x-loumunson-x

[x-loumunson-x]

If anyone ever wondered what was in Eddie’s DM Book…

ST prop designer just posted this on Reddit

[x-loumunson-x]

Can I request a shy!reader x Eddie, where reader is going to college and gets a small apartment, but she asks eddie to move in with her. But she is really nervous about it? Thanks

ty for ur request! i hope this is okay ♡ shy!fem!reader | 1.1k words

The first time Eddie had brought you into the city to see your new apartment, you'd wanted him to live here with you. 

Even now, with a moving box in his ring-heavy hands and his hair falling into his face after yet another walk up the three flights of stairs, he looks like he's meant to live here. 

"Where do you want this?" 

It's the last of your bedroom things. Eddie hasn't noticed, but you've left a lot of room. Enough room for his things. 

"Baby," he drawls when you don't answer, almost singing. "My arms are gonna fall off." 

You take the box out of his hands and drop it on the bed. It's busted open. Right on top is your most beloved photo frame, a sweet picture of you and Eddie outside of a gig with his arm thrown over your shoulder. You can remember the moment. It had been dark. He'd smelled amazing, and right after the photo he'd kissed your cheek and your nose and the corner of your mouth. 

You set it on your nightstand. 

Eddie creeps up behind you. "What a handsome guy." 

You turn toward him. Strange to be shy with him so far down the line but his nearness and the question you're struggling to ask both feel heavy. "He is pretty handsome." 

"You're totally flirting with me right now, and I need you to know that it's working." 

"Yeah?" you ask, neck bent to watch him from over your shoulder. 

He slides his arms down your front and pulls you this chest. "So working." 

You let yourself melt into him. Your eyes close. You take a few deep breaths, about to ask him the all important question, but just as you open your mouth Eddie interrupts you. 

"I'm gonna miss you like crazy," he says. His confession is weighted; he sounds really, really sad. You think that you'd feel the same way at the prospect of not seeing him. Instead, the worry about asking him to move in has haunted you day in and day out for weeks.

"Eddie…"

"I don't know how to be away from you." 

You scramble to hug his arms where they've wrapped around your chest. For a moment the only sound is your hands working over his arms as you try to comfort him. 

"Will you miss me?" he asks. 

"Eddie," you say, turning to him, "don't worry, I-" 

"Don't worry?" He looks a little hurt. "We're about to be- I haven't been this far away from you since I met you, sweet thing." 

You move the hair from his face very gently before spreading your fingertips across the nape of his neck and forcing him to angle his head down. 

Your breath hitches. It's now or never. 

"Teddy," your murmur, looking between his eyes nervously. You can't choose which one to focus on, both so big and brown. "I know it's far away. I know that this is a long way from Hawkins, but I don't want us to not be together-" 

"You're not getting rid of me that easily." He scowls at the idea of a break up, and that's the last push that you need to finally make yourself ask. 

You move your hand to his cheek. "I thought you could come and live here with me." 

His scowl softens. 

"I…" You move out of his arms and almost trip over a box of things to show him the closet. "I made sure there's room for you. Actually, I've been trying to ask you for weeks, it's stupid to ask now, you'd have to move all your stuff and everything and it's gas money for no reason. And it's far away from Wayne, and your friends. But I want us to live together. I love you." You swallow down your embarrassment. "You know that." 

He doesn't say anything. 

"Or you don't have to." You look down at your shoes, heart pounding in your ears and the world's worst sinking feeling in your stomach. "I know it's a lot to ask, and- Eddie, what- oh my god, put me down!" 

You're being dramatic – he hasn't exactly lifted you up, he's only hugging you so hard that you've been forced on tiptoes. You cling to him and giggle madly as he bends you backwards, far enough that your back clicks. 

"Are you messing with me?" he asks, sounding very happy. 

"No, I'm serious! I want you to live with me," you say, just as ecstatic. 

"Why would you wait until today to ask me?" He's almost shouting, his eyes lit with a smile. 

"Because I thought you'd say no!" 

"Why would you think that?" 

You don't get a chance to answer him. He guides you back onto the naked mattress and sets about plastering you in small kisses, the ticklish kind that multiply your giggles by a thousand. He cups your face in both hands and moves up to kiss your smiling lips quickly. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. 

"I'm more than sure. I wanted to ask you ages ago, and-" 

You're cut off again by kisses. Every time he presses down on you a laugh bubbles up to meet him.

You needle your arm around his waist. For a while, you can't laugh or talk or even breathe. There's only Eddie's lips against yours, his soft hair brushing your cheeks. 

After kisses he's all planning. He'll drive home tonight. He'll pack. He'll be back here by tomorrow evening, and then it's just you and him against the world for the foreseeable future. He's so happy he's pausing between words to play with your hair, the two of you shoulder to shoulder on the bare mattress and staring at your brand new ceiling with twin expressions of content.  

"I can't believe you left half your closet empty for me," he says. 

You smile sheepishly. "I kind of decided you were gonna move in with me before I asked." 

"Oh, you'd decided, had you?"

You know he's teasing you but you're a hundred percent serious when you turn your head to his and say, "I don't know how to be away from you." 

He cringes at your parroting his earlier words. "Okay. I sounded like a lovesick loser." 

"Is that such a bad thing?" 

He kisses the tip of your nose. "No, I guess not." 

[x-loumunson-x]

Jade!!! I've been thinking of Dad!Eddie non stop since June Baby was posted!! Maybe you can do one where Eddie sees readers bump for the first time and it really sinks in he's going to be a dad. Lots of fluff and kisses ensue!! Love you lots!! Can't wait for June Baby part 2!

i love u tyty! ♡ pregnant!reader

"Eddie," you say, and from your tone Eddie assumes he's in a lot of trouble. "You gotta look at this." 

He frowns at you where you're standing at the preicipice of the bedroom in your new apartment, setting aside his notebook swiftly. "I'm looking," he assures you. 

You barrel into the room and throw yourself onto the bed. He winces though he knows you and the baby can take a lot worse, straightening up when you start to take off your shirt. 

Pregnancy hormones, he thinks, delighted, only you're not getting undressed after all, just pulling your shirt to under your chest. You're laid out flat on your back and trying not to breathe. "Look," you say. 

He looks at the bump of your tummy, more familiar to him now than almost everything he knows. 

He has to really look to notice. Your tummy is a little bit more rigid than it usually is, a certain roundness to the shape of it. 

He reaches out hesitantly – he knows that now you're pregnant you don't enjoy everyone's touching all the time, but you never say no to him. "Feel it, handsome," you encourage. 

He rubs the small swell of your stomach and feels dizzy. 

"You look pregnant," he says, startled. 

"I know," you say. The way you say it, like you're in awe of your own body, fills him with fondness. Your tummy moves under his hand, abdomen rising and falling with your breathing. 

"God, sweetheart," he murmurs, hair falling in his face as he leans over you, "you look pregnant." 

"I know," you repeat, beaming. 

His curls brush your cheeks as he leans down to kiss you softly. Your nose wrinkles from the tickling, and you shy away from his kiss with a huffing laugh. 

He spread his hand over you stomach and feels for that second heartbeat. He can't ever find it, it's impossible without his ear over your stomach and even then it's all about luck of the draw. Still, he imagines the pitter patter of a small heart working overtime under his palm and has to lean down for another kiss, a third, a fourth.

You giggle all the way through and squrim out of his grasp to pull your shirt back down. 

"Wait," he says softly, "let me look again? Please." 

"It'll cost you," you joke, lying flat, shirt pulled high. 

His eyes trace the curve of your stomach. "You know I'm good for it." Whatever price it is, he'll pay. 

[x-loumunson-x]

Can I request an Eddie and roan story where something happens and Eddie is quite vulnerable and upset and roan finds him at the kitchen table so she goes and gets reader to help cheer him up. Hurt comfort

ty for requesting ♡ eddie and roan fem!reader, 1.7k

cw grief

It's a bad idea, but Eddie opens the photo frame on the sill. He moves the small metal holdings aside, peeling away the velvet back to reveal the hidden photograph waiting beneath.

His hands are trembling as he picks it up. The edges are soft but the photo itself is pristine, a perfect polaroid taken from her waist height, angled up as she smiled down. 

Eddie puts it back. Closes the frame, sets the photograph right side up on the sill next to your vase. His hands shake as he stuffs them in his pockets, a hard lump aching in his throat. I shouldn't have looked, he thinks to himself, sitting down at the dining table freshly cleared after dinner. 

He couldn't not look. As he washed the dishes after dinner, he'd found his gaze drifting. The photo framed is a simple close up of Roan at her last birthday, her face painted pink, purple, and white in the shape of a butterfly with silver glitter accents. The secret photograph is stupid to keep secret, he should put in pride of place, he should be a fucking man about it—

If you could hear his thoughts you'd frown. Maybe do that silly sweet thing with your hand on his cheek and your soft eyes imploring as they look into his. God, Eddie would give you anything you asked for when you look at him like that. But he doesn't tell you about the photograph, how could he? It's his. It's the last bit of her. 

He looks down at the wooden grain of the dining room table. Without thinking, he springs to his feet, removes the frames backing, and takes the photograph of his mom into his hand a second time. 

She looks so young. Younger than Eddie is now. He must have been a really little kid when he took the photo, old enough to have worked the camera but young enough that he can't remember the moment. Can't remember what she said, what she was laughing about, how that sounded. He can't remember her smell. 

How could I forget that? he thinks, stricken. 

Eddie ducks his head. He drops back into his chair at the table, pinching the bridge of his nose between a calloused index finger and a softer thumb. Don't, he thinks desperately, even as his thoughts race to a more cruel place. I don't remember her. 

She's beautiful in the photo. Willowy and smiling, crouching ever so slightly with a hand braced on her knee. Her lips are curved up a touch and parted with a laugh, but Eddie theories now that she wasn't laughing. Maybe she was telling him something he doesn't remember anymore. Maybe she was telling him that she loved him— 

"Dad?" 

Eddie hides the photograph without thinking. "Yeah?" 

His voice cracks. Roan stares at him with wide eyes, brown as his own but with longer lashes. She's quicker to smile than he was at her age, though none of that lightness shines at present. 

"I'll get Y/N," she says hurriedly, spinning on her socked heel and hurtling back the way she came. 

"Ro!" he says, clearing his throat. "Fuck. Fuck." He wipes at his wet eyes. Fucking great. 

"Y/N!" he hears Roan shout, her panic a raw thing. He can see the look on your face a floor away. "You have to– we have to go help dad!" 

There's a lapse in shouting. Eddie would put the photograph away, wipe his eyes, and run to set things straight if he could; you don't deal with abrupt circumstances well and he hates to think of how your heart is racing, but he can't stop crying. 

Your footsteps sound and stop at the kitchen doorway. 

"Eds. You okay?" you ask. 

"I'm fine, I'm," —he starts to laugh, but the laugh turns into crying, everything a mess— "okay. Tell Roan it's okay." 

"Okay. Two seconds." Eddie covers his face, trying desperately to get a handle on things as you speak in hushed tones. "It's okay, Ro, alright? How about I put some TV on for you? Would that be good?" 

"I want to stay," she whispers. 

You pause. Eddie loses bits of time and conversation, wiping madly at his eyes, his head heavy as a bowling ball and aching as though it's been hit by one. Roan must agree to watch TV or at the least pretend to, because you return alone, pushing the table away from him to stand skewiff by his legs.

Eddie feels like he's choking on air. "Sorry." 

"Eddie, what's happening, honey?" You touch his shoulder tentatively. "What's wrong?" 

He tries to tell you and it hurts worse. Grief is super weird, it always has been (when it wasn't solely and unsympathetically devastating), and Eddie's grief tends to hide away for long periods of time. Like a brewing storm, pressure builds, and builds, and he knew looking at her photo wouldn't end well but she was just so pretty.

He presses his forehead to balled fists. 

You sigh like he's hurt you, curling protectively over his hunched back. Your cheek to a heaving shoulder, you rub at his tensed spine with your palm spread. "It's okay," you whisper, hugging him gently. "Sweetheart, it's okay. You have to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it." 

"You can't," he says, his voice rough as gravel. 

You kiss his shoulder. 

A handful of seconds and you pull back to look him in the eye. "Let me try?" 

He shakes his head softly, reaching into his lap. He's careful to dry his hands before he picks up his mother's photo, placing it with care on the table. You follow his movements, your lips twitching with understanding as you realise what it is. "That's your mom."

"Yeah, she…" 

"I've never seen this one." 

Eddie doesn't have many, but he has a few that he treasures. One framed on the living room mantle, four or five kept in safe keeping with Wayne. You nudge the corner of the polaroid to shield it from the glare of the kitchen fluorescents. 

"She looks really young." 

"She was younger than we are now. She didn't… it couldn't have been five years before she…" 

You don't condescend, your empathy palpable as you murmur, "Aw, Eddie. I'm so sorry. It's not fair." 

His eyes burn. His nose tickles. He closes his eyes and shoves the brunt of his palm against his socket. "I can't remember what she was trying to say. What kind of son am I?" 

"No, no," you crouch down and place your hands on his thighs, "what do you mean? Is that why you're upset? Babe, I can't remember things you said to me last night, you know that? That's not how memory works." 

"But it was important. I took the photo, I should remember." 

"You were young… I'm sorry, I wish you could remember, but," —you hold the photo up carefully— "with a smile like that, it's not hard to guess, right?" Your voice is smooth and soft as angora silk, though it pills as you continue, "I bet she's just telling you that you're doing a good job. Same way you say it to Ro. You must've gotten it from somewhere." 

A half sob shudders out of him. "I hope so." 

You pat his thigh. "You gonna be okay?" you ask, eyebrows pinched. 

He leans into the chair, the armrests groaning as he tries to breathe. His breath hisses from between his teeth. "Shit, sorry. I'm sorry. I'm alright, just, sometimes I remember she's gone and I realise I lost another little part of her and–" 

"It's okay." You stroke a strand of hair from his face. He relaxes at the simplicity of it, a routine gesture. "She's not lost, Eddie. You're not losing her. Yeah? That's not how it works. She's your mom forever." 

"I guess you never stop wanting your mom, huh?" he asks. His throat burns like nothing he's ever felt. 

"I guess not." 

Eddie's tears peter out eventually, aided by the way you hold his hands as though they're delicately made and the constant steadiness of your presence, your head dipping down intermittently to press kisses to the side of his thumb. He can't shake the feeling of grief and he doubts that he'll feel much better tonight, but the need to cry dissipates. He's drained suddenly, like he's held his breath too long, every inhale an ache. 

Roan comes to investigate the quiet. She tiptoes in, her lips parted in confusion, but her puzzlement doesn't stop her from snaking between his legs and your arms to sit in your lap. He's scared her, he knows, and he can't blame her for the way she wraps her arms around your stomach. Like he said: you never stop wanting your mom. 

Roan twists her neck to look at him. You plant a kiss behind her ear. 

"Are you okay, dad?" she asks. 

"I'm okay." 

"Why were you crying?" 

"I don't know, Ro. I guess I was hurting." 

"Did you cut yourself on the sharp knife?" she asks worriedly. 

Eddie chucks her under the chin. "Not that kind of hurt, babe." 

She frowns as though he's told her off and buries her face in his knees. Eddie folds down onto her like a cheap tent in a hurricane, craving the comfort of his little girl, knowing she's here, and that she's not going anywhere. "Is it okay if I squeeze you?" he asks. 

"Yeah, dad. But only this time. You squeezed me too hard last time." She huffs, chewing over her words even as she hugs her father back ferociously. "You're rough." 

"I said sorry already," he says lightly. His eyes scrunch closed. He has to try hard not to burst into a second round of tears as he smells her hair. "I'm really sorry, I thought you liked being squeezed." 

"I don't mind if it's to make you feel better." 

You laugh through your nose. Eddie clings. "Thank you." He's saying it to you, too. He really hopes that you know that. "I feel way, way better already." 

[x-loumunson-x]

It's a crime that most of his funko figures are basically the same as well.

how come we haven’t had a funko of THIS eddie??? that’s a crime.

[x-loumunson-x]

Part Six: That sometimes, if love proves real

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2584 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Late, 29 October, 1995

You recognised the caller as Hopper because he used your real name. He sounded afraid and out of breath. You both knew he should not have your number, both knew it could put you in danger, but you felt some sense of homesickness and relief hearing his voice.

“Listen, I can’t be on the line long,”

“Hop, what’s-”

“No, no, just listen. They’re gone. They’re dead. T-Bird and his kid. Tin Tin too.”

It took a moment for you to catch up. You’d only ever used their real names. They didn’t get to hide behind gang bullshit. Neil Hargrove. Billy. Andy.

You didn’t understand why he was calling with such urgency. People like them were bound to meet untimely ends. They’d probably accidentally blown themselves up.

“I can’t explain it… I don’t know… I don’t know what he is…”

“Hopper, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Eddie… He’s back. He’s killing them all… I, I didn’t know if you should know. I… Jesus, kid. He’s… He’s different…”

You had stopped listening after Eddie’s name.

Time stood still.

It wouldn’t move forward again.

You hung up the phone, found your keys, and got in your car. If the road were okay and you only stopped for petrol, you could be back in the city that killed you in just over thirty hours.

Morning, 30 October, 1995

While Grange visited Eddie’s grave, finding the ground open and the casket empty, Susan Mayfield was in the kitchen of her apartment.

The television was on. “This is the 7:00 am edition of Action News. For over a decade, the night before Halloween has had a darker and deadlier nickname in the inner city, ‘Devil’s Night.’ The name given to what has become an annual plague of arson. Last year, 200 individual blazes were reported, and eleven people lost their lives-”

Max was woken by the smell of eggs. She sat up, still on the couch. She’d fallen asleep there, hugging a Corroded Coffin vinyl to her body.

“Hi,” Susan greeted nervously. “Do you like them up or over? I can’t remember,”

“What are you doing? I don’t like eggs,”

“What? Wait, no, you loved egg,”

“Yeah, when I was five,” Max said, crossing their small apartment to the kitchen.

“So, what do you want now? Black coffee and cigarettes?”

Max looked at Susan. “What… What happened? Since when were you mother of the year?”

A dark look crossed Susan’s face. She shook her head a little. “Someone kind of… woke me up, I guess,”

“You’re acting weird. Did you win the lottery or something, Susan?”

“Forget it! I was never too good at this mom shit anyway,” and she moved to tip the frying pan of eggs in the bin.

“No!” Max jumped to stop her. “Over easy… I like them over easy…” They looked at each other. “Did you… Did you see him too?” Max asked.

Eddie had followed Susan that morning. He’d scared her, of course, how could he – like that – not? But he told her she had a shot. No Hargrove thumbs to be kept under. “Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children,” he’d told her. Susan didn't know the quote, but she understood the meaning of a second chance.

“I didn’t know… I swear I didn’t know it was them,” Susan began to cry. She hadn’t known it was Neil, Billy, and their gang who’d murdered you and Eddie. If any part of her had connected the dots, it had been suffocated under the weight of fear.

Susan hadn’t exactly liked Eddie, never bothered to get to know him beyond the metalhead exterior, but she’d appreciated the way you and he had taken Max in. She’d always wished she could have been more like the two of you.

With pulp free orange juice and over easy eggs, Max learnt about Andy, Billy, and Neil. Her mother shook like a leaf in a hurricane as she told her that something, someone had come for them. That he’d come for her too, but armed not with weapons but words.

“I’m glad they’re dead,” Max said. Susan did not doubt it.

“You know what Devil’s Night morning is for?” Hopper asked Annie. She rolled her eyes at him, refusing to say it. “That’s right! Coffee and contemplation,”

“HOPPER!”

Hopper groaned, looking over to where the D.A. stood at the boundary of the bullpen.

In an interview room, photographs of Neil fused to his car were spread across the table. Hopper looked at them and shrugged.

“This is the third in less than twenty-four hours. We’re gonna have to identify him through his teeth,”

“That’s T-Bird,” Hopper said. “Well, it’s T-Bird’s car. Wouldn’t let anyone else drive it. His specialty was arson… Looks like he zigged when he should have zagged. Case closed.” He pushed the photographs away.

The D.A. looked incredulous. “Bull-fucking-shit. You’re holding out on me. I got a goddamn vigilante killer knocking off scumbags left and right, and you are covering up for somebody… Who’s the cartoon character with the painted face?”

“I don’t know,”

“You don’t know? Gideon’s blows to hell, and you’re having a chitchat with some weirdo who winds up in T-Bird’s car when it zigs instead of zags? Then I hear you’re looking through old case files? Making calls to unlisted numbers? It’s dead now, you know. Whoever you called last night – the line is gone. And you’re saying this was just an automobile accident?! Come on!”

Hopper nodded. “That was… That was a good speech. Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt it. Did you write it down before or-”

“Alright smartass, well, here’s something written down for you. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your suspension,”

“Suspension? For what?” Hopper looked at the piece of paper handed to him, signed by the chief of police.

“Misconduct.” It was a stupid catch-all reason.

Hopper left his mug of coffee on his desk. Let that spoil and smell while everyone is busy with Devil’s Night.

Eddie was in the apartment going through anything that was left, when he heard the creak of the stairs. He hid.

“Eddie?” Max called, letting herself in. “I thought you were dead.” She saw smouldering remnants in the fireplace. She knew what the loft should look like. She’d been going there for a year. “I knew it was you. Even with the makeup.”

Eddie listened.

“I remembered your song… You said, ‘Can’t rain all the time.’ That is from your song, right?” She walked through the apartment. “Come on, Eddie. I know you’re here.”

The crow, Max looked up at it. The Night Watchman.

“I miss you guys. I get… lonely by myself.”

Nothing. Silence.

“Fine. Whatever. I thought you cared,” Max said, holding back tears. She grabbed her board.

“Max…”

Brenner and Grange watched Chance as he tried to tell a cohesive narrative. When Brenner slid a photo across the table, one of Corroded Coffin, Chance almost choked on his own insanity.

“YEAH! That’s him! That’s him! But he was painted up like some kind of fucking clown! T-Bird sent me in for some road beers. Then he took him away. And I tried to chase them down, but I don’t have a car, and he fucking flash fried T-Bird to his car. T-BIRD, here’s to you, buddy!”

“Maybe we ought to just videotape this, play it back in slow motion,” Brenner said to Grange.

Chance took a swig of whatever foul concoction he was drinking. “Fire it up! Fire it up!”

“You see the grave?” Brenner asked Grange.

“Empty,”

“Fire it- Grave? What about my fucking grave?!” Chance asked, getting too close to Brenner, and earning a hard shove from Grange.

“Three out of four. He’s working his way back to this speed freak right here,” Grange guessed.

“It’s not fair. It’s Funboy’s fault. He was out of control. Then T-Bird came in. He says to waste them both. Now this ghost is gonna kill my ass next!”

Brenner stood, bored of Chance’s breakdown. He lashed out, pistol whipping him hard. “There are no ghosts in my city.”

Hopper stopped at the hotdog stand. Max was already sitting there, not touching her food. Steve and Robin gave him a worrying look. They started to make his order.

“When someone’s dead, they can’t come back can they?”

“Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

“You’ll just think I’m nuts.”

Steve looked at Robin, mumbling, “I think she’s nuts.” Robin whipped him with drying towel.

Hopper said, “Yeah, well, then maybe they’ll have us both locked up,”

“You’ve seen him too?”

“I saw somebody… Maybe it was your fairy godmother,”

“Eddie didn’t come back for me… He can’t be my friend anymore because I’m… I’m alive…”

“Okay, but what does that mean, Max?” Steve asked.

Hopper looked from him to Max, gave her a look to which she returned a shrug.

“She tells us everything,” Robin said happily.

“Not everything,” Max mumbled.

“Most things. Told us about not-dead-Ed,”

“Can it, Harrington,” Max replied, throwing a piece of onion at him.

“Well, great. We can fill out the whole ward,” Hopper groaned, still finding it within himself to judge Robin’s mustard allocation. “Just let me-”

“Seriously though. Let’s say you both aren’t losing it. Say it really is this guy. Are you sure he actually died?” Steve questioned.

“Yeah. You don’t survive sev-” Hopper cut himself off. Max had looked over at him. She didn’t need to know the precise details. “I was there. And I was at the funeral,”

“They were closed caskets,” Max recalled.

Hopper nodded. “Yeah… But, Eddie… He died,”

“And now the same person is back? Not just someone that looks like him?” from Robin.

“Nah. Definitely him,” Max confirmed. It was the way he spoke to her, the words he chose. There was no mistaking anyone else for Eddie Munson.

“It’s like what you were telling us about the other day. The one about unfair deaths,”

“The raven,” Steve nodded solemnly.

“The crow,” Max corrected. The Night Watchman, she thought. Had she willed the lore into existence? Had her graveside story been a spell cast true?

“A crow?” Hopper asked.

Max told him the story of restless souls and wrongs made right. When she finished, all four friends grew silent. It was uncanny, how the myth fit the man.

“What happens when he’s done? Getting revenge, I mean?”

“He’s not getting revenge,” Max was quick to answer Steve. “He’s… he’s balancing the scales,”

“Think that depends on whose scales of justice you’re using there, kid,” Hopper grunted.

“As long as he sticks to those scumbags, the dude’s alright in my eyes,”

“Well as long as he’s alright in your eyes, Steve,” Robin scoffed.

“Steve’s right though,”

“I am?”

“No, I mean, not right, but about asking what happens next,” Max clarified. “How many are left? Just one, right?” she asked Hopper.

“Look, I don’t even know how you know-”

“Everyone heard when the Hargroves got got,” Steve whispered, as if saying their name could summon them from the dead too.

“Good riddance,” Max declared.

“Jesus… You didn’t hear it from me but… Yeah, just the one…” It would have been the right time to tell Max about you. He knew, in part, what happened after Eddie found Chance. He would look for you. He hadn’t really considered the mechanics of it all. What allowed Eddie to come back? What would it allow once the wrongs were righted? Would he die a second time, before he found you? If Neil and co. were acting on Brenner’s instruction, then would justice not include him?

“What is it?” Max asked him.

“Huh?” Hopper replied, shoving as much hotdog in his mouth as he could, stalling any further conversation.

Max used to figure all the things that went unsaid with Hopper were irrelevant to her. She was growing unsure of that. “When did you see him?”

“Crime scene,” Hopper got out, crumbs falling from his mouth.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Just the usual, you know… Freeze. Don’t move. Why do you look like a clown?” Hopper joked half-heartedly.

It was the joking that tipped Max off. She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, look. He just… kick started the memory. Implied there would be more… Vengeance… or whatever, and then disappeared.”

Max seemed to accept his statement; she turned her attention back to her food. Steve changed the subject to Ace Ventura and the night rolled on.

Evening, 30 October, 1995

While the crow scoured the city looking for Chance, Eddie played the guitar. It’s what he had always done when he didn’t know what else to do.

Above the club where Corroded Coffin had once played, above the mezzanine, in that cold room, Chance was shoved into a seat. Brenner started, “Gentlemen… It seems our friend T-Bird won’t be making it tonight, on account of a slight case of death…”

Eddie followed the crow, perched just outside the window of the meeting. The room was bustling with men. Guns, money, and plans were on the table. The shittiest D&D campaign table Eddie had ever witnessed.

“Well, Devil’s Night is upon us again. I thought we’d throw a party, start a bunch of fires, make a little profit. Problem is, its all been done before. You see what I’m saying?”

“That’s no reason to quit,” one of the men said.

“Wrong. Best reason to quit. Only reason to quit.” Brenner stood, and began a loop around the table. The gang leaders and thugs watched him walk. “A man has an idea… The idea attracts other like-minded individuals. The idea expands. The idea becomes an institution… What was the idea? See, that’s what’s been bothering me, boys. And I’ll tell you. When I used to think about the idea itself, it put a big old smile on my face. But… You see, gentlemen, greed is for amateurs.” Brenner returned to the head of the table. He looked at the men. “Disorder. Chaos. Anarchy. Now, that’s fun,”

“What about Devil’s Night?”

“What about it? I started the first fires in this goddamn city. Before I knew it, every charlatan was imitating me. Do you know what they have now? Devil’s Night greeting cards! Isn’t that precious,” Brenner said facetiously. “The idea has become the institution. Time to move on,”

“You don’t want us to do light-my-fire time for the whole city?”

“No… No, I want you to set a fire so goddamn big that the Gods will notice us again.”

The room cheered; Brenner was as close to a god as those men would ever get.

He continued, “I want all of you boys to be able to look me straight in the eye one more time and say, ‘Are we having fun or what?!’”

The men continued to cheer.

“And you? What’s your name again? Skank? Don’t you feel that?” Brenner asked.

“I f-f-feel like a little worm on a giant fucking hook,” Chance stuttered out. The men laughed at him.

“A little worm on a hook? Well, boy, your mama must be damn proud of you!”

The laughter and celebratory whoops died immediately upon the cawing of the crow, who landed on the table without a quiver of a feather.

Chance almost vomited. Most of the men looked confused. Grange stepped in front of Brenner while he himself took in the sight of this delivery of undead with both trepidation and glee.

End Note: Six down, two to go. I love ya'll. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

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[x-loumunson-x]

Part Five: Now I know

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2303 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Late, October 29, 1995

Eddie followed the crow through the city to The Pit and the room above Billy was calling home. The crow went through the open window first, cawing a warning to Billy and the woman he had bought to his bed.

“There’s a big fucking bird over there,” the woman said. They failed to see the bird for what it was – a harbinger.

Eddie dropped into the window, sitting casually watching Billy and the woman laugh at the crow. “Heeeere birdy,” Billy called.

“Heeeere Billy,” Eddie mimicked.

Billy pulled his gun, “What the fuck?!”

Eddie waltzed into the room like he owned it. The guitar from Gideon’s was still slung across him as he moved towards the bed.

“It’s time to take your bird and leave, freak,” Billy growled.

Eddie ignored him, calmly hooking the guitar over a coatrack, pulling a chair from the corner of the room to the foot of the bed. He turned it around and sat on it backwards, staring at Billy.

“Take your shot, Funboy,” Eddie said, putting the palm of his hand to the barrel of the gun. “You got me right here,”

“You are seriously fucked up. Have you looked in the mirror? I mean, you need professional help.” Billy pulled the trigger.

Eddie jumped up screaming.

“Bingo!” Billy yelled. “He shoots! He scores!”

The screaming fizzled out in seconds, the jumping morphing into a mocking sort of dance. Eddie turned back towards the bed. His laughter stopped Billy’s celebration. He and the woman felt sick as they watch Eddie gleefully hold up a hand with a huge hole in it. Eddie looked through the hole as they all watch it heal.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy exclaimed.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie repeated. “Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Jesus Christ walks into a hotel.”

Billy took a second shot but it achieved nothing.

“He hands the innkeeper three nails and he asks-”

But the punchline was cut off by Billy shooting again. “Don’t you ever fucking die?!”

Eddie’s face was only rage. He spat out the joke, “Can you put me up for the night?” He grabbed Billy’s gun and shot him in the thigh.

As Billy writhed on the bed, Eddie opened the door, motioned for the woman to leave. Shaking, she gathered her things and bolted. Eddie slammed the door behind her and looked back at the bed.

Billy put up no fight as Eddie dragged him into the bathroom. He lay on the cool tiles as Eddie turned the shower on, letting the tub below fill with water.

A story below, Grange arrived at The Pit on the intel that Gideon had shown up, nursing a gnarly burn and a bad case of the jitters.

“You burn yourself playing with matches?” Grange asked.

“Fuck off!”

The woman who ran from Eddie and Billy’s confrontation made her way down the stairs, screaming through the bar and out the front door.

Grange pat Gideon on the head. “Stay put,” he ordered, before going upstairs.

Careful and quiet, Grange walked through the hallways. Billy’s door was unlocked; he let himself in. The room looked more or less normal. He turned into the bathroom to see Billy floating face down in the tub. Grange looked up, the mirror above the sink scratched and splotchy. He saw it too late – a figure in the window behind him.

He spun around, saw only a flash of Eddie, who held his finger to his lips and whispered a shhhh before disappearing.

Above Billy’s lifeless body was a mark in blood. A crow.

Hopper had finally made it home. He took the files with him, staring at photos of you and Eddie for too long. He listened to the radio, expecting to be called back in at any moment. The city was burning but what could he do?

Hopper walked into the kitchen to pour another coffee. Maybe something stronger. The window, he noticed. The window was open. Hopper’s blood ran cold and he took a step back, tried to remember where he dropped his holster when he got home.

“Freeze!”

Hopper jumped out of his skin, turning to see Eddie standing in the middle of his living room. “Jesus! Don’t ever do that again! I’m getting too fuckin’ old for this shit…”

He knew Eddie posed no threat to him. He hoped Eddie posed no threat to him.

Eddie leant down and picked up the Corroded Coffin photograph Hopper drew on. “Good likeness,” he quipped.

“I saw your body. You died. You were buried.”

Eddie was walking around the living room, looking at Hopper’s things. “You’ve still got your hat on,” he said nonchalantly.

 Hopper pulled the hat off, tossing it onto the couch. “Shit… Holy shit… Are you some kind of… a ghost?”

Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a bottle of beer while Hopper theorised out loud. “Boo,” Eddie joked, twisting the cap off and handing it over to Hopper.

Eddie sat down on an armchair. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted. “But I need you to tell me what happened to us.”

Hopper sat too, sighing. “Well… You took a six story swan dive out of a window. And she was… She was beaten and raped… died at the hospital…” Hopper saw the look on Eddie’s face. “Hey, you asked. I mean… Read the file…” Hopper stood up, uncomfortable and close to telling Eddie the truth.

Eddie didn’t want to read the file. He stood too, followed Hopper to where he was. Eddie leaned forward and held onto Hopper’s head. In a few brief seconds, Eddie saw it all.

He saw your broken body. The ICU. Death waiting at the door. Waiting. Waiting… Only waiting.

Eddie stumbled backward. Hopper tried to catch him.

“Don’t touch me!” Eddie yelled. “I… I saw her… Through your eyes… You stayed with her the whole time…”

“I… I was hoping she’d…” It was no use. Eddie had seen it.

“She’s alive,”

“Look, you gotta understand-”

“Where is she?”

Jim Hopper wasn’t a man of belief. He had no God. No faith in the supernatural. All he wanted was hard and fast facts. Yet, Eddie Munson was back from the dead, collapsing onto his living room floor, looking more like a kicked kitten than anyone else he’d ever known.

Hopper lit a cigarette. “I don’t know… I shouldn’t even know she’s alive. I don’t know where they took her… It’s better this way. She’s safe.”

Eddie leaned up and took the cigarette from Hopper. He put it between his lips and inhaled deeply. “You shouldn’t smoke these… They’ll kill you.” He put it out in the ashtray on the coffee table.

Next to the tray was a framed photograph. Eddie picked it up and studied it. A much younger Hopper looked every part the family man. A beautiful woman stood at his side while he held a beaming blonde little girl.

“This your wife?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, no… I mean, she was… We’re divorced.”

Eddie nodded and looked back at the picture.

Hopper knew what question was next, and he’d learnt it was easier to get ahead of it. “Yeah, she’s doing alright, so I hear. She’s remarried, lives out West. Had another kid… That’s, ah, that’s Sara. She- she died. A while ago now.”

Eddie’s eyes flicked to Hopper.

“I can’t really blame you for doin’ what you’re doin’. I tried to fight every single doctor that said they’d done everything they could. Can’t kill cancer though.”

Eddie carefully placed the photograph back. He watched Hopper for a few seconds more, then stood.

“You gonna vanish into thin air again?” Hopper asked.

Eddie smiled, gentle and sad. “I was just gonna use your front door…”

“Then what? How’s this play out?”

“You know how,”

“So that’s it? Find the rest of them. Kill them?”

Eddie’s smile faulted a little. “Yeah. Find them. Then I find her,”

“Easy as that?”

Eddie shrugged. “Guess I’ll find out.”

Gideon was hysterical. “I got stabbed! I shot the son of a bitch! I watched the bullet hole close by itself! Then my business gets blown up real good!”

“I saw him too. He had a guitar. He winked at me before he jumped out a fourth floor window like a he had wings,” Grange told.

“A guitar? Well… musicians,” Brenner scoffed. “What else did you see?”

“So far I haven’t heard shit about what you’re gonna do about all this crap. I mean, what do I get? My livelihood, it all got flushed away and went swirling,”

“You haven’t lost everything,” Brenner replied, moving to sit at the table Grange was keeping Gideon at. “Now… Take it from the top, spare no detail, or your business will be the least of your concerns.”

A blade appeared at Gideon’s throat.

“I told you… He had a fuckin’ bird with him. Nearly pecked me to death! He was saying some shit about T-Bird and rolling indicatives. Whatever the fuck that means. And, uh, Munson. He said his name was Eddie Munson,”

“And this… bird man Munson… just happened to let you live?” Brenner asked, nodding to himself. “Alright… Well… A boy and his bird. Awful touching.”

There were the blood birds too, hanging over Andy and Billy’s bodies. Brenner didn’t know what it all meant, but he was liking it less and less. Once Gideon was disposed of, he sent Grange back out into the night. Find the boy. Find his bird.

When Eddie got back to the apartment, Gabriel had been fed. Fresh water had been put out for him too. Max had been by.

Eddie rigged some cables to jack electricity from the next building over; the one useful skill he learnt from his father. He sat on the roof with the stolen guitar and a cheap amp. The music came easily, the notes never forgotten. He sang the words, sent them through the toxic air to you. 

“So close, no matter how far,

Couldn't be much more from the heart.”

The song meant something different now. Eddie barely got through it without crying. He had to finish it. He had to find you. Nothing else mattered.

“Turned Tin Tin into a fucking pin cushion! Goes after the pawn shop? We gotta get this freak!” Neil Hargrove was unaware of the death of his only child. It deserved no compassion. “But we’re in this together,”

“Yeah… Together… Where’s Funboy though?” Chance asked.

Neil slapped the back of his head. “Busy! Now go get smokes and road beers,” he ordered, pointing Chance into the corner shop.

Neil got behind the wheel of his Camero and lit a cigar. He looked out the windscreen as the crow landed on the hood. Eddie sat up in the backseat and held a gun to the base of Neil’s head.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“I’m your passenger…” Eddie took Neil’s gun and tossed it. “Drive.”

Chance stood on the sidewalk, arms full of junk food and beer, and watched as Neil drove away.

Neil was rambling. “What do you want? What do you need? Money? Drugs? I got it. You can have it all? No. No? Was it? Was it you? Did you do Tin Tin?”

Eddie said nothing but directions until they got to the edge of the water. Boats didn’t come close to the port during Halloween week. They were alone.

“Let me jog your memory.” Eddie started filling in the blanks everyone but Hopper seemed to have.

“You mean that place downtown? Yeah, yeah, I remember her. We needed to put some fear into that little lady. She wasn’t going along with our tenant relocation program. And her idiot boyfriend shows up and turns a simple sweep-and-clear into a total clusterfuck!”

Eddie taped Neil’s hands to the steering wheel, his body to the seat, then searched the car. With the amount of demolition he and his gang were responsible for, it was no surprise to find the boot filled with explosives.

“Why? What do you care? That shit is ancient history! What do you want? Huh?! Talk to me!”

Eddie stood at the driver’s side window. Neil looked at him, properly, for the first time.

Picking up a book, flicking through the thing, opening to a page. Neil read out loud, “Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is.” He threw the book at Gabriel. “What is this shit?!”

He saw your face, then remembered Eddie’s.

“I… I know you. But… you ain’t you. We put you through the window. There ain’t no coming back. This is the real world. There ain’t no coming back. We killed you. There ain’t no coming back,”

“Not for you, T-Bird… And not for your kid either. Billy, isn’t it? What does Funboy do for fun in Hell, I wonder?”

Neil’s face fell, his shaky grasp on calm quickly slipping away. “There ain’t no coming back! There ain’t no coming back!” He realised what Eddie was doing with the tape and rope. “Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is!” he screamed, the memories pouring into the forefront of his mind.

Eddie threw a firework can into Neil’s lap, put the car into drive, and let it go. The car sped off the pier, exploding in the air before it even hit the water.

“Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss,” Eddie recited the entire passage. Another death but the guilt sat just as heavy in the marrow of his bones and the darkness of his soul.

When the cops showed up minutes later, it wasn’t a bird in blood they found, but a huge sweeping crow burning alight on the ground.

End Note: Kinda freaky how well Nothing Else Matters fits into this fic. Hope ya'll are well. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

All Eddie Taglist (open):solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @munson-blurbs

[x-loumunson-x]

Part Four: Friends, family, feelings

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 1256 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Late, October 29, 1995

“Gideon’s Pawn Shop just burned down to the foundation,” Grange announced, walking into a room where Brenner sat at a large table. The room was otherwise unoccupied. It was cold, industrial. What Brenner was doing was in there was anybody’s guess.

“Nobody cleared this little event with me,” Brenner replied.

“I didn’t have nothing to do with that,” Neil piped up, lingering in Grange’s shadow.

“And I’m sure you must be awfully disappointed,”

“And I got trouble. One of my crew just got himself perished,”

“And who might that be?”

“Tin Tin… Someone stuck his blades in all his major organs in alphabetical order.”

Brenner looked at Neil. “Well, gentlemen, by all means… I think we ought to have an introspective moment of silence for poor ol’ Tin Tin.”

Neil knew better than to reply to that.

“You’re working for me tomorrow night, right?” Brenner asked.

“Whatever you say, I can do,”

“Good. That’s very good… That’s very reassuring… So, I haven’t heard the story of why Gideon’s burned down? Was it a natural catastrophe or an act of God or something? Call it my need to know.” Brenner nodded at Grange.

The Pit was no place for a teenage girl. It was no place for anyone with a soul, really. Still, Max walked into the bar with her skateboard in hand. She located her mother.

“I told you not to come in here,” Susan whispered.

“Guess I shouldn’t expect you home tonight?”

Susan sighed. She pulled some dollar bills from her bra and put them on the bar. “Go get some food,”

“Someone already bought me dinner,” Max spat. “The police!” She said it loudly, ruffling the feathers of more than one patron.

“Shhh!” Susan warned.

“Don’t bring him home. Especially if he’s got his asshole son with him,”

“Maxine!” was called from somewhere behind her.

Max grimaced. She knew that voice. “Speak of the asshole himself.”

Billy laughed. “Why don’t you go play with your dolls or something, huh?”

Max threw him a look and the finger, grabbed the money, and left.

Billy took her place in front of Susan. “Better get your little bitch under control there. Don’t want T-Bird hearing about her quality time with Hop the Cop, yeah?”

Susan clenched her teeth, lowered her gaze, and nodded.

Max skated through the dark, wet streets. She was upset but wouldn’t let it show. She concealed as much as she could. Still, she often got lost in her thoughts, her memories. They hurt like a bad headache.

She was under one of these spells as she skated out onto the road. Someone grabbed her from behind, saving her from becoming roadkill. She thrashed in their arms, screaming, “Get off me, you creep!”

Eddie let her go.

Max yelled after the car, “You didn’t slow down, dickhead!”

“He couldn’t have stopped,” Eddie said.

“Whatever. I could’ve made it…” She looked at him, though he tried to hide his face. “What are you supposed to be? A clown or something?”

“Or something,” he replied.

Max shrugged and moved to retrieve her skateboard from the gutter. “It’s more like surfing than skating out here,” she said absently. “I wish the rain would stop just once,”

“It can’t rain all the time.”

Max knew that voice. She knew that line. “Eddie?!” She spun around, but the street was deserted.

Hopper sat at his desk drinking coffee from a mug that read ‘mornings are for coffee and contemplation.’ It was a few hours until midnight.

“Don’t thank me,” Office Annie Cooper-Smith said as she dropped a file on his desk. “Are we fighting the good fight?”

Hopper hesitated. “Double homicide a year ago. No convictions…”

Annie took the paper from Hopper and read aloud. “We, the undersigned tenants of 1986 Caulderon Court Apartments- What is this? A petition?”

“A big kick-me sign for a very nice girl who found herself a cause,”

“A cause that got her killed?”

Hopper said nothing.

“She was fighting tenant eviction in that neighbourhood?”

Hopper sighed. He said your name. Paused. “Her and her heavy metal boyfriend Eddie Munson.”

Annie left Hopper to look over the files. He found a picture of Eddie. It was a promotional shot taken of his band, Corroded Coffin. Hopper pulled out a black pen and coloured in Eddie’s face.

Hopper was keeping his own secrets. Maybe, he thought, so was someone else.

November, 1994

It only worked until Hopper walked in. Before him, you’d been feigning some sort of amnesia.

It wasn’t as though it was easier pretending you’d forgotten. That’s why people usually faked memory loss, you figured. Remembering hurt, so it was easier not to. Easier to bury the past. The truth was, either way was agony. Either way was an army crawl through Hell.

You pretended you’d forgotten so you didn’t have to say it out loud. So you didn’t have to use words to describe the sound of Eddie’s scream or your own death rattle. Describe the sensation of a knife hitting your bones. Describe the torture. The rape. The begging. The sobbing. The extinguished hope that accompanied knowing Eddie could not have possibly survived the fall, despite what Hopper told you.

You pretended so you didn’t have to tell anyone what it meant to die. Or how you’d never forgive them for bringing you back to a world without Eddie.

Hopper, who hadn’t always been a good cop but had always been a good person, told you that if there was any shot at putting the men responsible behind bars, you had no choice but to remember. And he had no choice but to hand you over to people who could protect you.

April, 1995

It had been over 150 days without Eddie. Over 150 days since you’d died. Brought back. Induced coma. Awake. Relocated. Hidden. The hospital staff were told, once you’d been moved, you’d passed away. Everyone involved – the cops, paramedics, all your friends and family – thought you’d died and resided six feet under alongside Eddie.

Hopper held that secret and buried all the guilt that came along with it. The penance he’d pay for lying to the grieving was keeping a close watch over Max, buying her hotdogs when she’d not eaten, staying on her case when she skipped school, learning the difference between a kickflip and an ollie.

You didn’t speak to him. There had to be no connection between your life before and your life now. No Max. No Gabriel. Just long days of nothingness as you went through the motions.

In just under 200 days, it would be Halloween again.

You counted the days since. Counted the days to. Counted the physical scars. The permanent and lingering consequences of the attack. All the ways you continued to hurt. Nothing helped. It was all morphine for a wooden leg.

October 29, 1995

You had the news on all day, waiting for the reports to roll in. Devil’s Night was spreading, an epidemic. A war America was losing. But still, it was always the worst in the city you used to know.

It always started with a single flame. The fires were beacons, urging on all the people just itching to come undone. Vandalism. Looting. Carjacking. Robbery. Assault. Murder. It wouldn’t end. Not for days.

You didn’t know what you were watching for. It wasn’t like Brenner or any of his pawns were going to be rounded up and carted off to prison. Still, whatever was going to happen, you were bearing loyal witness.

End Note: There are a lot of iconic lines from the film and comics. Iconic, but a little cliche. We are cringe, but we are free.

We have obviously diverged from canon and now, and this marks the halfway point. How are feeling? xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

All Eddie Taglist (open):solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @munson-blurbs

[x-loumunson-x]

Part Three: I used to think that was true about everything

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2923 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Night, October 29, 1995

Eddie sat at your vanity. The ceiling of the apartment leaked, rendering anything left behind rotted and ruined; it didn’t stop him looking for pieces of you. He avoided his reflection’s gaze, instead looked at the tragedy mask hooked over the mirror.

He couldn’t remember where it had come from, only that you would try to sneak up on each other, screaming BOO! with the mask on. Eventually, you’d grown so accustomed to the thing that its miserable face didn’t make either of you feel much.

Eddie clenched his jaw.

He remembered crawling across you on the couch in the mask. You’d laughed and kissed him through it.

He remembered curling up in your arms in bed. You’d say, “I love you,” and he’d make you say it again and again. You hugged him so hard his ribs hurt.

He remembered you standing in front of the stove, a pot on fire, and you failing to put it out. Eddie had come jumping through the room, throwing a towel over it. He’d looked at you and you’d just grinned. “Restaurant,” he’d said on a breath out, pulling you into him.

He remembered standing across the room from you, you noticing him and asking what was wrong. “Nothing’s wrong. I just wanna look at you,” he told you with a grin.

Eddie looked away from the mask. He pulled open the top drawer of the vanity. Waterlogged journals and entirely drowned photos. He could make out the shape of you in them and it made him ache. Beneath those, a bridal catalogue.

The night he proposed. The way you said yes like you’d been waiting your whole life to answer.

Your wedding dress. White and fluffy and not as Robert Smith chic as he’d expected. So, so beautiful nonetheless.

He remembered reciting creepy nursery rhymes in creepier voices at you, “Down with the lambs, up with the lark. Run to bed children, before it gets dark.” He’d chase you around the apartment while you screamed in delight.

All the time spent silently working on your own things. Eddie would write music or plan his next D&D campaign while you worked on puzzles, complaining whenever there was a piece missing.

He remembered fights with cans of whipped cream. Shared showers to wash it out.

Belts unbuckled and beds unmade. 

Eddie slammed the drawer shut, the mirror shattering with the force. He looked up at his splintered reflection. The tragedy mask a haunting echo of his own face. If that is what life wanted for him, he’d give it one hell of a show.

It wasn’t the first time Eddie had painted his face. Though grunge was taking over most of the bars he grew up in, Eddie was a metalhead through and through. The black and white was stark, unnerving, and unhinged.

He found dry clothes in the wardrobe, behind a couple rows of motheaten band shirts and your favourite outfits. Nothing smelt like you anymore. He couldn’t feel you in any of it.

Eddie walked to the window, the empty space framed by glittering glass and snapped wood. He looked out onto the city. The fires had started a day before Devil’s Night even began.

The knife thrower, Eddie thought. Andy. He’d be first. A show of strength to begin the campaign.

“Here’s to Devil’s Night… My favourite holiday,” Neil Hargrove said.

The men shot down cheap liquor and dared each other to swallow a bullet. They took turns, letting the metal sit on their tongues, then gulped it down like it was a miracle drug that would turn them into something more than men.

Other people in The Pit watched, half impressed with the commitment to show, half terrified of what they’d do next. Brenner’s men were untouchable live wires, prone to fits of rage and acts of cruelty. They were just as likely to pull their guns on each other as they were to erupt into their signature unison chanting.

Susan Mayfield shook as she walked over to the table, steadying herself not to spill a drop of their drinks. It didn’t matter that she shared a bed with Neil. They all scared her.

Eventually, when they got sick of each other’s faces, they stumbled out the bar and into the night. Their crimes would not end, but their individual brands of sickness necessitated time alone.

Andy had loaded his pockets with stolen shit throughout the day. He walked to the pawn store three blocks down from the bar.

Gideon, who had a good thing going with Brenner and therefore wasn’t afraid of his men, snorted at Andy. “What’s this? This got blood on it, Tin Tin?” He offered a couple hundred. “Take it or leave it.”

Begrudgingly, Andy took it, mouthing off and slamming doors as he left.

Outside on the street, the crow watched.

Through the bird’s eyes, Eddie followed Andy. He ran across rooftops, faster than humanly possible. The spaces between buildings collapsed for him. If all those assholes from high school gym class could see him now.

In an alleyway lighting a cigarette stood Andy.

Eddie tumbled from the rooftop, landing with a manic kind of laughter that said abandon all hope. He stalked towards Andy.

Andy watched Eddie’s figure come from the darkness. “What the fuck you painted up for?” he sneered. “Halloween ain’t till Tuesday.”

Eddie kept coming towards him, and Andy buzzed with excitement. Violence! He opened his jacket, pulling out a knife. Eddie lunged and the men fought. It was easy for Eddie. He didn’t lose his breath. When he took a punch, he recovered immediately. Andy, a mere mortal man, grew incensed.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared, slashing his blade through the air.

It was a one-sided fight that began to end when Andy dropped his knife. Eddie grabbed him, yelling, “Murderer!”

Andy snorted. “What?! I didn’t murder nobody, man. I don’t even fucking know you. What d’you want?!”

“I want you to tell me a story,” Eddie replied, voice low and gravelly. “A man and a woman in a loft, a year ago. I’m sure you’ll remember. You killed them,”

“Yeah, yeah. Some dude. Some bitch. Whatever.”

He’d remembered so quickly, so easily. Like it meant nothing. Eddie threw another punch, Andy’s head bouncing off the brick wall behind him.

“Her name was…” But Eddie couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say your name out loud. “You cut her. You raped her,”

“Yeah? Sure, yeah. You know what? She loved it!”

Eddie froze, the callousness catching him off guard. Andy took the opportunity and headbutted him. Andy stood, grabbed at whatever he could, hand finding a metal pipe in the trash piled up in the alleyway. He started to beat Eddie with it.

“Murder?! Let me tell you about murder, man. It’s easy! It’s fun! You’re gonna learn aaaaaallll about it!” He pulled two knives from somewhere within his coat. “I’d like you to meet some buddies of mine… And we… We never miss.”

The crow shuffled, waiting from its position on a fire escape.

Andy threw the first knife; Eddie was already up, easily ducking it. He came marching forward. Andy threw another. Eddie blocked, grinning at Andy.

“Try harder. Try again!” he mocked.

Andy screamed, throwing a third knife – his last. Eddie clapped his palms around the blade, catching it midair. He redirected it back, piercing Andy’s shoulder.

Eddie walked to him casually, reaching into Andy’s jacket to find more weapons. “So, Andy. Which is it? Murderer or victim?” Andy was trapped. “We’re not all murderers, you know. But, victims?” he posed. “Aren’t we all?”

The crow took flight as Andy’s eyes closed.

Neil pushed his way through the dancing teens. He didn’t understand why Brenner bothered with this place. Why he let bands like that – what is it? metal? grunge? who fucking knows – play at the club. “What is the fuckin’ world coming to,” he muttered to himself. “Get the fuck out my way!”

He jogged up the back staircase, arriving on the second floor mezzanine. Grange, Brenner’s right hand man, stood stoic and vigilant.

“Hey, did you hear? Arcade Games fell down. It went BOOM! How ‘bout that,” Neil boasted.

“Gather your soldiers. You’re on for tomorrow night,”

“Is the man in?”

“He’s taking a meeting,” Grange replied.

Hopper watched as Andy’s body was lugged into a coroner’s van. He had six knives sticking out of his chest.

“So, who’s this sack of shit?” Callahan asked.

“That’s Tin Tin. One of T-Bird’s little helpers. I think you can rule out accidental death,”

“Don’t any of your street demons have real grown up names?”

“Could be a turf hit… but it doesn’t look like your usual gang crap,” Hopper thought out loud.

“And… what do you call that?”

Hopper and Callahan looked over to the closest building, its bricks graffitied in blood, the outline of a bird clear.

Gideon was counting the cash intake; the days before Devil’s Night were always good for business. Something caught his eye and he looked up, a silhouette of a man at the door.

“Piss off! We’re closed!” Gideon called.

The crow cawed. Eddie knocked on the security gate with three even bang, bang, bangs.

“Go sleep it off somewhere else, dust head! Unless you wanna get mutilated!”  

Eddie ripped back the security gate and walked to the door. Gideon froze when he saw the painted tragedy mask through the glass. Eddie politely knock, knock, knocked.

Before he could do anything, Eddie was smashing his way in, looming over Gideon as the crow swooped, landing on the pawn shop’s counter. Gideon screeched in fright.

“Suddenly I heard a tapping, as if someone gently rapping – rapping at my chamber door,” Eddie recited.

“What-what the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You heard me rapping, right?” Eddie asked, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re trespassing! You owe me a new door!”

Eddie smiled. “I’m looking for something… An engagement ring,”

“You’re looking for a coroner, shit-for-brains,” Gideon said, pulling a gun and levelling it straight at Eddie. He unclicked the safety, aimed, and shot.

Eddie stumbled back a few steps but didn’t fall. They both watched as the blood quickly rolled back into Eddie’s chest, the wound healing in seconds. Gideon felt his stomach drop and he scrambled, swearing and terrified. Eddie grinned, picking Gideon up and throwing him well behind the counter.

Eddie jumped from the floor to the counter, counter to one of the racks on the ceiling holding pawned guitars and other stolen items. He hung upside down in front of Gideon.

“Mr. Gideon, I do not like your tone. And you’re not paying attention!”

Eddie grabbed Gideon, pulling him back to the counter. He dropped from the ceiling rack and broke the glass countertop, pulling a switchblade out and piercing Gideon’s hand, earning a breathtaking scream from the man.

“A gold engagement ring. It was pawned here a year ago by a customer of yours named Andy,”

“I don’t know a-”

“Tin Tin… He confided in me before he ran out of breath.”

Eddie began to pull boxes off the shelves, going through everything in search of your engagement ring.

Gideon tried to free himself from where he was nailed to the counter.  “What are you doing?!” he cried, unable to pull the blade out.

“Am I getting warmer?!” Eddie yelled back. “I like games, Mr. Gideon. Don’t you know this one?! Am. I. Getting. Warmer?”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you! The rings! They’re in a metal box under the shelf there!”

Eddie moved, finding the box. The world faded away as he sat cross legged on the pawn shop floor, holding the box yet apprehensive to open it, as if it belonged to Pandora herself.

Gideon continued to yell from the front of the shop. “Take them! Take them all! Chew on them! Choke on them! I don’t fucking care!”

Tentatively, Eddie opened the box and flicked through the jewellery. He closed his eyes and pulled ring after ring, feeling nothing. Then, it hit. The emotion washed over him.

You had been out with Max, a shopping trip to buy more grip tape and blank cassettes. When you unlocked the door and entered the apartment, Eddie jumped up from the couch.

“Hi…?” you greeted, suspicious of his mood.

He grinned.

“What did you do?” you asked. You looked around. Gabriel was sleeping peacefully under the coffee table. Nothing looked broken. There were no magic beans bought in place of real food.

“Why do you always ask that?” Eddie laughed, letting you put your bags down before pulling you into him.

“Because you’re you. And you have that weird little smile on your face.”

Eddie laughed again. “I have a surprise for you,”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

“Good. Always good for you, my love.”

He was definitely acting strange, but you went with it. “Okay…”

“It’s up in the attic,”

“If this is like the time you-”

“No! I promise! No tricks. It’s good. I promise. It’s good.”

Eddie’s big brown eyes were sincere, so you let him pull the ladder down and direct you up it. Slowly, you climbed, heart beating out of your chest.

You felt the warmth before your eyes settled on all the candles. The entire small space was filled with tealight and cathedral candles. Eddie tried to gauge your reaction from below.

There was something close by, your attention directed to it by a lack of candles between you and it. A small, dark box. A ring box.

You reached out for it. Inside was a golden ring, beautiful and ethereal. Like something the elves from Eddie’s favourite book would wear. Your breath caught in your throat and you took one step down the ladder to look at him.

Eddie said your name. Your eyes welled up with tears.

“I love you. I love you so much,” he started.

Gideon watched as Eddie poured gasoline across the shop.

“You have one chance at living,” Eddie told him as he picked up a shotgun and aimed it at Gideon.

“Take anything you want! Take anything!”

“Thank you,” Eddie replied too gracefully. “Now, you’re gonna tell me where to find the rest of Tin Tin’s little party pals,”

“The Pit! They all hang out at The Pit! All of T-Bird’s little potato heads hang out there! Funboy lives in a room above it!”

Eddie nodded, almost placated. He used the butt of the gun to smash at the remaining in-tact counters. He pulled a tray of rings out from the cabinet and began throwing them at Gideon.

“Each of these? It’s a life… A life you helped destroy.” One after the other, Eddie threw the rings.

Gideon begged for his life.

“I’m not gonna kill you… Your job will be to tell the rest of them that it’s time to roll for initiative… Tell them Eddie Munson sends his regards.”

Eddie poured the remainder of the rings down the barrel of the shotgun, pulled a guitar off the wall, and began to walk out of the shop.

“You walk outta here and they’re gonna erase your sorry ass! You hear me? You’re nothing but street grease!”

“Is that gasoline I smell?” Eddie quipped, looking back over his shoulder with a wicked grin.

Gideon froze again.

The crow followed Eddie onto the street. There were maybe five seconds for Gideon to free himself and run, then the ring-loaded shot set the shop ablaze.

Eddie watched for only a moment before he heard the cop car pull up behind him. He turned and watched Hopper get out, pulling his pistol.

“Police! Don’t move!”

Eddie took a step.

“I said don’t move!”

“I thought the police always said freeze,” Eddie wondered.

“Well, I am the police, and I say don’t move, Snow White. You move, you’re dead.”

Eddie shrugged and slung the guitar over his body. “And I say, I’m dead and I move.” He held his hands up but continued to walk towards Hopper.

“Not one more step. I’m serious.” Hopper removed the safety.

“Then shoot, if you will, Detective Hopper,” Eddie said, bowing before the cop.

“What are you, nuts? Walking into a gun? You high?”

“Not right now. You don’t remember me?”

“What are you talking about?” An eerie feeling was settling over Hopper.

Eddie said your name then. “What about her? Do you remember her?”

Hopper hesitated. “She’s, uh, dead, my friend… I want you to move over to the curb there. Real nice and easy… We’re gonna wait for backup… This is… It’s all getting too friggin’ weird for me.”

Eddie nodded, slowly moved over to the sidewalk and took a seat in the gutter. He looked up at Hopper. “Do you know someone named Hargove? He had a friend who shouldn’t have played with knives…” Eddie motioned to himself, to the coat he was wearing. “Like it?”

Hopper recognised it. Realised it hadn’t been with the body. “You’re… You’re the guy that killed Tin Tin?”

“He was already dead… He died a year ago, the moment he touched her. They’re all dead. They just don’t know it yet.”

With his pistol still on Eddie, Hopper glanced over at Gideon’s shop. Looters had already appeared, taking whatever they could carry. “Get away from there!” he yelled, his sights leaving Eddie a second too long.

When Hopper looked back, Eddie was gone.

“What the… Guy shows up looking like a mime from hell and you lose him out in the open?” Hopper scolded himself.

End Note: Thank you for the support thus far. I love all you little bleeding heart goths. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

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[x-loumunson-x]

Part Two: All that is left is ashes

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 1375 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Early Evening, October 29, 1995

Four men barrelled out of Arcade Games and into a Camero. They chanted, “Fire! It! Up!” in unison.

Neil ‘T-Bird’ Hargrove got behind the wheel of the car, pulled out onto the road, cutting off a cab and barely avoiding a collision.

“You tryna kill us, T-Bird?!” Andy screamed from the back. Andy’s street name was Tin Tin because Neil said he had a head shaped like a tin of beans, and about the smarts of one too. He sat behind the driver’s seat, next to Chance. Nobody knew why Chance’s street name was Skank. Not even Chance. 

Riding shotgun was Neil’s son Billy. Billy went by Funboy. People avoided asking why because anything deemed fun by Billy Hargrove was not something they wanted to know about.

There was a moment of silence before all four men in the car laughed manically, returning to their chant. Neil slammed down on the accelerator.

A couple streets away, Steve Harrington had just finished voicing one of his great ideas. He stood in his hotdog stand uniform, nodding to himself. “You know, what this place needs is a good, natural catastrophe… Earthquake,”

“Tornado,” Robin Buckley suggested. She looked marginally less ridiculous in the uniform.

Hopper was watching her make his hotdog. She was, in his opinion, doing it wrong. “No, No. Buckley, come on. You got to put the mustard underneath first!”

“Maybe a flood? Like in the Bible?” Steve thought.

“Hey, hey. Lemme do it.” Hopper pulled the dog from her hands, taking over the allocation of mustard. “How ‘bout some onions?” Steve sprinkled some over it. Hopper looked at him. “What are you- Don’t cheap out on me.”

Neither Steve nor Robin had much passion for hotdog making. Hopper demanding to make his own was fine by them. Less work.

They all heard Max’s skateboard before they saw her emerge from the darkness.

“Hey, it’s Mad Max,” Steve greeted her affectionately.

Max took her usual place next to Hopper.

“How d’ya steer that thing on a wet street?” Hopper asked.

“Pure talent,” she replied sarcastically. “Hey,”

“Hey, kid,” Robin replied, getting a bun from the warmer.

“See, Max here is a genuine hotdogger… You hungry?”

“You buying?”

“I’m buying.”

The four of them were familiar, this scene having repeated over and over. Hargrove’s Camero speeding past them was familiar too, but far less comforting. They watched it screech around a corner.

“Bad people out on the street tonight,” Hopper said, not taking the bait. There was little that would compel him to chase after Hargrove and his gang, for countless reasons, but least of all the fact that they were Brenner’s soldiers.

The men had not been satisfied with smashing their way through Arcade Games, pinball machines, air hockey tables, and Pac-Man becoming nothing more than mechanical chaos. A timer counted down to the final second, then BOOM.

The explosion was loud, the soundwaves shaking the hotdog stand.

“Dammit!” Hopper growled.

“What was that?!” Max stood.

“You stay here. Steve, call it in for me!” and he was off running.

Eddie arrived home. The rain poured down as he looked up at the abandoned building. The crow told him yes, but it felt wrong. Something was wrong. Each rung of the fire escape ladder Eddie climbed hurt; each painstaking step up made him weaker.

It felt like hours, but within the minute Eddie was on top of the building. Trash was piled up everywhere. Sheets of plastic did little to protect whatever was being stored there. Eddie took no notice, just blindly followed the crow through an open door and into the belly of the beast.

There was more trash inside. And nobody home. All the apartments were empty. Each door looked the same, until he reached one marked with garish yellow crime scene tape. Eddie tore it down and walked inside.

There was barely enough light to see by, but Gabriel’s pure white coat shone. The cat meowed, immediately jumping from his hiding place and rubbing himself against Eddie’s legs. “Gabriel,” Eddie managed to croak out. He bent to pick up the cat. Gabriel panicked, forgetting what it felt like to be held. It had been a year and he’d never warmed to Max, though she tried. Eddie dropped the cat when it cried out, the sound reverberating through his skull.

Hiss.

Gabriel’s hiss. Someone had tried to pick him up. The cat hissed, scratched at the man. Dropped. Skittered away.

A smash.

Your jack-o-lantern beneath the huge window, smashed.

It wasn’t Eddie’s memory. He wasn’t there for that.

Still, he saw your face turn to a knock at the door.

You said Eddie’s name, confused why he’d not use his key. Maybe he’d forgotten it. He was forgetful like that. Suddenly, the men were everywhere. There were only four of them, but it felt like they were everywhere.

“Department of housing,” Neil Hargrove announced, holding up one of your petitions. “We’re looking to buy!”

“No code violations! No safety hazards?! Place looks great to me,” Billy announced, a mean grin on his face. “But… Let’s redecorate!”

Photo frames were broken. Sheets of music and poetry ripped. Records thrown against the wall.

The crow watched Eddie fall to his knees, gripping his head like if he held it tight enough, he might squeeze all the bad memories out of it. Because now it was memory; it was what Eddie remembered.

He walked through the open door, calling your name. Then he heard you screaming, struggling. The men all leered over you, tearing your clothes from your body.

They noticed him and quickly, before Eddie knew what was happening, Andy’s knife was thrown through the room and stabbed through his body. It made him entirely fucking useless. He couldn’t move to you. Couldn’t stop them taking turns.

You begged. You repeated Eddie's name so mournfully it sounded like a curse.

Eddie tried to get up, but the men descended. They held him up like Christ on the cross. The bullets didn’t hurt. He couldn’t feel his body. But he was awake. Eddie watched the men in the window as he was pushed backward through it, falling to his death.

Andy. Chance. Billy. Neil. Or, Tin Tin. Skank. Funboy. T-Bird.

Eddie sobbed and with every intention of using that window as a portal to death again, he stood and ran at it.

The crow cawed a command to stop.

Eddie couldn’t halt his forward momentum, but he could grab at the wooden muntin of the window. He swung like a child on the monkey bars, landing back into the apartment with a thud. Eddie’s eyes tracked the movement of the crow. “What do you want from me?”

The crow made a sad sound, and Eddie looked down at his hands. They were slashed open by the broken shards of glass embedded in the muntin. He watched as the wounds moved. For a horrifying moment, Eddie thought something had wormed its way into the cuts, but quicker than he could think that, there were no cuts at all.

Eddie let out a terrified laugh, then stood quickly, dizzy with the insanity of it all.

As Eddie moved to the threshold of the bedroom door, the voice was back inside his skull. You don’t have to do this. Eddie did it anyway. He went into the bedroom and looked around. This place hurts worst of all, doesn’t it? You were closest here.

“She’s not here…” He felt betrayed. The crow was meant to bring him to you, but you weren’t here. You weren’t anyway.

Like sobering up from a night out, Eddie felt woozy and overcome with a sick feeling. It wasn’t stale beer and hotdog in his stomach. It was guilt, distilled and top shelf.

“I should have… Should’ve been able to…”

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

Eddie went back out to the bird. It was perched by the window, eerie and omniscient. They regarded each other, a soul shared.

“This machine…” Eddie said slowly, looking down at his new scars, at his reformed body. Slays dragons, he finished in his head. 

The crow swooped to land on his shoulder, realisation dawning and a plan already forming.

End Note: This chapter is dedicated to readers of the comics. As always, thoughts, feelings, and streams of consciousness are appreciated. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

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[x-loumunson-x]

Part One: A building gets torched

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 1710 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Note: A majority of the characters from The Crow have been replaced with Stranger Things counterparts. However, a few remain in their original form (e.g. Gideon, Grange). Some major characters have been written out, as they don’t work within the context of this story (e.g. Myca – who is one of my favourite characters). I have taken material, including direct quotes, from the film and comics/graphic novel.

After Sunset, October 30, 1994

Jim Hopper stood next to the broken window. He’d been there before. He recalled how he felt when he first saw that window. How its grand scale and clean glasswork made the rest of the ratty apartment seem worth it. The window framed the city in a way that made it seem almost beautiful. Almost.

That had been a couple months before Devil’s Night. There had been whispers that the building was going to be sold off. Hopper hoped it was true. Maybe a new developer would demolish the place. He didn’t want to think about how many ghosts haunted those walls. Between the overdoses and the organised crime related violence, a lot of trips to the morgue began there.

Unfortunately, the buyer was not the up and up real estate type. Hopper heard it was more of the top of the bad guy hierarchy type. Martin Brenner owned half the city and not by any legal or ethical means. In the police files, intel on him was filed under the codename Top Dollar, like even the cops were too scared to put their name to anything that could be used against him.

 When Hopper caught wind of that, he’d paid the apartment a visit – paid you a visit.

“You gotta cool it with this stuff,” he’d warned, gesturing to where you’d been working on a new petition for everyone to sign.

“You’ve never told me to cool it before. Never shown up at my home before,”

“Before when you were feeding the homeless? Helping little old ladies cross the road? This is different. Come on, kid. Don’t play dumb.”

You sighed, but it sounded more like a huff. It hadn’t been feeding the homeless. You’d fundraised to keep the local community kitchen from shutting its doors. And, there had never been little old ladies. Maybe little old raccoons and opossums you’d built little wooden houses for…

Hopper shifted on the spot. “Look… I know you’re tryin’ to the right thing… I know you don’t want to have to move-”

“It’s not about moving. It’s about-”

“The principle, I know,” Hopper interrupted you right back. “I know. But the guy who’s eyeing the place, you don’t wanna mess around with him.”

Even then, you knew Hopper was right. You knew what you were doing was potentially dangerous. Brenner’s name had been mentioned to you before Hopper came knocking. But you were stubborn.

“How’s he even doing this? It can’t be legal. Probably paid off Kline, right?”

Hopper cringed at the name Kline. Larry Kline was the elected official who should have been fighting for the city. Instead, he was lining his pockets with Brenner-shaped coins.

“Eddie know you’re doing this?” Hopper changed tactics. There were three giveaways that Eddie was probably on tour. The first was how quiet the apartment was. The second was the lack of guitars on the wall hooks. The third was that Gabriel, a fluffy white cat, was asleep on the couch. Gabriel only sought the company of others when Eddie wasn’t an option, even though he was technically a birthday present for you.

You bit down on your tongue. “I don’t keep secrets from Eddie,”

“Right, but… Might you have conveniently forgotten to mention who wants to buy the building? Who you’re starting a fight with?”

The conversation had ended with a vague promise that you’d maybe consider ‘cooling it.’ Hopper had left that night uneasy. He never got around to tracking a phone number for Eddie out on the road. Knowing Eddie, which he only kind of did anyway, he’d never tell you to stop doing anything. That man worshipped the ground you walked on.

Hopper stood at the broken window and held a cigarette between his teeth. He looked down to the street below, Eddie’s body being covered with a crime scene sheet while onlookers scrambled to see the carnage.

Behind him, crime scene techs and cops buzzed about the apartment. He turned to survey the scene. The photos on the wall told a story of love. His brain tried to reconcile how you looked in them, compared to how you looked lying on the apartment floor covered in blood. The paramedics were still working on stabilising you, you clinging to life by your fingernails.

Hopper gave the okay to move you while he picked up a thick piece of card off the floor. A wedding invitation for the following day – a sunset event.

“Who the fuck gets married on Halloween anyhow?” one of the cops asked, staring at the mannequin keeping your wedding dress company.

Hopper didn’t answer. He listened to their commentary.

“What’s the count so far?” a rookie questioned.

“143 fires so far… They’re slacking off from last year,”

“Three hours to go; maybe they’re just slow starters.”

Hopper followed the paramedics as they took you downstairs and out to the ambulance. Another detective was there. Detective being a very generous title, as most of the work Phil Callahan was capable of was not of the sleuthing variety.

“This the victim?” he asked.

 “No, it’s Amelia Earhart. We found her, Detective, and you missed it,” Hopper deadpanned.

Before Callahan could come up with something witty to say, Hopper was back at your side. A girl on a skateboard had appeared, pulling at your sleeve.

“Stand back, kid,” he said.

It was Max’s voice that dragged you somewhere close to Earth. “Where’s Eddie?” you croaked.

“Ah… Don’t worry about him,” Hopper told you.

“Tell him to take care of Max.”

Paramedics had you loaded up, closing the back of the ambulance. Hopper stood next to Max for a moment before putting a hand on her shoulder.

“You Max?”

“Yeah,”

“Okay, look… Your sister… She’s gonna be okay,”

“She’s not my sister. She just takes care of me… She’s my friend. Her and Eddie… You lied to her about Eddie.” Max sounded more sad than accusatory.

“I had to,”

“And you’re lying to me about her. She’s gonna die, isn’t she?”

Hopper could deal with a lot of things. A grief-stricken teenage girl was not one of them. He clasped both of her shoulders and held her, looking around the scene with a growing understanding that the misery had only just begun.  

One Year Later After Sunset, October 29, 1995

Max visited the cemetery often. She’d walk along the rows, taking one flower from each bouquet she passed. By the time she was standing in front of the matching graves, she had an offering. One white rose for Eddie, the rest for you.

Losing you and Eddie was bad, but the months since had been worse. Her mother had all but resigned from that role, spending more and more time wherever Neil and Billy Hargrove went. Max hardly saw Susan anymore. The Hargroves, and the people like them, were terrifying.

Max sat down facing the headstones. “I found another one,” she said. “It says that people used to believe that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead.”

In the weeks after that Halloween, Max obsessed over the science of death. She wanted to know how you and Eddie had felt. What would happen to your bodies, buried under all that dirt? Then, once she knew everything there was to know, she moved on to folklore. What stories had been told about dying? What existed beyond the veil?

“The thing though, is that if the person dies unfairly, if something so bad happens, then that is carried with the soul. The sadness. And the soul can’t rest.”

Max had contemplated magic. She saw a Ouija board put out by the trash cans outside her apartment building and seriously considered taking it inside. Her research had slowly veered into the direction of revenge-driven resurrection, for which many cultures had legends and fables of.

“Sometimes the crow can bring that soul back, to put the wrong things right.”  She paused, looking down and pushing the dirt around with a stick. Max shrugged to herself. “I know it’s a fairytale… But it would be nice…”

Thunder rumbled above Max. After gathering her things, she began to walk away. A crow swooped down, landing on Eddie’s headstone. She was sure it was the same one that always hung around the cemetery; she’d named him The Night Watchman.

“Keep an eye on them for me,” she told him, dropping her skateboard and riding off into the drizzling rain.

It was fear first. Terror. Darkness.

He tried to draw a breath in but it didn’t provide any relief. Something told him to get up. Get out. A voice. A voice in his head. Get up. Get out. But get up and get out of what? He thrashed but all his limbs hit solid wall.

Punching, punching, punching. When he finally broke through the coffin’s lid, his knuckles were raw and bleeding. He dug, splitting nails and swallowing dirt. He reached the surface, pulling himself from his grave.

His body couldn’t decide between curling up or being splayed out on his back. It couldn’t decide between screaming or sobbing. He was twitchy and achy. His knuckles had scabbed and scarred. He’d healed but the healing hurt.

At first, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know who he was.

A crow landed on an overhead branch. It called to the man, a deep and piercing caw. It was there to guide him. It was there to bear witness. It was there to share the burden of the second life of Eddie Munson.

Eddie knew to follow the crow. He knew the crow would take him to where he wanted to go. It would take him to you.

He stumbled, pulling himself through the cemetery and out into the city. Nobody noticed him weaving through alleyways and stalking shadows. He pulled at his burial clothes, hands running over the bullet hole scars on his body.

Eddie’s bare feet walked through filthy puddles and over crumbling asphalt. He only stopped when the crow landed on a dumpster, squawking.  Something dark was sitting on top of the trash. Old worker’s boots, too small for Eddie, but he put them on anyway. He stomped onwards.

End Note:

Thank you to the love of my life @jo-harrington for brainstorming and editing help, and for general support and hype girl shit.

The process of writing this series has been a bit of an isolated one, compared to past work. So, I don't know how it will be received. I am more unsure about it than I have been about my other stuff too. Any feedback would be immensely appreciated.

Happy New Year, xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86

All Eddie Taglist (open):solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner @em0220

[x-loumunson-x]

Ascension – the new solo album from Eddie Munson.

Out NEVER. Don’t get your limited deluxe edition bundle TODAY. Pre-order NOWHERE.

The fake deluxe bundle doesn’t include:

- Sulphur green press vinyl (not real)

- Lyric booklet (not real because there are no lyrics)

- A t-shirt (real, but not in that color)

- Exclusive Polaroid set (of photos Eddie would definitely not have taken)

- Signed poster (signed by me, because who else would?)

- Set of 7 plectrums (you’d lose them anyway, so why bother?).

Not available while stocks don’t exist.

[x-loumunson-x]

𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: your career was built on luck and fortunate circumstances, but that was bound to run out at some point. enter eddie munson, rockstar extraordinaire, the reason for your life being thrust into chaos—but, fake it til you make it, right?

cw: 18+ (minors dni), fem!reader, small age gap (25/29), establish friendships with steve & reader (hints of musician!steve), enemies to…something, fake relationships, mentions of misogyny toward reader, awkward first meetings, mentions of substance abuse, social media posts inserted through the fic (texts), fingering and handjobs, drinking and messing around inebriated, use of rings for nefarious purposes, lots of teasing and cocky eddie. i might have missed something so lmk!

word count: 12k

The call happened on a random Sunday morning, following a long night of partying with not nearly enough alcohol, head still pounding from the music and flashing lights of the club. You buried your head further into your pillow, swiped the screen to answer, and muffled a gruff, “What?” into the air.

Thus thrusting you into the most ridiculous conversation you’ve ever witnessed, immediately pushing from your bed and snatching the phone between your fingers, staring at the black screen of your phone, the monotone voice of your agent boring through the receiver—this had to be a joke.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t—and it’s how you ended up standing in the office of your show’s executive team, arms crossed firmly over your chest as they laid out the plan. The fucking plan. The seemingly full proof, highly thought out plan that would not only boost the ratings for the premiere through the roof, but would also bring in an insane amount of attention to the other party.

Him. Eddie Munson, who stood on the other side of the small room, similarly positioned and not believing a single word of shit spilling out of their mouths. If there was anyone who you could care less about, or even despise the idea of having a fake relationship with—it was him. 

Known womanizer, constantly getting caught with groupies after shows, one scandal after another, it was like putting a wrecking ball to a career you had spent a decade building. You didn’t care how good the money sounded, the benefits to it, none of it.

“Absolutely fucking not,” You reply snidely, earning wide eyes from your team, and an even more surprised look from the higher-ups seated at the table, all buttoned up their suits and poised to seem professional, “—not a chance, no.”

“Listen—“ One of the men starts, pen flipping nervously in his hand. He had to be new, less experienced in this world, his voice shaking as he spoke, “just hear us out.”

“No, I heard you,” You chuckle lightly, pointing vaguely in the direction of Eddie, “you want me to sign your stupid little contract and tie myself to a man who, just recently, was caught hanging out with underage girls after a concert—“

“Hey, that’s not my fault—“ Eddie defends weakly, “I can’t control what my bandmates do.”

“You’re literally the lead guitarist and singer,” You say defensively, “—that shit directly affects you.”

How he didn’t realize that was beyond you, his face caught up in a sudden realization, he stayed silent. 

“The ratings will be record breaking,” It was one of the main producers, offering up a small morsel of positivity, “brand deals, appearances—this stuff has worked in the past.”

“How?” Eddie asks curiously, catching your pointed gaze, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. He shakes it off, turned toward the group of men seated at the table. “What do we have to do?”

“Public appearances, obviously.” They begin, “We’ll stage some candid pictures by tipping off paparazzi, maybe even some interviews, it’s all strictly professional—it just depends on how much you two want to sell it.”

“We’ve never been seen in public together before,” You say defensively, “how will that look?”

“I don’t think that’ll matter.” 

“His band is covering the opening song for the show—isn’t that suspicious?” You ask, trying to find any reason to hope this plan would fall apart.

“People eat that stuff up,” Your agent provides softly, trying not to step on any toes, “I don’t think they’ll care.”

“I don’t think it’s a horrible idea,” Eddie says with a slight falter in his voice, just as unsure as you were, but still hanging onto the small glint of optimism, “but it can’t be one-sided—we both have to be all in or it’s going to crash and burn pretty quick.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” You add, “How the hell do you fake a relationship?”

“You do it on television, don’t you?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm, far too inappropriate for the situation at hand. “Is it really that hard?”

“With you?” You ask redundantly, “Yes.”

“This is pointless.” He relents, hands thrown up in defeat until they fall back to his waist, standing like a petulant child, annoyed at his inability to one-up you.

“Look, I get it—you two hate each other.” The producer interrupts, glancing slowly between you both. “It’ll be maybe a few months—that’s it. Long enough to grab some good ratings and bring in some press and then you two can have your dramatic break up. You two don’t even need to interact outside of what’s contractually obligated.”

There’s a long silence, neither of you answering or looking in the direction of anyone. Eddie didn’t have anything to lose—but you had just about everything. It was the perks of being America’s hottest rockstar; do whatever you want and get away with—also just the perks of being a man. For you, one wrong misstep and you were out, permanently.

“Look, you’ve had two failed pilots over the past year, right?” The producer inquires, slyly shoving the small stack of papers and a pen your direction. “Another one and you’ll probably be blacklisted—this is guaranteed success. You can’t pass it up.”

And you hated that it was the truth, heart pounding angrily in your chest. Maybe if you had time—time to really think it through, it wouldn’t be so bad. But, there wasn’t time for that. Your show was premiering in two weeks, Eddie was preparing to leave for a tour across the country, the only thing you two lacked was time. 

“I can back out at any moment?” You ask hesitantly, glancing over at Eddie who remained mostly emotionless, ringed fingers gripping his waist still. “No problem?”

“You won’t want to,” The man tells you, “not after the media swarm picks it up. But—if you really want to, yes. You’re not obligated to stick to this relationship, but you have to make it seem believable.”

“As in?”

“A break-up, if needed. By signing this, you’re signing an NDA—this is private and if you intend to break it, there will be consequences.” 

It sounded like a threat, Eddie picked up on it too—surprisingly interrupting the conversation. 

“Like?”

“It’s basically signing away any rights you have to telling anyone about this outside of this room—if you break the rules of an NDA, suing is on the table, for either of you.”

You hated all the formal jargon, rolling your eyes at his drawn out, half threatening explanation. You snatch the pen, signing the paper lazily before tossing the pen toward Eddie. He’s startled for a moment, quickly recovering to grab the pen and do the same.

“I hope you realize how exploitative this is.” You remark, shoving the paper back at the men, grinning like the greedy sharks they were, already wet-dreaming over the amount of success and money they were bound to pull in.

“It’s just business, sweetheart.”

You grimace at the word, bile pooling in your throat at the tone and wandering eyes of a man who surely had a lot more power than you. 

For your career, it was a mantra you’d repeat in your head until the day you died.

The elevator ride down is long, silent, and awkward—a lack of either of your teams as you stood beside each other in the small confines of the four glass walls, descending down the several flights at a snail's pace. Eddie speaks first, much to your dismay that he even decides to speak at all.

“I really didn’t know.” Eddie says to you, eyes trained toward his scuffed up sneakers, “The girls—I didn’t know they were underage. I didn’t—I’m not like that.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself, “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I don’t care.”

“I just—I didn’t want you to think I was some creep.” He says defensively, voice soft despite his hardened features. “The guys—they let it get to their heads, they make stupid choices.”

“And you haven’t?” You counter.

“I have—but not like that,” Eddie replies, fingers fiddling idly with the ring of his left hand, “I went to rehab—I’m clean now, but I’m not like that. I promise”.

Eddie never meant for the drugs to overtake his life for that short, brief amount of time—but it did and he regretted it daily. It wasn’t him anymore, though. Eddie could say that proudly. He enjoyed his life, his career—he cherished every moment of being on stage and performing, meeting fans, it’s what drove him. 

And you don’t want to pry, so you leave it be. Your hands shuffle behind your back, posed on the silver handrail as the elevator shook gently, you tensed.

Eddie notices but doesn’t say anything, figuring you’d probably bark another insult his way. He could manage the semantics though—faking a relationship, how hard could it be?

“We should exchange numbers.” 

You look at him weirdly, eyebrows pulled up in confusion. 

“You realize I have your number already, don’t you?” You ask. 

Eddie pulls back slightly, head tilted up in thought. It didn’t make sense, he’s never even spoken more than a few words to you outside of work, mutual friends, it didn’t seem possible.

“You’re unbelievable.” You scoff lightly, pulling out your phone to send him a quick text, one simple emoji, middle finger poised in an effort to send a very clear message. “Steve introduced me to you two years ago.”

Still wasn’t ringing a bell—though most of that time was blurry.

“You tried to ask me on a date,” You explain with amusement, “I said no—so you proceeded to ask me if you were down to ‘just fuck’,” You mock with dramatic air quotes, “I never deleted your number, but that’s only because I give it out to the guys that try to hit on me now.”

It dawns on him then, the absurd amount of phone calls from strange people—sometimes the unassuming person you could give a fake name to, sometimes not, Eddie never pieces it together, not until now.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Eddie asks with a slight disbelief, “That’s why my phone is constantly blowing up? I thought it was just a bunch of spam bullshit. God, you’re evil.”

You shrug, a devious smile spreading across your face as the elevator pulls to a stop in the parking garage, you step out first.

“Watch your back, Eddie Munson.” You warn, “You try to destroy my career and I’ll take yours down twice as fast.”

It’s an empty threat, but Eddie knows you're capable. 

“There’s no way this is going to work.” You grumble, hands shoved deep into the pockets of your sweater, held snug under the arm of Eddie, who’s trademark leather jacket stretched over your back—it made your neck itch, shoulders wiggling slightly in discomfort. His sunglasses tipped over his nose, eyes scanning the surrounding streets, catching glimpse of a few poorly sneaking paparazzi, cameras posed at the ready. 

Eddie wasn’t approached often in public, mostly because he’d kept up a reputation that it wasn’t a good idea—he liked to keep his private life separated from whatever this life was, and it was clear; to his friends, his family, and anyone who knew who he was. People respected it to a degree, but by agreeing to this, it felt like he was throwing that all away. He didn’t even know why—the potential benefits sounded nice momentarily, but what was he really gaining from any of it—other than eternal misery from having to deal with your constant negativity toward the situation. 

“I’d think twice about that.” He motions sneakily toward your left and you see it too, instantly freezing at the sight, like you’d been caught—which you had, but not for the reasons you were feeling. “Chill out,” Eddie says quietly, “just walk.”

You fisted your hands in your pocket, chill air stinging your face. You weren’t nearly as famous as Eddie—but enough to be noticed, it was weird to not be approached, in fact, it was almost like people were avoiding you. Eddie really did have a presence about him—maybe it wasn’t a terrible idea to keep him around if he repelled everyone so easily. 

“Remember what they said,” Eddie comments into your hair, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, subtly posing for the photo as the camera clicked in the distance, “one kiss for the shot and we can go, but it has to be good.”

“This is ridiculous.” 

Eddie laughed at your pessimism, stopping at the crosswalk. You couldn’t bare the thought of making the first move, too riddled with nerves to pull it off believably, so Eddie takes the lead, nudging your face with the hand draped over your shoulder.

Your face tilts toward his, his fingers tilting your head up slightly, lips pressed against his in a chaste, formal kiss—nothing different from the kisses you’ve had on screen. It wasn’t all the bad, actually—and if things remained like this, maybe you could handle it. 

“Hold it.” Eddie mumbles against your lips, your eyes fallen shut as he stills—surely they’ve gotten the picture by now, but you hear the familiar click of a phone camera and you quickly realize why; Eddie really planned to sell it and it was working.

You pull back with a fake, sweet smile, eyes riddled with a restrained amount of disgust that only Eddie could see—his eyes returned the sentiment, pulling back with a toothy grin, tongue peeking out between his teeth slightly. The act continues halfway down the block—light touches, looks of endearment as the cameras push in now, less restrained, questions being thrown at you haphazardly. 

The hold Eddie takes on you is real, sturdy—it felt protective and safe, and truly he felt that way. He knew how vicious and bizarre paparazzi and people could get, keeping you close by and away from grabbing hands and eager flashes of the camera. It all ramped up quickly, a crowd gathering down the busy road of the shopping mall. Eddie ignored it all, leading you toward the designated black SUV at the end of street, gently shoving you inside to follow after, breathing a sigh of relief when you were both finally inside. 

He taps on the window—it’s his driver, because of course he had one. “We’re good. Take us back.” He says simply, hands squeezed together in his lap as he fidgets again, something you couldn’t help but notice. He did it often.

“God, that was horrible.” You complain under your breath, head resting back against the seat, eyes pulled up toward the roof of the car. “And super fucking overwhelming.”

“Never dealt with that before?” Eddie asks curiously, eyes glancing up toward you for a brief moment. “Look—I was trying to make it seem real enough, sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking over at him with a blank gaze, his expression just as unreadable. “I have dealt with it—but not on that level. It's almost like inducing a panic attack almost, feeling like you can’t breathe.”

You pause for a moment, feeling a slight tinge of guilt.

“It was believable,” You admit, “I didn’t mind it, it’s like kissing a co-star, I guess.”

“It is acting after all,” Eddie shrugs, “you’re pretty good at it, I assume.”

“Have you never—“ You linger on the question, not wanting to sound too self-centered, but you feel obligated since you know so much about him, whether by force or by your own guilty self-indulgence. 

“I barely have time to relax.” Eddie admits. “I eat, sleep, do my work and it repeats. I haven’t taken a vacation since I started.”

“What?” You ask with an immense amount of shock, “Are you serious—“

There's a ding of a notification on your phone. A few seconds later, another. Then Eddie’s, his hand pulling it from his pocket roughly. Your eyes lock, fingers swiping at the screen simultaneously as you hold your breath, not entirely sure what to expect. 

“Well,” Eddie begins.

Met with a similarly toned, “Oh my god.”

Both of you glanced at the article, smack on the cover of one of the biggest celebrity publications in the online word, headline reading—

INFAMOUS ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON HAS FOUND NEW LOVE IN STARLET ACTRESS?

The article is plastered with picture after picture, but the one that really mattered, the kiss—it was right there, front and center. It was gaining traction quickly, the sudden influx of your social media being bombarded with notifications.

“You might want to turn them off,” Eddie suggests, scrolling haphazardly through his phone, like it was just another day, “otherwise your phone is gonna be unusable.”

You scroll through the list of trending tags, eyes practically bulging out of your head at the number one spot. Albeit, it was just Eddie’s name—but every post was a picture of both of you, snuggled up close, people wondering and listing off a mountain of questions.

To be fair, you weren’t nearly as well known as Eddie—so most of it was geared toward finding out exactly who you were. But, the other questions revolved around how long this had been going on, how it had managed to fly under the radar, and just how serious you two were—it was all comical, in retrospect, knowing what you knew. 

“How are you so normal about this?” You ask with a pitch to your voice, dealing with the increasing flurry of texts from friends and family suddenly interested in your personal life. “These people are fucking quick—holy shit.”

“It’s incredible how quickly things change, isn’t it?” Eddie asks knowingly, having been at the brunt of it multiple times. “Give it a few hours, it will die out a little—not by much, but it’ll be more manageable.”

“I didn’t really think everything out this far.” You admit, trying to think up responses to people you care about, people you never planned to lie to. Your fingers hover, but nothing comes out. In a moment of vulnerability, you look at him.

“What do I do?”

Eddie smirks softly, tossing his phone to the side. He motions with his forefingers, beckoning your phone toward his hand. You hesitate for a half second before handing it over, letting him work away at the keyboard, typing furiously. 

“There,” He says with finality when his fingers finally come to stop, placing the phone back into your waiting hands, “that should work.”

‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll talk more when I’m ready.’

You drop your phone, giving him a defeated look, face pulled down in a frown.

“My family is going to think I’m hiding a pregnancy if I send that,” You tell him honestly, “I need something less serious sounding.”

“You’ll figure it out,” He assures you, “Act it up, right?”

“But, this is my life.”

“Not when you’re with me,” Eddie counters, proving a point, “we’re just playing an exaggerated version of ourselves, if you think about—you know, maybe I could take on acting after this, depending on how believable I can make it.”

He’s joking, but you can’t be bothered to laugh.

“Shit—maybe even a guest spot on your show.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You smile meanly, writing out a quick dismissive text to the eagerly waiting recipients in your phone, “I’d never let that happen.”

“I can be very persuasive.” Eddie responds, much to your ultimate dismay, wishing he’d stay quiet. “I mean, you’re kinda mimicking my life in a way, although there’s no way you could handle that lifestyle—actors are always entitled.”

Your mouth falls open, an offense taken by his line of conversation. 

“It’s a good story line,” You reply defensively, “I can play it up better than you ever could, regardless of it being real.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise slightly, as if proving his point by your response. 

You side-eye him with annoyance, arms crossed over your chest as you recline back, suffering through the long, bumpy ride back to the office, dying to be out of Eddie’s presence.

“I’m not entitled.” You say softly, “I don’t think you understand how hard it is for women—we can’t even try to defend ourselves.”

And he doesn’t know, he can’t even compare—he’s always gotten off relatively easy, a gentle slap on the wrist. He wouldn’t even be able to imagine half of the problems you’ve had to deal with. But, that’s just it—they weren’t his problems. Just as similar as his problems not being your own; you couldn’t be more polar opposite, at this point. 

“I have this weird feeling.” You tell him after a long silence, hesitantly.

“Like things are about to get crazy?” Eddie answers for you, feeling that impending tension and doom of yours and his reality. 

You nod slightly.

“Me too.”

Unfortunately, it was only the beginning of a dangerous, winding road that would upend your life, career, and everything you had left to hold onto.

The media does swarm significantly, overwhelmingly.

It’s two weeks post kiss picture and the growth on your accounts and attention in your life had turned into a frenzy, some sickness that you weren’t prepared to handle. But, it’s the big night of the premiere for your show—the cast, producers, huge names in acting, and more importantly, all of Corroded Coffin would be in attendance. As far as you knew, Eddie hadn’t told a soul, neither had you.

But, neither of you had talked much to each other in return, aside from the occasional ridiculous headline that gave you both a good laugh —unfortunately, with such a big appearance tonight, you took the initial leap and texted him first.

Eddie calls you then, his contact name showing up on your phone, awaiting a tense FaceTime. You swipe to answer, catching the dizzying fury of hands as they worked around him, plucking at his well-formed hair, curls more defined than usual. He fiddles with his sleeve, alerting you to the fact that he wasn’t even holding his phone. He had a well-oiled team working behind the scenes, making him look presentable. Meanwhile, you sat curled on your bed, still shuffling through a small selection of appropriate outfits; it felt ridiculous.

“How are you not ready yet?” Eddie asks with a lilt of annoyance, despite his notorious mark of being late, whether on purpose or accidentally. “We have to be there in an hour.”

“My hair’s done—my makeup,” You motion toward your face obviously, “I’m just stuck on trying to pick out something to match.”

“Where’s your team?” Eddie asks, “Like, your stylist and shit?”

“Eddie,” You deadpan, “I don’t have one. I do this stuff myself.”

“Why?” His face pulls up in confusion, unable to grasp the concept of it. “Nevermind—show me what you’ve got.”

You glance at the phone with a fair amount of shyness. You didn’t have anything, nothing that would work well enough. A black, slick suit over a sheer shirt, the smallest sliver of his chest peeking through—trademark rings shoved on his fingers; he never took them off.

“Is it too late to cancel?” You ask with a grown, Eddie eyes turning up in frustration, nearly rolling back in his head. He laughs, pointing off camera somewhere.

“Do you still have that rack with you?” He asks an unseen person, “Yeah—no, further down. Not that one—no—yeah, that’s it.”

You watched with apt attention, his mysterious mind at work. He yanks the phone away from whoever was holding it, pulling at the cigarette tucked behind his ear, shoving it between his lips. There’s a lot of shuffling and then an eye-blinding brightness as he steps outside, hair windblown as he squints to stare at his screen.

“I’ll send you my location,” He tells you, a familiar flick of a lighter as he leans down to light the end of his cigarette, a slow drag as his lips pucker around it, “don’t be late—we have to arrive together, so we’ll leave from here.”

“You’re really bossy,” You grumble, shoving yourself from the bed and toeing on your shoe—Eddie smirks, “stop that.”

“Just hurry.” He tells you lightheartedly, swiftly ending the call.

The ride to his place is short, but grueling—stuck in the middle of some of the worst traffic you’ve ever experienced, it didn’t help that he wasn’t far from the venue, the chaos was evident and only made you panic further.

When you finally make it into his long, winding driveway, it’s like a small moment of peace, sitting in the driver’s seat of your car, one deep breath after another. The silence is quickly interrupted by a text from Eddie, another impatient reminder.

You sigh audibly, making the quick trip to his front door and pressing on the doorbell with a poorly manicured finger—it was something you overlooked, but you didn’t think it would matter much—all anyone really cared about was Eddie Munson. 

You weren’t expecting to be face to face with him, waiting for one of his assistants to answer the door, but now he’s standing there, a smile plastered over his face. 

You pull your face up in subtle disgust, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m trying to get into character,” Eddie replies with a soft chuckle, motioning a grandiose wave to lead you inside, “—you should too.”

“I will after I see what you’re making me wear.” You comment absently, glancing around his home curiously. 

Home was…generous. It was a mansion, a massive step up from your downtown apartment—you couldn’t even imagine the amount of rooms, expensive furniture, pointless items. 

Eddie noticed, “I’d give you a tour.” He tells you honestly, trying carefully not to crease his suit, expensive loafers tapping against the intricate tile, “But, we don’t have a lot of time.”

You make a small noise, Eddie can’t decipher it. He’s handed the dress during your distraction—a sheer dress with a black bodice covering your more intimate parts, long sleeves cuffing at the wrists, nearly floor length as it led a slit up the side. You turn to look, eyeing it suspiciously. The heels are just as intimidating, a mess of lace that you were bound to get tangled up in. 

“Trust me.” He says, eyes glancing up at you pointedly. “They’ll help.”

He nods at the small team of people—stylists and assistants, primed and ready to go. 

“So, you’re dressing me then?” You ask with a soft laugh, “I didn’t know you were into fashion like that.”

“I’m not,” He shakes his head, “not really—but I’ve learned what works—now go, seriously.”

And for once, you don’t put up a fight, letting the strangers lead you off to an enclosed room.

They work quickly, managing to somehow fix your half-assed attempt at hair and makeup—you weren’t used to being grand or extra, just barely making a statement, it’s how you skated by so easily, never drawing attention to yourself when it wasn’t needed. But with Eddie, that wasn’t possible. 

There’s a soft knock on the door after the fury ends, things finally calming down, “Yeah?” Your voice is soft, nervous.

“The driver’s here,” Eddie says behind the door. “Is she ready?” 

You huff to yourself in amusement at his lack of addressing you, “She’s ready.” You reply snarkily, hearing the faint turn of the doorknob, his full figure coming into view.

Eddie looks smug, proud of himself. “Don’t say it—“ You begin, taking his outstretched hand hesitantly, letting him do a slow turn to take in the full outfit.

Eddie shakes his head in indifference, “I wasn’t,” He tells you, “These lips are sealed.”

You weren’t seeking any type of approval, but you couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling of hearing his opinion, wondering how loud his thoughts were—if they were as harsh as the things that fell from his mouth.

And the reality doesn’t hit you until you’re pulling up at the event, an overwhelming crowd already gathered along the guardrails—it wasn’t your first time experiencing it, but that attention felt magnified, every single movement being analyzed. Eddie seems calm, as expected, and you hate it.

Eddie speaks to your nerves, watching you scoot near the edge of the seat, squeezed in beside him in the backseat as you peered out the window.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to,” He reminds you softly, arms slung over the back of your seat, “they’re like vultures—but they’ll only take what you give them.”

You avert your eyes away, pushing back in the seat until you hit his arm, jumping slightly at the contact. He pulls away, trying to respect your boundaries. Despite your mutual friends and awkward run-ins, you two were practically strangers. He didn’t want to overstep where he shouldn’t, even if the situation was unorthodox and special, he still had enough self awareness. 

“I’ll stay with you, if you want.” He offered—he wasn’t sure if it was necessarily allowed, given his obligations to make appearances with his bandmates, but he didn’t care too much. “Just say the word.”

You nod slowly, “Okay—okay, yeah.”

You weren’t prepared for the magnitude, the door opening to a flurry of flashing camera lights and loud noises, it was a storm of rapid media attendees and celebrities. But, you mask it somehow, by some goddamn miracle, and push on. 

Eddie leads you down the carpet initially, arm hung loosely around your hip, rings grazing the inside of your wrist. It jerks you back to reality, forcing a joyful smile on your face—you play into it, fingers hugging over the outside of his own hand, dancing along the jewelry carefully. You could fake a smile easily, but words—you were at a loss.

It was the last thing you two cared about, a backstory. But, it was also the most important—and while Eddie may be an expert at bullshitting his way through life, you were terrible. 

Eddie fakes a small kiss against your temple, nose burying into your hair as he speaks loudly, still barely audible over the noise. 

“Still with me?” He asks.

You turn to him with a sickly sweet smile, nodding with a force. 

Eddie scoffs in amusement, hand dipping down to your back slowly. “Good—get ready.” He instructs, not giving you much of a chance to prepare before he’s dipping you slightly, leg pulled up around his waist, fingers held carefully along your thigh as he pulls you in, kisses you deep, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

Eddie lifts you up just as quick and you’re forced to hide your shock and abhorrent disapproval at his antics—it was fully his personality, wild and shocking—but it worked, the crowd cheering with even more intensity. 

“You’re dead.” You smile kindly, still reeling from your racing heart, “Never do that again.”

Eddie laughs tensely, arm finding its place around you again, leading you toward the line of interviewers with haste, ready for the assault of obligated professional and personal questions. 

You’re great at talking about your work—it surprises him and all he can do is watch in stunned silence, praising not only the show but his work; it didn’t take much research to gather up most of his discography and background, it was work after all—and you were damn good at it. 

But, it inevitably hits you.

“So, the world is curious; how did this become a thing?”

This being you and Eddie, together, as a couple—a thing.

“We’re trying to keep things private,” Eddie offers nicely, a stark contrast to his abrasive manner, “but we met a while back—and stuff took off from there. I don’t want to speak for my lady, but we’re happy—that’s all that matters.”

You take a silent breath of relief, quickly recovering to add, “Really happy.” You say, voice filled with a fake sense of adoration, grasping tightly at the jacket of his suit. 

The rest of the night is filled with the same monotonous questions, repeating yourself constantly, but it’s your job and you can deal with it—but to say that you weren’t relieved when you finally stepped foot into the theater adjoining the event; well, that would be a lie. 

It all seemed believable enough, and you weren’t feeling hostile toward Eddie in the moment, despite his outrageous act of kissing you for the public, bound to make headlines the next morning, if not already—it was all easier than you expected and if things kept up like this, it would all be over in no time. 

“I’m getting weird deja vu right now,” Eddie speaks absently, following closely behind you into the packed theater, “—this is—“

“The same place you met me in two years ago,” You tell him, turning haphazardly over your shoulder to look at him, loose ringlets curls following over his face as he leaned in to hear you, “—and then tried to turn me into a random hookup.”

“Oh, like you’ve never done it,” He bickers in response, defending his previous actions steadfast—frankly, it was a little embarrassing that he thought his game was that good, “why are you so bitter about it?”

“I’m not,” You laugh slightly, “you were hammered and couldn’t even look at me straight—I ended up going home with someone else that night.”

Eddie balks slightly at the admission, earning a dramatic eye roll from you in return. 

“Women can have casual sex too,” You remind him, head still thrown over you shoulder as you looked at him, “it’s not just me—“

Eddie was too distracted by you to witness the collision at first or even prevent it, bodies colliding harshly as he reached out to grab you, pulling you to him.

The unassuming victim in this situation isn’t even you—it’s the opposite person who crashed into you, a man—younger, meeker, clearly intimidated by Eddie’s presence as he backs away quickly, barking a squeaky apology. It isn’t until you turn to see Eddie’s face that you realize why, his face scrunched up in anger.

“Sorry,” You quickly apologize, pushing away from him to squeeze through the aisle and take your seat, he follows silently behind you, “I’m really uncoordinated, obviously.”

“It’s not you,” Eddie brushes you off slightly, “—kid’s been following us all night, he’s probably a journalist.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, so Eddie elaborates.

“He’s either trying to get information on me,” Which seemed likely, “or you,” less likely, “or on our relationship.”

“I thought we were doing a good job,” You reply honestly, watching Eddie’s eyes linger out into the crowd, landing on something in particular, your eyes follow—Eddie was good at this stuff, it freaked you out too much. The younger kid was staring back for a moment, before averting his eyes in slight shame at having been caught, “I guess not.”

“People’s jobs are to pick at this shit,” Shit being—you and him, “you always have to be aware—always.”

You shuffle in your seat, attempting to scoot closer, lights turning down—you can barely see Eddie now, just a faint glow against the outline of his face. 

“That’s good—I’m going to put my arm around you,” Eddie instructs softly, “look—when we’re out in public, we have to be on. There’s always going to be someone watching.”

“You make it seem like you’ve done this before.” You comment with a faint hint of snark, leaning into his touch with guarded weight, “how do you know so much?”

“I’ve never not had a relationship ruined by the public,” He says admittedly, “you pick up on things.”

You don’t press on the admission or let your eyes linger, face held steadily angled at the screen as you spoke. 

“Well, at least one of us is a professional at faking it.”

There’s a deeper meaning to it all, something just below the surface, begging to be scratched at, Eddie shrugs it off. He gives a small head shake, a friendly laugh, and the rest of the night is spent in tense silence—he’s never been more eager to be cooped up in his home, away from the limelight and peering eyes. 

Fortunately for you, that night is the best bout of sleep you ever receive, in the post bliss of a high note in your life and career—it’s like things couldn’t get better, but surely they had to level out at some point.

They do, sadly. Your phone buzzes off the bedside table, clambering to the floor with a loud slap, it startled you awake as you fished blindly for it..

Another call from Eddie—he clearly hated texting, calling you at nearly eight in the morning. You rubbed at your tired eyes and swiped to answer, greeted with the deep, gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t stop you in your tracks the way that it does, but you can’t help it.

“Why are you calling me this early?” You complain, shoving your wild bed-head hair out of your face, squinting at the screen. “Are you throwing in the towel?”

“No,” He says with annoyance, “have you not checked online at all?”

“Eddie—I just woke up,” You tell him, staring at his face through the screen. He was still in bed too, shirtless from what you could see, hair mussed and messy from sleep, “what’s happening now?”

“I’ll send you the link,” He says, voice muffled as he shifts around, you receive a message a few seconds later, clicking in the hyperlink that brings you to a page, headline plastered in large black text—

ALL FOR SHOW? DATING FOR RATINGS AND VIEWS, ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON OF CORRODED COFFIN CAUGHT IN ANOTHER WILD SCANDAL.

“You’re fucking kidding—” You groan, scrolling down the page.

“Scroll to the bottom,” Eddie tells you, gaze boring through the screen as he watches you, you glanced up sparingly, “do you see it?”

It dawns on you then, “That fucking guy,” You shout excessively, sitting up in your bed, “what the fuck is wrong with people?”

“Do you understand why it has to be taken so seriously now?” Eddie asks, like a soft scolding. Your eyes narrow but he continues, “I don’t care if you hate me—but we agreed to this, we have to make it work.”

“So, what?” You ask flippantly, hand thrown down dramatically against your blanket, “Do I move in with you and start following you around like some pathetic housewife?”

Eddie makes a face of faux consideration, but he quickly wipes it away when he sees your face, scrunched up in frustration. 

“I’m going on tour soon,” Eddie explains, “so, we won’t even be around each other much anyways and you’ll have an excuse—but—maybe—we might go on a date or something.”

“Or something?” You ask with an emphasis on the word.

Despite your obvious distaste for him, you didn’t agree to anything other than what was necessary—public appearances, interviews, that was it. Dates—absolutely fucking not.

“Something to cease the doubt,” Eddie explains, moving to prop himself up on his elbow, the phone shifts and is propped up against something, his chest shifting as he leaned over to grab at something—his cigarettes, you realize when he comes back into frame, “a date—or a sex tape if you really want to cut all the shit out.”

Your silence is deafening and Eddie chuckles loudly, lighting the cigarette tucked between his lips.

“I’m fucking with you, sweetheart.” Eddie says warmly, eyes squinting as he blew out the smoke, you tensed as if it would reach you, the small endearment making your stomach twist in annoyance, “I’m just saying a date might help, out in public, just us—“

“We need to figure out a backstory,” You interrupt, “I can’t keep basing everything off of your lame excuse of ‘not wanting to talk about’,” Your finger raises in air quotes, mocking his deep voice.

Eddie makes a soft noise, a silent laugh as his body shakes.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, bothered by his lack of concern.

“Nothing,” He says lowly, “I’ll talk to you later—I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

“Whatever,” You reply halfheartedly, “just figure it out.”

You hang up with a cold, brisk goodbye, forcing yourself to begin your day following the rude awakening.

It’s spent mostly in long, grueling phone calls—meetings with agents, adjusting your schedule, all the necessary boring stuff that you hated about this lifestyle—interrupted briefly by the occasional texts from Eddie.

The first one is fine, you’re not really bothered by it.

But then they’re more frequent, less pointed toward a certain objective, and maybe Eddie was just attempting small talk, but you really didn’t have the time.

You huff a loud sigh, placing your phone face down on the table, browsing through computer to answer emails, typing away furiously when another buzz comes through, breaking your focus completely. 

“I’m going to kill him.” You mumble to yourself, flipping the phone over to glance at the message, typing out a snarky reply. 

Okay, maybe it was a bit much—but you couldn’t be bothered to care, annoyed with the situation you’d wrapped yourself up in, even if it was partly your fault.

Eddie never responds and it helps you feel satisfied that you’ve finally gotten in the last word—unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

You sent your address to him earlier that day, knowing there was no way to weasel your way out of the date—it was all necessary, it’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Your head is shoved in your closet, searching for a pair of shoes when the voice startles you from behind, causing you to bump your head painfully.

“Ow, fuck,” You wince, pulling away to peer behind you, face falling immediately, “Dude, what are you doing in here?”

“Your assistant let me in,” He answers simply, motioning with his thumb to the door, “—they said you’d be up here.”

“So you couldn’t wait downstairs?” 

Eddie shakes his head, reaching in his pocket for something.

“Here,” He says, pulling the dangling chain from his pocket and placing it in your hand, fingers wrapped firmly around your limp arm, “put it on.”

“Eddie, it’s just a necklace—no one’s going to care.”

His face tightens but his eyes soften, almost pleading.

“God—fine,” You relent, pulling at the clasp to wrap it around your neck, fumbling with the chain as you tried to connect it blindly—it was more difficult that you expected, “fuck—I can’t—“

Eddie holds his hands up expectantly, awaiting your request for help. You sigh softly, turning your back to him as he reaches for the chain, your hand wrapping in your hair to lift it out of the way. His fingers drag along your skin gently, clipping the chain together with ease. He adjusts the chain slightly until it sits comfortably around your neck. You glance down, watching as the puck settles in the dip of your breasts. The pick is engraved with a small E, unnoticeable to anyone but you and him. 

“Wait—is this one you actually use, like, when you perform?” You ask hesitantly, turning to face him.

His eyes glance down briefly—normally you’d feel uncomfortable with someone staring directly at your breasts, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest and you hate that. 

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie answers, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I figured it was just some cheap one you bought for show.”

Eddie huffs slightly, “That hurts, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.” You mumble, turning away to reach for your shoes. “—and you can’t get mad at me if I lose this. I’m terrible at keeping track of things.”

“You won’t lose it.” He reminds you, putting a little too much hope in your abilities. “You ready?”

You slip on the converse, opting for something more casual and discreet—you could blend in quite easily, like a chameleon. But Eddie, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Have you ever thought about cutting it?” You ask curiously, flicking at a lock of hair that rested on his shoulder. “Maybe it would be easier to go unnoticed.”

“I’m known for my hair,” Eddie replies, leading the way down the stairs, “why would I do that?”

“That’s exactly why,” You shrug, “your life would be so much easier.”

“People would be heartbroken, you know.”

And as ridiculous as it sounds, they would be. 

“Yet somehow, the world will go on.”

The drive is longer than you anticipated, not that you had much to go on to begin with—Eddie was being unnaturally secretive and he opted to drive himself, which felt even more intimate—it took out the professional aspect completely, but maybe that was what Eddie wanted. 

Eddie noticed your watchful eyes, clearing his throat subtly.

“You can stop acting like I’m trying to kidnap you.”

You shake your head at the absurdity, replying kindly.

“I’m just curious where we’re going, that’s all.”

“Oh—well, it’s good, I promise,” He smiles slightly, “my uncle took me here as a kid, I know the owners pretty well.”

“This isn’t a real date,” You remind him, “we agree on that, right?”

“Obviously,” He offers a smug smirk, hand tightening around the steering wheel, “—I already know I’m not your type anyways.”

“My type?” You mock harshly, “I have a type?”

“Are you asking me to answer that for you?”

“I mean—I didn’t know I had a type, so I’d love to hear it.”

And just like that, that small moment of blissful peace is ruined. You two couldn’t even pretend that you liked each other. 

“Nevermind,” He laughs airily, “it doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him heatedly, legs crossed tightly over the other as you stiffened. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You bite at him.

“Likewise.”

Eddie turns it on like a switch, his act—as soon as he parks the car around the back he’s a different person entirely. You weren’t sure how the paparazzi found you, but it wasn’t completely unfathomable. They’d started camping outside of your apartment building, waiting for the opportunity to bombard you with questions and flashing cameras—you were smart to turn it on to, letting Eddie take the lead as he opened the door for you, grasping your hand to help you, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as he led you inside and away from the slowly growing audience of people.

“Eddie,” A voice booms down the hallway, a man dressed in a nicely kept chef’s uniform, “how have you been?”

Eddie smiles at the man, shaking his hand firmly. “Good, great,” Eddie answers indecisively, “I can’t complain.”

“And your uncle?” The man asks inquisitively, “I haven’t seen him in a few months.”

“He likes to hermit himself,” Eddie replies with a friendly chuckle, “I’ll bring him in next time.”

“Ah—no rush,” The owner answers, “—I see you’ve brought your lovely lady, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

The ma’am feels too professional but you smile anyways, shaking his outstretched hand. “You too.” You reply with the same intensity, glancing up at Eddie’s watchful eyes.

“I’ve got your table ready, follow me.” He instructs, your hand tightens around Eddie’s instinctively, allowing him to guide you down the hall and out into the dining area—it was mostly quiet, more high-end than you were used to and intimidating nonetheless.

You take your seats, order your drinks—and like Eddie suspected, you settle on a burger, hoping to maintain some sense of normality.

“I can’t understand half the stuff on the menu.” You tell him honestly, glancing up at him from where his face is buried in his phone. “You really used to come here as a kid?”

“It’s changed a lot,” Eddie explains, closing his phone and sliding it back into his pocket, “—I actually own half of the place, it’s part of some of the property I invest in, but yeah.”

“That’s a little—“ Your voice wavers, biting back a smug smile, “aren’t you obligated to think it’s good then, since you own it?”

Eddie laughs slightly, shaking his head as his eyes drift off to the side, glancing around the place leisurely. He’s so desperate to switch the topic that he can’t help it, “So, how did we meet?”

“Oh, right,” You smile, drumming your fingers against the table lightly, smiling at the waiter as they drop off your drinks, “you know—it wouldn’t feel that far off to just play up our first time meeting each other. I get that it was probably a super embarrassing moment for you—“

“It wasn’t—“

You ignore him, “—and maybe we could just say we met at one of your after parties, you asked me on a date, the rest is history.”

“One, it wasn’t embarrassing,” Eddie holds his finger up, “and two, I could’ve came up with that.”

You take a sip of the beer, foamed up in the pint glass. Eddie follows suit, eyes tense as he stares you down.

“It works though, right?”

Eddie shrugs indifferently. 

“You’re impossible.” You sigh, trying to remember that you were definitely being watched and that your facial expressions were important, you fixed yourself accordingly, throwing on a fake smile. 

“You act like you’ve never been in a relationship before.” Eddie counters, chugging half the beer in one go. It was going to be a long night, clearly. 

“I haven’t.” You answer honestly, Eddie nearly choked at the admission. “I mean, I’ve hooked up with a few people, don’t get me wrong—but dating in this line of work, it’s horrendous.”

You had a point, Eddie was all too familiar with it.

“You’re, what—twenty five?” Eddie asks, a confirming nod in return. “Not even high school, college—anything?”

“I never went to college,” You admit, “and I wasn’t interested in dating in high school—I’m not interested in dating at all, actually.”

“Then why did you agree?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” You stress, leaning forward over the table with a hushed voice. “If I had said no, there’s no telling what could’ve happened when you left the room. I would’ve lost my job, I’m assuming.”

“They can’t do that.” Eddie replies with a thick tone of naivety. 

“They can,” You nod, “and they will—let’s just hope the ratings were good enough that they won’t pull the show completely.”

Eddie pulls back slightly—he’s never considered your side, where you were coming from or feeling about the situation. His life was set, made, he had enough financial stability to last him a lifetime, but you—you were fresh-faced and new to all of it, an unwilling victim. 

“Look, we’re in this together.” Eddie assures you, hand reaching across to intertwine with yours—you two were nestled by an open window, so you could only assume it was for show. “We can be friendly about it, at least. I mean—I don’t have any reason to hate you.”

“Other than me turning you down.” You joke, conversation stalling as your food arrived—it was like heaven, truly. Eddie had been right on the money about all of it. You moan at the first bite, the second, to the point where Eddie has to physically stop you.

“Are you okay?” He asks with a chuckle, having finished his first beer and now onto the second—you were nearing the same.

“I haven’t had food like this in a while.” You tell him. “Sorry—“

Eddie shakes his head firmly, “Nono—I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

There’s a calmness that washes over you both, sharing small talk over your meal, meaningless conversation that neither of you would remember when you went to sleep that night—Eddie orders a third beer, a fourth, and you couldn’t help but pile them on too. You weren’t sure how sore the subject was of his stint with rehab and everything that came with it, but you trusted him enough that he had it under control.

You hum slightly, poking at the shared dessert.

“What?” Eddie asks with a mouthful of cake, covering his mouth haphazardly. 

“Can I take a picture of you?” You ask oddly, Eddie doesn’t know where the inquiry comes from, but he agrees. You smile, pulling out your phone to focus on him—the camera flashes, bright light shining in his face as he squints, a half grin still plastered over his face. “Shit—sorry, I forgot I had the flash on.” You laugh lightly.

Eddie doesn’t question your motive, but it feels better to explain, even through your drunken, giggly haze.

“It’s for your contact picture—and for my socials.” You admit, “It’s not official until you post about it, right?”

And you hate yourself for the fluttering feeling that shoots through your body at his smirk, faint but noticeable. A lot of your anger and frustration was geared toward the tenseness that you felt around the situation—you didn’t hate Eddie, per day. You hated the position you’d been forced into and the way it had to be handled; Eddie was still overwhelmingly annoying at times, but the edge that alcohol took off made it easier. 

Not that you wanted to be drunk every time you were around him, that seemed illogical, but it helped you realize that it wasn’t all his fault or yours, it was just the reality of the situation.

“Are you busy next month?” Eddie asks.

“Uh—not really, I’m wrapping most of my obligations up this month and that’s as far as I have planned—why?”

“You should go on tour with me.” He suggests and you nearly choke on your drink, liquid spilling down your chin. You cough harshly, covering your mouth. “—or not?”

“No—I’m just—what? Why would you want me to go with you?”

“We’re stuck in this situation at least until the end of the year, right? Visiting me on tour seems disgustingly loving enough that people wouldn’t have any doubt about us.”

You make a face of amused disgust, laughing at the idea but also hating that he was actually right—it was the perfect idea.

“What?” Eddie asks with a chuckle, poking at the small bit of dessert left, he lifts up with his fork, motioning toward you. “Do you want it?”

You shrug, letting him bring the fork to your mouth, lips closing gently over the utensil. If it was for the cameras, you couldn’t tell, your eyes glued to his as let the subtle art of intimacy happen, his gaze flitting down to linger at your mouth.

You pull back with a grin, chewing thoughtfully. 

“It’s a really good idea,” You admit begrudgingly, “and I hate myself for actually wanting to do it.”

“Hey—my music isn’t that bad.” Eddie says defensively.

“I wouldn’t know—I’ve never listened to it.”

That seems highly unlikely, an act of absurdity, a crime against humanity. Eddie couldn’t believe it, but it was the truth. He looks offended as he sets his fork down, grabbing for the final sip of his drink. 

“Oh my god—“ You gasp, “you really are conceded—Eddie, are you serious?”

“Not even one song?”

“No,” You answer seriously, “I mean—I know what you play and that you sing but I’ve never actually listened to a song. I told you—it’s not my thing.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Eddie says petulantly, turning his nose up jokingly. “My own girlfriend, that hurts.”

You roll your eyes lazily, “Shut up.” You respond warmly.

It makes Eddie laugh—a genuine, deep laugh that you’ve never heard before; maybe the alcohol was getting to him too.

When you’re finally finished, Eddie leads you out the same way you entered, avoiding the mass of cameras awaiting you outside, managing to get you inside the car with minimal commotion, pulling off before things turn hectic. It’s the one thing Eddie has learned to master—that and he scared most people off. 

“They never stop.” You say into the quiet rumble of the car, engine revving as he sped down the street.

“It’ll get better,” Eddie says, “—or more manageable, at least.”

You hiccup, “They camp outside my apartment most days—in shifts and stuff, there’s—there’s always someone out there.”

“Do you have security or anything?”

It was another luxury you weren’t accustomed to. You shake your head slightly, peeking up at his burning gaze.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” You ask hesitantly, “We were drinking a little more than we should have.”

“I wouldn’t have tried if I wasn’t sure,” He assures you, holding his hand out to showcase his steady fingers, rings knocking together slightly, “—see, I’m good.”

You weren’t sure how that was supposed to help, but you shrugged it off, grabbing at his extended hand. 

“Do you ever take these off?” You ask with a short laugh, twisting the jewelry around his fingers, noting the tiny cuts along his fingertips. 

Eddie huffs an offended laugh, “Yes.” He snatches his hand away gently, returning it to the wheel. “I shower and dress myself too, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You nod thoughtfully, “Damn—you read my mind.” You reply smugly, silenced growing over as Eddie pulled into the parking garage to your building, coming to a gentle stop. You hesitate leaving, wondering if you should say anything—even a simple goodbye.

Eddie speaks first, sensing whatever emotion you were giving off—you couldn’t even put a finger on it. 

“I can walk you upstairs if you want,” He offers, “if you’re worried.”

“Please?” You ask softly.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate.

Eddie leads you up with a hand on the small of your back, the dip above your ass, and it feels like fire through your clothing, his touch burning hot. You fumble with the key at your lock, feeling the buzz spread through your body, eyes squinting to concentrate. Eddie never leaves your side, scooting even closer when someone passes down the hallway—their looks linger, but they don’t say anything, not with the stern gaze Eddie shoots back.

“Stop scaring people,” You mumble, finally fitting the key into the lock and turning it. Eddie follows in behind you, clicking the door shut silently, “—thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie slips your wallet into your hand, something you’d shoved into his hand earlier while you searched for your keys, almost forgetting about it. You snatch it without a word, pressing it down against the counter. 

“Are you good then?” Eddie asks, nodding toward the door. “If you are I’ll just—“

“Do you want a drink?” You ask randomly, already sifting through your cabinet, reaching in for a wine glass.

It’s almost like Eddie was waiting for it, agreeing eagerly.

“Yeah—yeah, sure.”

You smile knowingly, reaching for another glass. You place them on the counter gently—Eddie roamed around aimlessly, taking in the space, glancing over occasionally as you sifted through your copious bottles of wine. 

“This is cute.” Eddie says, holding up a small picture frame. It was you and Steve as young kids, young enough that you two weren’t even communicating in full sentences yet—Eddie could spot Harrington anywhere; it was a gift.

“Our parents are friends,” You explain without prompting, carefully filling up the glasses, “I taught him how to walk, according to my parents.”

“That explains a lot.” Eddie laughs softly. 

“Here,” You nudge him gently, handing him the glass before taking a seat on the couch, shoes slipped off to the ground, “you can sit, if you want.”

Eddie moves slowly, still lingering about as he looks around, the cushion dips slightly when he finally takes a seat. You sip quietly, feeling more relaxed in the comfort of your own place. Your legs extend, pressed gently against the outside

of his thigh. Eddie doesn’t mind, glancing further around the homey environment you’d created. 

“I’m really sentimental.” You tell him, nursing the glass in your hands. “It’s why I have so much stuff from back home.”

“Home being…” Eddie pushes further, curious.

“Hawkins—Indiana. It’s where Steve and I grew up before we moved to California. He went his way and I went mine but we’re still close. I just miss it, sometimes. So it’s nice to have small reminders.”

Eddie nods slowly. He didn’t care much for pictures or gifts or things from his childhood—his guitars were his babies, his records, littered and hung throughout his house like a museum, his own small collection. 

“Oh shit,” You panic, placing the wine glass on the end table as you searched for your phone, grabbing it from your back pocket, “I almost forgot about the picture.”

Eddie chortles, leaning over to peek at your screen.

“Did you want to look?” You ask, tilting the phone toward him, “Before I post it?”

Eddie nods silently, setting his glass down too. You scramble toward him, lifting onto your knees to shift that way. His fingers wrap around the back of your hand, eyes scanning over your screen. It’s the same photo as earlier—he looks ridiculous, but you find it endearing. It’s nothing like the magazine covers or posed photo shoots you’ve seen of him; it’s a small glimpse of the real Eddie, unfiltered and raw.

“Is it okay?” You ask, not sure why you’re seeking his approval, but the question slips out regardless. 

“Yeah—“ He pauses, considering a thought before he can’t help but speak, “but, maybe we should—like, take one together? Is that weird?”

You weren’t sure why you didn’t think of it before him, but it’s a brilliant idea, actually—you’re blaming it on the slight intoxication and the heat of nervousness that ran through your body around him. You couldn’t control it. 

“Uh, sure.” You agree, shifting closer then, nearly falling into his lap as you do. Eddie catches you with ease, his hand resting against the outline of your hip bone as he adjusts you slightly, body angled as he lifts you over his legs. “Here—maybe I should—I’ll just turn this way.”

You’re fully settled onto his lap now, turned sideways as you lift the camera. It wasn’t hard to force a smile, no matter how fake, and that’s what you’re expecting Eddie to do, but instead he speaks. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks politely, almost comically. “For the picture?”

“Oh—uh, yeah?” You respond with a soft laugh. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, his fingers dragging under your chin to tip your head up, lips connecting with yours gently.

The camera clicks a few times, his lips held steady. You laugh slightly at the absurdity, pulling away gently to sift through the photos. Your head turns, swiping through your screen.

It’s astonishing how believable it looks from the outside eye, both of you caught mid-smile as you tilt the phone toward him to show it off. You glance up briefly, but Eddie isn’t even looking at the phone, eyes locked on you.

And you’re not naive, not in the slightest. You’re half guided by the alcohol, half guided by the unrestrained horniness you felt from having deprived yourself of connection for so fucking long. It’s just one time, you tell yourself. Just once. It doesn’t have to be anything—it was nothing. 

Your phone slips from your hand to the floor, Eddie’s own fingers wrapping around your face, encompassing the sides and digging gently into the nape of your neck as he pulls you to him, but it’s you who kisses him, a small tinge of hesitancy as he glides his lips against your own—you couldn’t take it, skipping past every last bit of hesitancy you had and gliding your tongue over his bottom lip. 

Eddie is just as intense like this as he is normally, giving into his urges just as easily. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever had a genuine, casual hookup—not that he expected this to turn into that, but it’s freeing, liberating. 

His tongue dips into your own mouth, swiping against yours, you moan outwardly, shifting until you're more comfortably, thighs stretched over his own, straddling his waist. Your mouth never leaves his, speed increasing with fervor as you kiss him soundly, pulling away for a quick breath, the sheen of spit as you disconnected, a small string connecting your mouths. 

“Take your pants off.” He breathed hotly, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at you. You stand clumsily, reaching for the button of your jeans as you wriggle the denim down your hips, Eddie assists the aid, yanking roughly until they pooled at your ankles, he leans down swiftly, helping you out of them fully.

His hands slip behind the fatty expanse of your thigh, squeezing gently to guide you back over his lap, sitting directly against the cold denim of his own pants.

Eddie’s mouth connects with yours quickly, moving with the kiss as you lean in forcefully, rubbing the front of your chest against his own, the tight squeeze of your thighs reassuring your movements as you delved into his mouth, tongue hot and flat as it mingled with his, all saliva and muffled groans as he consumed you, the tinge of cigarette hitting your taste buds, mixed with the faint subtleness of beer. 

“We gonna regret this in the morning?” Eddie asks with a break to his tone, voice checked as he pulls away slightly.

You chase his lips, settling for the line of his jugular, mouthing at the skin, the faint beat of his pulse against your tongue.

“Depends,” You reply breathlessly, “Can you make me come?”

It was a feat not many could accomplish—and if you were letting things drag on this far, you weren’t going to let it be for nothing. 

“Please,” Eddie scoffs, noise dying out on a groan as you nipped at the skin, head dipping to the other side, the gentle trace of his fingers following up your back, “what type of men have you been fucking?”

“If I’m horny—I’ll take what I can get,” You admit, “I’m not picky”.

“And right now?” Eddie asks hopefully, “Are you taking what you can get?”

“We’ll see.” You remark, lifting your hips slightly as his hands dipped under the black lace of your underwear, fingers spreading through the pooled wetness, slick coating them.

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You nod dumbly, a faint smile pulling at your face. It’s like instant relief when he touches you, whatever earlier ache fading away in an instant at the heat of real fingers gliding through your cunt, something other than your own hand.

“Shouldn’t you take your rings off,” You think idly, feeling the cold metal against the inside of your thigh, “won’t they get messy?”

Eddie hums a noise of approval, pulling back to glance at your relaxed expression, jaw slack as his fingers rubbing through folds.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughs deeply, turning his palm down so his rings pressed fully against your cunt, the outline of the skull ring catching against your clit. You gasp slightly, hand tightening around his neck where it rested. He nods knowingly, “Don’t worry—it’s really hot.”

Shamefulness aside, drunken haze filling your body, you give in, hips rocking gently against the flat of his hand, palm resting over his dick where it’s confined in his jeans, through your underwear. It’s the perfect angle, hips canting down as the ridge of the metal catches against the soft mound of your clit. He’s pulled you so close, you can’t even think about moving away now. 

“Feels good, yeah?” Eddie asks, voice strained as his hand wraps around the length of your waist, your mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as your face rests against the side of his, buried in the curls of his hair, smelling like some expensive cologne and a odd mixture of leather, probably from the jacket thrown of his shoulders.

“Uh huh,” You respond deftly, whining softly as his hand flexes into a fist, pressing firmly against you, “—shit.”

“God—you’re soakin’ my fingers, sweetheart.” Eddie comments softly—you let the endearment slide, too caught up in your own mind to care. “Is it always like this?”

And lord does he hope it is. 

You shake your head slightly, “It’s the alcohol,” You admit shyly, “—can’t help it.”

Eddie laughs gently, a small shake of his chest as you keen forward, hips searching for more, hoping for more. 

“Can I—can you—“ You fumble over your words, but it isn’t hard to decipher what you’re asking, your free hand traveling between your bodies, over the hard tent in his jeans, dick twitching beneath your touch.

“Yeah—fuck, of course.” Eddie sighs, lifting you up slightly to reach for his buttons, flipping it open in one fluid movement, letting you pull at his jeans until they’re tucked under his ass, his underwear following suit.

If there was one thing you expected for certain, it was that Eddie had a nice dick—it wasn’t hard to find online, rather willingly or unwillingly, he wasn’t shy about it. It wasn’t up for you to judge, but it’s even more intimidating in person—everyone else is dull in comparison, you can’t even peel your eyes away.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Eddie remarks, catching your expression—it feels teasing, but not in the way that makes you want to retaliate, “—here, give me your hand.”

And you do, letting his larger palm guide yours over the head of cock, down his shaft, fingers grazing the soft stubble of his balls as he sighs, head resting back against your couch. 

His still slowly working hand flips, giving you a small amount of relief against your cunt, the pad of his middle finger pressing against your opening, fluttering around the tip. He doesn’t need to ask, he can see it in the look you give him, the subtle nod.

His finger dips in slowly, testing—it’s been far too long and it’s embarrassing how little of a touch can make you feel so good.

“I know,” He soothes, seeing the crease of your eyebrows, face pulled tight in anguish, “I know.”

Your hand moves slowly, dragging along the length of his shaft. He inhales deeply, the soft touch of your fingers sends a strong jolt to his dick, your thumb grazing over the tip gently. The friction can’t feel that good, despite how wrecked he already looks. You pull your hand away, licking a wet stripe up your palm—it’s something so visceral, hitting Eddie at his core.

Your hand returns just as quickly, and he moans out at the touch, wet and slick as your hand glides easier, up and down in firm, tight tugs—you didn’t know what he liked, but by the look on his face, you were doing just fine. 

His slips his finger in fully now, forgoing the teasing pace, impatient and wanting to feel you clench around him—you do, gasping at the sudden intrusion of his thick finger, ring pressed hard against your entrance, he curls the digit and you gasp out softly.

“Jesus,” He moans, his dick throbbing beneath your touch. You can’t help but focus on anything but him, the calculated glide and twist of your hand as you work against his shaft, thumb dragging over the tip occasionally, mixing saliva with the small amount of precum pooling at his slit, “—can’t—can’t focus with you touching me dick like that.” He admits with a strained chuckle. 

His fingers release you, sticky wetness gliding against your clit like magic, that familiar buzz filling through your body, pit of your stomach like burning fire as you cry out at the slightest touch.

“Fuck—it really has been a while, hasn’t it?” Eddie asks, voice soft and concerned. You nod weakly, mouth hung open slightly as your eyes fall shut. Your hand never stops moving against him, picking up speed with every quick circle of his finger against your clit, throbbing with need. 

“Look at me,” He urges, hand finding the back of your head, cradling the weight of it, “open your eyes.”

You do, slowly, met with the same weak but intense gaze. You’ve never looked into someone’s eyes like this, not in such an intimate situation—there was never connection, just pleasure and release. This felt…palpable, real. You shoved the concerning thoughts aside and let yourself live in the moment, his pace quickening with determination, mouth falling open with each second that passed.

“That’s it,” He encourages, voice faltering as you squeeze at his shaft, “—want you to look at me while you come, okay?”

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Say it.” He pleads.

“Yes,” You force out, “I—I will.”

“Good,” He breathes, grunting loudly as your pace overwhelms his senses, destroying his train of thought, “good girl.” He forces himself to say, voice shot.

His finger circles your sensitive clit with urgency and it hits you all at once, the sensation exploding from your core to your entire body, jerking at the high of your own orgasm, allowing Eddie to coach you through it, hand flattening against your cunt as your hips searched for more relief, satiating that lasting ache as he pressed firmly, giving you a chance to calm down, catch your breath.

“I got it,” He assures, swatting at your hand gently, “it’s okay.”

“No,” You grumble, forcing his hand away too, feeling steady enough to return to your previous pace, still breathless from your own orgasm, “stop acting like that.”

He grunts softly, his hips shifting on their own accord. He was close, it was so blatantly obvious. “Like you have to do it all yourself,” You snark at him, “just shut up and let me do it.”

Eddie laughs at your determination and clipped tone, bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration—but his amusement is short-lived, your hand tightening around his shaft with a feverish grip—it was too much, even for Eddie.

“Fuck,” He breathes out harshly, coming over his lap and your thighs in long spurts—the thick, sticky fluid coating your skin. You can’t even be bothered to care, his face so sweet when he does come, all scrunched up with focus, jaw clenched as he forces himself to say silent, much to your dismay, “—holy shit.”

You both take a moment to settle, catch your breath, before you’re reaching behind you and onto the table for a tissue, handing it to Eddie silently. He cleans you both up with no complaint, taking care to make sure nothing is left, before balling up the tissue and tossing it into the small trash can in the corner of the room. 

You shift off of him, feeling the sticky, cold fabric of your underwear between your thighs—you grimace and Eddie laughs at the emotion you emit. 

“Don’t say anything.” You tell him hotly, “We can act like this didn’t happen.”

Eddie holds his hands up defensively, “Like what happened?” He asks densely, shifting dramatically to shove himself back into his underwear, pulling his jeans back up his hips.

“Keep it that way.” You warn, voice holding no malice. 

You didn’t want this to become a thing. It was all a weak moment of need, of wanting to feel good, and that’s all it had to be. 

Eddie nods slowly, still lingering on the couch as you stand. 

He wants to ask something, you can see it on his face.

“What?” 

“Uh—I know this didn’t happen but—can I sleep here, on your couch or something?” Eddie asks, “I probably shouldn’t drive this late, not after that last glass you gave me.”

You nod kindly, disappearing down the hallway for a moment before returning with a pillow and blanket, switching him for your discarded jeans as you made the trade silently. 

“I need you gone in the morning,” You tell him, “I mean it.”

“No problem,” Eddie agrees with you, “it’ll be like I was never even here—promise.”

You really, really hope that was the case—too ashamed to even look at yourself now, still standing half naked in front of him, telling yourself this would never happen. 

But it did—and you hated yourself for wanting it. 

[x-loumunson-x]

mummy's boys - deleted scene from gladiator 2

[x-loumunson-x]

an arrow of might

—synopsis: an arrow struck through the crowd, past the display of people and aimed for your head. geta was furious.

pairing: Emperor geta / Empress! reader

—warnings: violence, talk of death, protective Geta

enjoy!

The Colosseum was alive with a frenzy of noise and movement, the sun beating down mercilessly on the sand-strewn arena. The clash of steel, the roars of beasts, and the cheers of thousands of spectators created a tempest of sensory overload. Amid this chaos, you were absorbed in the delicate task of caring for your young son, who was captivated by the spectacle unfolding before him.

Geta, seated in his position of authority, kept a vigilant eye on the arena, but his gaze frequently shifted towards you and the child. The violence below, while meant to display Rome’s might, was unsettling, and you could not shake the feeling of anxiety gnawing at your heart.

Without warning, the atmosphere shifted abruptly. The roar of the crowd intensified, shifting to panicked shouts and cries. Your pulse quickened as you saw an arrow slicing through the air, its trajectory erratic and alarming. Time seemed to slow as it arced dangerously towards you.

Instinctively, you pulled your son close, shielding him with your body. The arrow whizzed past, embedding itself with a sickening thud into the wooden frame of your chair. Your heart leapt to your throat as you glanced around in shock, the enormity of the danger sinking in.

Geta’s reaction was immediate and fierce. His eyes, usually calm and composed, now blazed with protective fury. He sprang into action, his authoritative presence cutting through the crowd with decisive urgency. Each powerful stride was driven by the primal need to protect his family. His voice, usually steady, now carried a note of raw command.

“Protect her!” Geta bellowed, his tone slicing through the chaos. His personal guards, trained for such moments, formed an impenetrable barrier around you and your son, their weapons drawn and their eyes scanning for any further threat.

The world seemed to constrict to a singular focus: Geta and the peril surrounding you. You held your son tightly, his small frame trembling against you. His wide, frightened eyes met yours, and the sight of his innocent fear only deepened your own.

Geta reached your side in a heartbeat, his face etched with a fierce blend of relief and anxiety. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice strained with concern as he knelt beside you, his hands carefully examining not only your face, but the space around you.

“I’m fine,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky but resolute. “But the arrow...”

Geta’s gaze followed the path of the arrow, his expression darkening with a protective rage. “Stay down,” he instructed firmly, though his voice was gentler, coaxed with honey and warmth to your scared being. He signaled one of his guards to remove the arrow while another scanned the stands, his eyes never leaving you.

The crowd’s murmur grew to a tense, expectant silence. The sudden intrusion of danger had shifted the mood dramatically. You looked up at Geta, whose normally stern features were now a mask of fierce protectiveness. He reached out to steady you, his touch both reassuring and urgent.

“I’m.. sorry,” Geta murmured, his voice breaking slightly as he looked into your eyes. “I should have been more careful.. to think I would bring you to such a spectacl—.”

“No,” you interrupted, voice trembling with a mix of fear and gratitude. “You protected us. You kept us safe.”

Geta’s gaze softened as he regarded his son, who clung to you with wide, terrified eyes. The arrow, now removed and inspected, was a stark reminder of how fragile safety could be. The danger had been real and immediate, and its impact was palpable.

With a resolute nod, Geta turned to his guards, issuing sharp commands to heighten security and ensure the safety of everyone present. His concern for you and your son was palpable, yet so was his unwavering commitment to maintaining order.

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Geta asked again, his eyes searching yours with a depth of concern that spoke volumes.

“Yes,” you assured him, though your voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m just shaken.”

He nodded, his face returning to its usual mask of authority, though his gaze remained tender as it rested on you. “We’ll leave as soon as the games conclude. Your safety is my foremost concern.”

The spectacle continued below, but its appeal had been tainted by the recent events. Geta’s protective presence was a comforting shield, a reminder of his dedication and love. As you held your son close, enveloped by Geta’s unwavering vigilance, a profound sense of relief and gratitude washed over you.

In the midst of chaos and danger, the strength and love of your family had proven to be the greatest shield of all.

[x-loumunson-x]

EXCUSE YOU SAME VIBE DIFFERENT PHOTO

[x-loumunson-x]