people.

Fast forward to an award show a couple months later, Eddie brings Steve, Steve brings Robin and while Eddie just mostly stays at their table chatting away with Jeff and James, Steve and Robin get drunk and go absolutely ballistic.

Running around, stealing bread from all the other tables, and doing shots with everyone who’s willing to put up with their antics. At some point Steve comes up to Eddie, hands on his shoulders, excited and giddy and tells him, „Hey Eds, I just talked to Rick Astley! He’s such a nice guy. Robin told him he should release a negative version of his song and just sing ‘then im gonna give you up, then im gonna let you down’ and he actually seemed to consider it as an April Fool’s joke or something.”

And Eddie just looks at him, an amused, fond smile on his lips, says, “that’s great, baby, m’glad you’re having fun“ and presses a kiss to Steve’s neck, before turning around again, resuming his conversation with Kirk about about a song idea.

[momotonescreaming]

Cooking Youtuber Steve; who has series where he makes good family friendly meals, dishes for picky eaters, tips for everyday cooking. As well as series where he tries to make historical dishes, food and drinks from games and TV.

DnD Youtuber Eddie; who has a long actual play series, videos about his characters and the world he's built. Videos about tips for your role-playing, getting immersed. A series where he tries other TTRPG's and board games.

Dustin persuades Steve to make videos about medieval inspired, DnD friendly meals. And because it does actually seem like a fun challenge, he does it. Dustin looks horrifically smug about it when the videos are a hit, the bastard. (Steve will make him eat something gross as payback. Its fine. Gotta keep him humble.)

And because obviously, Eddie sees the videos. He's always on the search for good DnD shit. But the guy is so fucking hot Eddie doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Except daydream about those eyes, and that hair, and those hands.

So Eddie records himself trying (and only sort of failing) to recreate the food. It comes out sort of ugly but actually nice tasting, so Eddie calls it a win. References the Hot Chef Steve in his video, adds a link to his channel, and tries not to feel his heart beating out of his chest when he sends @'s him with a link to the video. His channel is way bigger than Eddie's, he probably won't see it, Eddie's fine.

Except the Hot Chef does see it, and Eddie sort of loses his mind when he gets a comment or a message from him, thanking Eddie for giving his recipe a go, and giving him credit for the recipe. Eddie's not fine at all, this guy is way out of his league, and Eddie can feel the crush bubbling up under his ribcage, and Oh Fuck he's messaging Eddie.

[ryan-waddell11]

The same pictures strike again

[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

[riality-check]

Steve, realistically, shouldn’t even be at this show. He doesn’t care about the band, he didn’t want to make the drive, and he had to bring Anna along because he couldn’t find a babysitter.

But he was going to suck it up to go with Dustin, who immediately bought tickets to see his favorite band when they went on sale. Who called Steve this morning to inform him, somehow both solemnly and frantically, that he had the worst food poisoning known to man, and, that until he stopped puking and shitting at the same time, he could not leave the bathroom.

Steve very much did not need to know that.

With Dustin went the rest of the Babysitters’ Club, all of them having eaten the same shady pizza and suffering the consequences. The only exception was Mike, lactose intolerant but cursed to take care of his idiot friends.

He texted Steve to ask if he had extra bleach. Steve dropped it outside the house because no way in hell was he entering that building.

Dustin assured him, amidst too much detail and shockingly disgusting background noise, that both tickets shouldn’t go to waste, and with no one able to babysit Anna, Steve should take advantage of both.

So, here he is. Standing in the first level - Dustin couldn’t get floor tickets, thank God - of a show for a metal band he has no intention of ever listening to and holding his four-year-old daughter, who has bright pink ear defenders looped around her neck in preparation for when it gets really, really loud.

“When are they starting?” she asks for the fourth time in as many minutes, with a sigh too big for her little body.

“In a few minutes,” Steve says, keeping an eye on the stage, where he watches the crew set up. Mad respect for them hustling so hard. He could never.

The seats are slowly filling up, and Steve feels a little sad for the first opener, a little sad that they don’t have a full house for their set.

A group of four guys takes the seats right next to Steve, with a pale, long-haired, big-eyed guy right next to him. He’s got tattoos on his arms and rings on all his fingers and a silver bar through his upper ear.

And he’s arguing emphatically with his friend next to him.

“I’m telling you, American Psycho is more recognizable!” he says, hands flying. Steve discreetly makes sure he and Anna aren’t within striking distance. “Not to mention cheaper!”

“A prop chainsaw,” his friend - a short white guy with shorter but equally wild hair - says, “can’t possibly be that hard to find by tomorrow.”

“We already have the axe!”

“I’m with Eddie,” the big white guy at the end of their group says. “I’m a sucker for American Psycho.”

“Okay, but I’m the guy who has to use the props,” the fourth friend, a Black guy with short braids who looks annoyed at this conversation, like they’ve had it before. “And I think I’d have more fun with the chainsaw.”

Eddie - the guy with long hair and heavy jewelry and hands with a mind of their own - rolls his eyes. It’s a full body movement, one that has him spinning to face Steve. When he does, his face cycles through a myriad of emotions too fast for Steve to really track.

“Hi, pretty boy,” he says. His eyes then dart down to Anna, who stares at him with her head cocked to the side. “Pretty dad. Dad. Pretty. Hi.”

“Eddie,” the short guy cautions.

“Yeah, sorry, anyway, can you be a tiebreaker for us?”

“Sure,” Steve says. Anna squirms, so he lets her out of his lap to stand, holding her hand all the while. “What do you need?”

“American Psycho or Texas Chainsaw Massacre?” the big guy asks.

“You gotta give him context.”

“No, I don’t, Jeff.”

The guy who said he’d be using the props - whatever that means - rolls his eyes and stops fighting.

“What’s American Psycho?” Anna asks, choosing the best time to pay attention to the conversation, like always.

“A movie you’re too young to see,” Steve says. “And the one I’m picking out of those two.”

“Oh, thank you,” Eddie says, using a tone that better fits Steve saving his drowning dog or something. He then turns to the rest of his friends and says, “I fucking told you!”

Anna gasps. “You’re not s’posed to say that!”

Jeff smothers a laugh behind his hands, while the other three guys stare at Anna, half confused, half admiring.

Eddie clears his throat, looking significantly abashed. "Sorry, Miss-"

"Anna," she says.

"Anna," Eddie finishes. Then he turns to Steve. "And you are?"

"Steve. No Mister for me though. I might be a dad, but I'm not that old."

"You are old, Daddy," Anna says.

Steve frowns down at her, where she stands at his feet. She's smiling, mischievous like she always is when she says something along these lines. "I'm not that old."

"Yeah you are! You're like, you're like, like, fifteen."

Jeff gives up on hiding his laughter.

"I'm older than fifteen," Steve says gently, trying not to laugh.

Anna’s jaw drops. “You are?”

“Thank God for that,” Eddie mutters, then shuts his jaw with an audible click.

Steve tried to come up with an answer for that, but someone comes on a mic and starts playing the drums, so he moves the defenders over Anna’s ears and pays attention to the show instead.

It's... fun, he guesses. Fun if he were into it, maybe. The first opener has a lot of energy, even if the music isn't melodic enough for Steve's taste. He finds himself tapping along to the steady beat, moving slightly in his seat to the music.

It's nice background noise. He'd put this on while he grades papers. It's steady enough to fill his head but doesn't have a whole lot of lyrics he could get distracted by and sing along to.

Eddie and his friends, meanwhile, are having the time of their lives. The short guy - Gareth, Steve thinks his name is - mimes the drum part of each song with startling accuracy. Archie jumps up and down, Jeff absolutely screams along, and Eddie-

Anna stares up at Eddie, eyes wide and jaw slacked as she watches him bang his head to the music.

Steve almost snaps a picture of it, this little moment, before the second song ends and Eddie snaps out of his zone.

He shakes the hair out of his face, then looks down at Anna, who's still staring at him. "What?"

She cocks her head to the side in a mirror of his. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The," she pauses, then starts shaking her head really hard, side to side. Steve puts a hand on her shoulder before she slams into the chairs in the row in front of them.

Eddie laughs. "The headbanging?"

"Yeah," Anna says, nodding.

"It's a way I move to the music," Eddie explains.

"Like dancing?"

"Sort of," Eddie says. "It's easier. I look stupid when I dance."

"You're not s'posed to say that," Anna tells him solemnly. "Right, Daddy?"

Steve meets Eddie's eyes. Even with the lights down, they're big and pretty and reflective, and Steve is going to kick himself so hard if he chickens out before he can get his number.

"Right," he says, still looking at Eddie. "We're not supposed to call ourselves stupid."

"Sorry," Eddie whispers.

"Don't be."

Anna tugs on Steve's hand, then Eddie's. "Teach me."

"Anna," Steve cautions.

"Can you please teach me?" she corrects.

Eddie glances down at Anna, then back up at Steve. "If it's-"

"Go ahead," Steve says because Eddie has more than passed the vibe check at this point.

Eddie crouches down as a new song starts up, and while Steve can't hear what he's telling her, he sees her smile, bright as day.

By the last song of the first opener, Anna is headbanging along with Eddie, off-beat in the say little kids always are but more than making up for it with effort.

Steve gives into the impulse to take a picture.

When the first opener finishes, Steve picks Anna back up and takes her ear defenders off.

"Woah," she says. "Can I keep them-"

"Nope," Steve says. "They stay on when the music is on. You heard it fine, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but you-"

"I have my earplugs in," Steve says, pointing at them.

"So do I," Eddie says, and when he moves his hair back, sure enough, there are black earplugs nestled in his ears.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to wear earplugs," Steve says.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy to come of a metal show," Eddie counters.

Anna climbs out of Steve's arms and onto his back, where she loops her arms around his shoulders and just hangs, like she does sometimes when she gets bored.

Weirdo kid, Steve thinks affectionately.

"That's because I'm not," Steve says. "I was supposed to come with a friend, but he got sick."

"Yikes," Eddie says. "You coming tomorrow, too?"

"I am," Steve says. "Are you?"

Eddie raises his eyebrows, like he didn't expect Steve to ask that. "Yeah, we'll be here. Not in these seats, though."

The lights go back down before Steve can ask what he means by that. He reaches behind him, scoops Anna back down on the ground, and puts her ear defenders on by the time the second opener strikes a scary-sounding opening chord.

Anna doesn't look scared at all. From the moment the music starts, she looks up at Eddie, and when he starts headbanging, she does, too.

Yup. Steve has effectively created a monster.

He contemplates, if Dustin is fine by tomorrow, skipping out on the show and giving his ticket to Anna, but that means not seeing Eddie again.

He really wants to see Eddie again, even if he won’t have the same seats.

Whatever that means.

Steve decides not to focus on that. He decides instead to focus on the moment. He listens to the music. He lets Anna take his hand and dance with it. He bops his head along with hers, but not too hard because he can’t risk aggravating his whiplash.

He enjoys the show, even if it’s not his cup of tea. It’s easy to enjoy the show, with Eddie next to him. It’s easy to enjoy his wild hair and pretty jewelry and big eyes and contagious enthusiasm.

It’s easy to see the way Eddie looks at him.

It’s also very easy, after the venue clears and Anna falls asleep in the car on the way home, to forget to ask for his number.

Shit.

(Part 2 is alive!!)

[marvins-linguinie]

corroded coffin got nominated for a grammy. eddie wants steve to be there, but it's in la and steve hasn't ever left hawkins. eddie decides to tell him, and assure him that it's okay, and that eddie doesn't have to be there, but steve protests. steve suggests that the kids come along, that way, when they leave hawkins, he won't have anything to worry about. the first kid they go to is max. eddie explains the situation, and max says no at first, until steve tells her that kate bush will be there too. next, they go to will and el. will says yes without hesitation. two checked off.

el, however has a lot of questions. "what is a grammy?" "how do we get there?" "why?" eventually, she agrees. steve tells lucas, and he agrees, as long as max goes. mike agrees to go, as long as will goes. steve sits dustin down, and has a long, off topic conversation with him, until eddie finally just asks. he agrees. the week before, eddie took each of the kids to his fashion designer to have them fitted for their outfits. the night before, steve triple checked that the tickets for their flight were purchased.

everyone slept over at steve and eddie's house, so it would be simple for them to get to the airport on time. this was not the case. yes, steve walked through the house, yelling for everyone to get up, and keep in mind, this was 4 in the morning. everyone was on edge, arguing, pushing past one another. around 6am, they finally got all of their suitcases packed into the car. everyone got in, and steve started speeding to the airport, claiming that if they missed their flight, he was going to be pissed.

turns out, they arrive with an hour to spare. steve and eddie sit down and drink some coffee, while the rest of the kids bicker. when they're called to board, the all get on, and the flight is mostly silent, except for the crying babies and max and lucas arguing about something. their plane lands, and cc gets escorted to a car, trying to lay low and avoid the paparazzi. steve and the kids are told to get in a different car, and as they drive away, paparazzi chases both cars. steve hasn't noticed how famous cc really is. they live in a small, empty town.

yeah, sometimes when they're walking downtown together, people will want an autograph, but that's practically nothing. the cars park in front of a large house, and they're guided inside. make-up artists, and fashion designers steal the kids, one by one, and then steve. cc is nowhere in sight. steve hasn't worn make-up since 89', and that's because eddie wanted to put eyeliner on steve. they blend some type of powder into his face, and style his hair.

he gets handed a suit and led to a changing room. this place has to be bigger than his parents house. steve quickly changed into his suit and was led back outside into a limousine. the kids were already dressed and waiting for him. cc squeezed into the limo with the rest of them, and they took off. corroded coffin's manager went over all of the rules, and told the kids how to respond to certain questions.

once they arrive to the red carpet, they all sperate. steve stays with eddie, though. they get asked about their marriage, and who the young adults that showed up with them are. soon, the ceremony began. cc was nominated for a few categories: best group performance, best metal performance, and album of the year. ozzy ended up winning best metal performance, and metallica won best group performance. their last chance was album of the year. if they didn't win, they were still honored to be at the grammys, let alone be nominated for three categories.

when they announced that corroded coffin had won, it took eddie a bit to process it. when it finally sunk in, cc ran into stage. steve wrote eddie a speech to say just in case corroded coffin won. eddie pulled the speech out of his pocket, shook his head, and balled it up, shoving it back into his pocket.

"hi." he says, ignoring the feedback from the microphone. "wow. this is um.. this is wild. i mean, we've spent our entire lives working together in corroded coffin, and never in a thousand years, did we think we would be standing on this stage. i want to thank a lot of people, but there's one person in particular. he um.. he wrote what i was supposed to say for this, actually, but he didn't mention someone. the person who made it possible for corroded coffin to be here. himself. when we would have to stay late in the studio, he would bring us all dinner. he would stay up until i got home. and, he made sure to make time for me. this is actually his first time out of our hometown, and he demanded that he come with. steve is the most selfless person i know. he's also my favorite person. if you guys knew him, you would understand where im coming from. so, i want to dedicate this grammy to steve. i love you stevie. thank you all!" the audience shifted to cheers and applause.

eddie ran off stage, cc following behind, and steve met him with a kiss. tears were running down both of the boy's faces. maybe leaving hawkins wasn't so bad after all.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Rising rockstar Eddie sees Steve at one of their shows and falls for him hard and fast.

Little does he know, Steve is also moderately famous...he's in a boy band. Imagine something like Backstreet Boys or NSYNC.

Jeff knows. Gareth knows. Freak knows.

Eddie doesn't, and Steve doesn't tell him. No one tells him.

They walk past a billboard with Steve's band, and Eddie squints at it. "Hey. That guy looks like you!"

And Steve just laughs, "haha, yep, sure does! So where are we eating, babe?"

People don't recognize Steve much on the street because he dresses differently in real life. So Eddie is blissfully oblivious to the true nature of his boyfriend while CC and all their friends make bets.

And he always bitches when CC hum Steve's band's most recent hits. "Really, Gareth? Pop? Traitor."

But the second he learns who Steve is in his professional life, he sits down, listens to their whole discography, and actually memorizes some of the songs, because pop or not, his boyfriend is a pro, he's really good at what he does, and then he makes CC record a cover of his favorite Steve song (and also maybe because Steve tells him he composed some of it, and Eddie's so proud).

From that point, if someone shit talks pop in his presence, he frowns at them and says: "I'll have you know, my boyfriend's in a boy band! And you wish you were as successful as him, you sorry excuse for a musical elitist."

[wheneverfeasible]

TW: brief homophobic language

Steve plays the piano.

When he was a kid, Steve’s mom made him take piano lessons. He honestly hated it, hated how strict his instructor was, hated that he had to spend hours practicing when he could have been playing with his new friend Tommy. The thing was, Steve was good at it. He had an ear for music and could pick up songs after just hearing them a couple of times, even if they weren’t piano songs. There were also brief moments that his mom would actually pay attention to him, would sit at the piano bench with him and play her favorite songs.

Around middle school his dad told him that only pansies played piano, cutting an end to his lessons and instead enlisting him in every sport he could. Steve liked sports. He was good at that too, and at first his dad paid attention to him too which was amazing, but it only lasted one season. That was fine. Steve loved sports.

Then Steve met Robin, and they laughed at how horrible Tammy sounded singing, because even all this time he still had an ear for music. Then he met Eddie, and even though it wasn’t really his type of music, he could tell how talented Eddie was whenever he heard the older boy play after the world tried to end but they stopped it.

Steve and Eddie grew closer, and sometimes Steve even attended Corroded Coffin practice if he was free, much to Gareth’s original annoyance, and the music kind of grew on him. Sometimes he’d find himself singing the songs to himself in the shower or doing chores, or tapping out chords on the steering wheel when he drove Robin or the kids anywhere.

Steve was at one of these band’s practices when he noticed a keyboard set off to the side. He vaguely recalled Eddie ranting one day about the band arguing if they were going to add a keyboardist to their group or not, but the idea had been scrapped several months ago when they couldn’t agree on the sound.

During an intermission in the practice, while the band was all inside the house getting fresh drinks (Eddie was getting his for him), Steve hesitated before moving to the keyboard. He’d never played a keyboard before, and it had been years since he touched a piano after his father got rid of theirs when he started sports. He didn’t think he’d even remember how.

Despite this, his fingers moved with assurance over the keys, not playing one of the songs he’d learned in his youth but the song Eddie and his band had been playing just before break. His natural affinity for music had him able to translate the chords into piano keys easily, and he sort of lost himself in the music he plucked out for the first time in his life.

It wasn’t until the ending notes were lingering in the air and the sound of applause began behind them that he realized the band had returned, Eddie’s eyes gleaming above a wide smile while Gareth rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Your boyfriend can join the band,” the curly haired youth said, sounding aggrieved, but there was a curl to his lips that said that he was impressed.

Which was how Steve, former King of Hawkins High, found himself as the fifth member of the metal band Corroded Coffin as its keyboardist.

It also took until a week later, after his first official practice as part of the band, for him to realize that neither he nor Eddie protested Gareth’s claim of them being boyfriends.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, pouting on Tiktok: You know what the worst part about being married is?

Eddie: The head injuries.

Eddie:

Eddie: I feel like I should clarify that my husband had a head injury prior to our relationship and now he gets migraines so I can’t bother him.

Eddie: I didn’t hit him. Someone else did.

Eddie: I just miss him.

Gareth, in the comments: Dude, we are practicing right now AT YOUR HOUSE. You’ve been gone for an hour. Come back.

[crookedteethed]

BIG SHOT polaroid | e.m.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem reader

Summary: In which you and Eddie have a picture book where you both store your sex pics. <3 💕

Warnings: 18+ Cursing, a little Smut (p in v), Oral (fem receiving), Praise kink, body worship(?), pet names, nudes

Word count: 1k

If you pushed past the mounds of dirty laundry intertwined with disposed candy bar wrappers and a few empty shoe boxes, underneath Eddie Munson's bed lies the picture book. 

The picture book was your idea, but the pictures themselves were all Eddie's perverted idea. 

"Lemme take a picture of you, yeah?" Eddie said, taking a break from his delicious never-ending assault on your clit. Your juices dripped down his chin, some droplets stringing the tips of his hair, his lips all red and puffy covered in slick, and his eyes a little crazed and tinted in admiration. 

He kissed the supple plush of your thigh in a diagonal line; your hands stayed grazing his curls, body supine on the foam of Eddie's mattress. Eddie's lips make love to your thighs, to your tummy, from your breast to your neck, and eventually to your lips; where'd you gotten to taste yourself for the first time.

Eddie quotes Shakespeare. "Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry. Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." He says, glossy lips forming a smile.

"Lemme get a picture of you.” He asks again. “I want to savor my pretty girl in this moment," he says with that boyish smile and those adoring chocolate eyes.

Fuck, those eyes. Even if you were thinking of saying 'no' to Eddie, you simply couldn't. It was the way Eddie's eyes gazed at you every time you made contact. It was as if he was put into a dreamlike trance.

If Eddie had been a cartoon, his eyes and pupils would have turned heart-shaped.

You agreed to the picture, but just one.

Eddie sprung up from the bed, his naked pale body sprinting around the smallish trailer.

You hear a few thuds and ruffling coming from the next room. You imagine Eddie tearing his home apart to find his Polaroid camera.

When Eddie comes back, he returns holding a big-shot Polaroid. He says it was his mother's. He and Wayne don't use it often, so there should be enough film on it.

You try to sit up as Eddie crawls onto the bed, but he lightly pushes you back down, telling you you shouldn't have to move a finger, lie back, and be his muse.

You felt an uneasiness plummet in your stomach as you felt the cold lens of Eddie's mother polaroid aimed at your cunt; it was similar to the feeling you get when your doctor has to check beneath your folds for any signs of ovarian cysts or cancers at your yearly checkups.

And though Eddie had seen your bare cunt a multitude of times (just like your doctor), this particular time made your body shutter. Just as Eddie goes to snap the picture, he notices your sudden twitchiness.

"Hey," he says, palming the plum of your cheek. He lightly pecks your lips. "You trust me, right?"

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip; of course, you trusted Eddie.

"Good." He nearly mumbles, eyes fixated on your glistening folds.

Eddie resume.

The Polaroid covers half of Eddie's face. With his right eye peeking through the eyepiece and his left eye squeezed tightly, Eddie aims the lens close to your cunt.

He places his thumb onto one of your folds and pulls back on the skin, snapping the picture in one snap. Seconds later, the blackened photo ejects from underneath the film shield.

With a few anticipated shakes from Eddie, the photo started to fade in, and you and Eddie stared at it with wide bug eyes and gaping mouths.

It wasn't the fact that Eddie could date back to this photo and jack off to it later that turned him on. Eddie was turned on because you let him do it; it turned him on even more that you trusted him to do it.

It turned you on because there was something obscure about seeing another aspect of your body, other than your face, on a Polaroid picture. In a way, you felt like you were Eddie's personal playboy bunny.

"Can I take another one?" Eddie asked in a daze, just as you went to ask him to take another, and then another, and then another, until you eventually ran out of film.

Taking pictures of you and Eddie's naked bodies would become almost like an addiction to both of you.

It became a ritualistic practice for you two before sex, grabbing the Polaroid (which now rested on Eddie's bedside table, along with packs of film) and taking turns snapping pictures of one another mid fuck.

Eddie would take the Polaroid from you and snap a picture of his cock plunging into your tight wet cunt; once he has his picture, then you'll take the Polaroid and snap a photo of your foot pressed against his pelvis, just above his happy trail. The cycle would go on and on until you were both covered in Polaroid pictures and cum.

It gets to a point where Eddie's bedside dresser, the current home for your photos, gets filled up, and you both have to resort to putting your photos in a picture book.

Making the picture book would be fun for both of you. You would sit on the trailer's living room floor, surrounded by glue, glitter, and markers; it's like a little arts and crafts project.

It'd be nostalgic for you and Eddie to return to your first photos all those months ago until now.

Eddie gets that gooey mushy feeling, getting wrapped up in the trust and intimacy of the photos--love, he thinks the feeling is called-- watching you watch a picture of yourself with a mouthful of his cock, and scrapbooking secret photos preserved for just his and your eyes only.

Eddie wants to tell you he loves you but doesn't yet; now isn't the right time. So he runs to his room, returning with his mother's big-shot Polaroid camera, and takes a snapshot of you.

[spicycinnabun]

Eddie tapped his pen against his clipboard, sighing loudly as the second to last auditionee left the stage, accordion and all. He crossed the name out on his sheet. “Okay, no way in hell.”

He shook his head and glared when Gareth weakly protested, “He was okay…”

“No, man. My grandmother has more vocal talent than him, and she had a laryngectomy in fifty-five. Let’s hope this last guy is better, or we’ll have to put out more ads.” Eddie climbed up onto the table, sitting cross-legged on it. It had been a long day of auditions, and he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly. He double-checked his clipboard, then called out, “Steve Harrington? Come on out.”

The sound of footsteps echoed through the theatre. Eddie’s spine straightened a little at the figure who appeared from behind the curtain and stepped into the spotlight, his eyes narrowing.

First of all, Steve Harrington was preppy. There was absolutely nothing Corroded Coffin about this dude. He was perfectly coiffed. No piercings, no grease in his hair, no visible tattoos. From his clean white t-shirt to his mom jeans, down to his sporty Nike’s, he couldn’t be less metal if he tried.

Secondly, he was gorgeous. There were no ifs, ands or buts about that. Eddie fought to keep his indifferent, slightly disgruntled expression on his face. Fought harder to keep his heart from beating a little faster.

This was stupid. There was no way this fucking angel-haired, Ken dolled, boy band of a man was going to have their sound.

Eddie’s pen was already poised beside Steve Harrington, about to cross it out.

Then Harrington leaned into the mic, introduced himself with a confidence and swagger reminiscent of Presley, and started singing.

Eddie’s wrist jerked, his pen halting. His eyes widened. Behind him, Gareth and Jeff shared an equally wide-eyed look, Gareth grinning like a loon.

Well, shit.

…So, maybe Eddie was wrong.