#stffs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jo-harrington · 3 months

Text

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Prologue: Crossover

Summary: Everyone wishes that they could have an Eddie Munson in their lives. In a strange turn of events, Eddie wishes that he could meet you, his favorite character from a cult classic 80's TV series. And he's about to get his wish.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Minor Angst, Fluff, Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events

Note: Hello and welcome. I'm very excited about getting to expand on this idea; it's going to be a wild ride. Please note as you head in, and as we get into further chapters...this fic is going to be a little mind-fucky and a little bit self aware. This is my love letter to and my criticism of fanfiction, but at the end of the day, we're still gonna get to fall in love with Eddie and get some kind of Happily Ever After. This is my guarantee.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

May 2022. Such a weird time.

A time of uncertainty, a time of change. A time where the world seemed like it had been torn apart and was slowly being knit back together again.

But then a switch was flipped. Something happened. An old season ended and a new one started and with that start came something new. Someone new. And suddenly, countless people began to yearn for this new person in their lives.

A new, old person. Eddie Munson.

Joy ignited. Creativity sparked. Millions of words written and read. Edits made. Art drawn. Merch bought.

So many voices crying “why isn’t he real. WHY ISN'T HE REAL.”

If there was a god, he would let them have their own Eddie Munson. And if there was a Satan, he would let them sell their souls for Eddie Munson.

That’s just not how the universe works.

At least…not this one...

October 1985. A different kind of place and time. Still weird.

But Eddie Munson was real.

Sometimes to his detriment.

And for the most part, it was alright.

He played guitar, laughed with friends, mocked bullies to protect the people like him that were considered less than. He'd overcome hardships of one sort or another for most of his life, he could keep at it for a little while longer.

It would be his day week month year sometime soon.

Wouldn't it?

But until then, he would bide his time. Hopefully, this year, he'd pass all of his classes and finally graduate. Get to flip that douchebag Higgins off and snatch up a long-awaited, and well-deserved diploma.

What made it all easier, what softened the blow...was you.

It was silly. He knew that. Ronnie used to tease him on Wednesday nights when he needed to run home because he had a "standing date with his girl."

"Your girl doesn't even know you're alive," she'd scoff as he bustled her into the van. "She isn't real."

No...no you weren't.

Why couldn't you be real.

See, for the past...however long Eddie had spent his late nights half-assing homework, planning campaigns for Hellfire, working on music, and watching a television show. His guilty pleasure, a show about the ups and downs and upside downs of living in a sleepy suburban town: Port Geneva.

A show where you were his favorite character.

And crush.

You weren't the main character--in fact, you were just the main character's quirky best friend--but you were a fan favorite, as much as he could tell. You'd only been in the background during the first season, but before long you were front and just-left-of-center. And last year, you'd even gotten a two-episode arc in the season finale as you turned the small town on its head by announcing, a month or two before graduation, that you were quitting school to follow your dream and become an artist.

And man...Eddie had been there.

He'd actually missed those episodes airing when...well, when everything happened with his father and the heist...and the house...and Paige.

He'd missed a lot of episodes that season. Missed seeing you come into your own as he tried and failed to come into his.

Thankfully Wayne--and Eddie wasn't a believer but whatever deity in charge needed to bless his Uncle Wayne--had the foresight to tape those episodes for him.

Those tapes would be cherished 'til the day he died, because they had truly gotten him through those tough days after everything.

He wished he had seen them when they aired, maybe...maybe he would have made some different decisions if he had.

Of course, Eddie had already loved you before then.

Since he had first laid eyes on you, actually.

He was sure that if you were real, you would be the one to understand him more than any of his friends. See the real him. In return, he would understand you, be there for you too.

He already had been. He'd seen you cry countless times, he'd laughed with you, celebrated your successes and mourned your failures. He'd been there for you when you crushed on that dickhead Mark, and then had your heart broken by the careless jerk.

And somewhere deep down inside of him, when he was sitting in that jail cell after he wasted his phone call on Paige and he felt the weight of the world bear down on his shoulders…he wished that you were real so he could have called you instead.

If you were real, Eddie's life would just be a little nicer.

He knew…he just knew.

Of course, in the mean time while he wished with every fiber of his being that you would walk into his life, he brought you to life in other ways. During mid-season and summer hiatuses, he would write you into his DND campaigns. His friends knew, they always called him out for it.

"Are you seriously making her an NPC man?" Dougie would scoff and throw a D20 across the table at him.

"No, what are you talking about?" he defended and threw the die right back at his friend. "This is Spiria the Bold."

"Uh huh," Jeff rolled his eyes. "Sure."

By his imagination and his pen, you became a powerful warrior, a sharp-tongued trickster, a seductive mage. You became anything he wanted you to be--most often with a companion and lover that mirrored him--and everything he knew, deep down, that you were.

And then the unthinkable happened.

September ‘84. He and Wayne were in the checkout line at K-mart. Cart stacked with new clothes and school supplies and groceries. When suddenly...there you were. Right in front of him.

Alright, not you. Per se. But your face, smiling alongside Samantha and Patrick and Scotty and Bill on the cover of the TV Guide.

On Set with the Stars of Port Geneva.

Wayne was the one to snatch the magazine from the rack and add it to their bounty, a knowing smile on his lips as he shook his head.

He knew Eddie needed a little pick-me-up.

Or a big one.

How could he have known this would be anything but one...

Eddie scoured over the pages once they got back to the trailer. He was hoping there would be a big enough picture of you that he could cut out and tape to the otherwise barren walls of his new room. And there was; you were leaning against the back of your signature pastel blue Volkswagen Beetle, arms across your chest, head tilted to the side with the signature scrunched smile you gave when you were embarrassed.

He adored you.

Before he took scissors to the page, he read the interview with your actress.

He wasn't too keen on her, even though she had your face.

The illusion that Rosemary Glass was really you had been shattered the first time he'd heard her voice on a radio interview; instead of your perfect and familiar middle-American speech...Rosemary's voice was accented.

Not to mention, she sounded pretentious.

Gross.

Still, he could look past that annoyance if he got some kind of insight to what the next season would bring for you.

Hopefully not a new love interest. His heart could only take so much.

...gives us a tour of the Patterson and Son's set, one that is forever enshrined as the setting of Patrick and Samantha's first kiss. "Oh I'm actually not fond of that scene," Rosemary confesses. "Yeah it's sweet, and the way I bring Sam in so Pat could confess his feelings but the...when I fell down? It was not scripted. And I was honestly shocked they kept that in. But fans seem to think she's clumsy now because of it. That I'm clumsy. When I just tripped over a wire. It's quite awful, really." We ask Rosemary to tell us what she'll miss most, now that the show is coming to an end...

Eddie went rigid as he read those words.

The show...coming to an end?

"What?" he exclaimed into his empty room. "No, no, no."

He carefully examined the article again, then turned back to the beginning of the feature, only to feel his heart stop in his chest.

The title of the feature was like crit hit.

The final killing blow to his already weak constitution.

One Last Summer in Port Geneva - On the Set of the Final Season

The final season was a sham.

Eddie savored every episode, though. Of course he would!

He would enjoy every last moment with you that he could get before he lost you forever. But...he hated it.

It was lazy writing--seriously what were they thinking--and a quick, cheap means to tie up all the loose ends they'd set up over the years. He could tell they tried to deliver as fulfilling a finale for the extensive cast of characters as they could. Still, he was sure he could have done better.

Samantha and Patrick got engaged after graduation. That was lame.

Bonnie finally quit the bakery to open her own cafe the next town over. Didn't anyone remember that she wanted to quit because she wanted to be a vet instead? That was the whole point of her! She didn't want to follow in her family's footsteps and she was doing just that.

And you? You took a backseat.

Instead of leaving town right after graduation--something that you had followed through reluctantly to make your parents happy even though you had just resolved to put your own happiness first for once--you stayed to help Pat plan his proposal.

Your big adventure, your big push for your dreams, were on hold again. You played second fiddle over and over until the final episode.

Eddie was grateful to have you for a little longer, but...once again annoyed that you were looked over--over and over, just like he was--when you had already proved that you were worthy of top billing.

Worthy of being the main character for once.

Still, at the beginning of the series finale, you packed your bags, cashed in your savings account, and drove out of town. The future was yours, just like it was always meant to be.

And Eddie cried.

The whole time tears streamed down his face as you said your own watery goodbyes. He might have even waved as you stuck your hand out the windshield to say goodbye to your friends as your car idled at the last stop sign. You blew a kiss to everything you knew and loved then started on your way into the unknown, car getting smaller in the distance right before the commercial break.

He held his breath for the final scene: a walk through the house where it all started and then Sam smiled her signature hopeful smile as she shut the door on the audience.

The screen faded to black for one final time and he exhaled.

"It's over," he muttered in slight disbelief, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself.

Port Geneva was over, and you were gone for good.

It was a strange feeling.

Heartbreak, mourning, disappointment? He couldn't really know for sure. Empty was the best way to describe it; the lack of feeling. It was infuriating. Port Geneva was just a television show, he attempted to rationalize for the nth time since he started watching. You were just a character on a tv show; how could you mourn for someone and something that wasn't even real?

You hadn't actually died. He could still see glimpses of you if he wanted, whenever Rosemary Glass' next movie came out or something.

But that wasn't you.

You were gone, for all intents and purposes, and it was a blow that hit Eddie hard.

How could he go on without you?

Devastated, he got high that night after he stewed on his grief. He day-dreamed and monologued to an empty trailer about a universe where the two of you were together, where your travels took you to Hawkins, of all places, and you fell in love with him, just like you were supposed to.

If the walls could talk, they would have a fantastic tale to tell. One with heroes and misunderstandings and love at first sight. One with a horrible, unseen foe and many pitfalls and dangers that exceeded anyone's wildest imaginations. One with a magic door that led to the happily ever that was beyond well-deserved.

Grief did wonderful and terrible things, after all.

He woke up for school the next morning with cotton mouth and a vague outline of a story that did just that: brought you to Hawkins to fall in love with him and all of the other things that seemed like nonsense once he was in a more right-minded state.

The only problem was that it was all in his English notebook. And he didn't need anyone finding that.

"Fuck," he groaned and ripped the page out. He shoved it into his bedside drawer, where it would be doomed to a crumpled and forgotten future.

Or until he needed a condom.

Which, considering how everyone had doubled down on their disgust of him, wouldn't be any time soon.

But there you stayed.

Put away, like old obsessions and childish things, to be ignored and forgotten.

At least for a little while.

Eddie tried.

He did.

He kept you and Port Geneva out of sight and mind as much as humanly possible. It was the most effort he had really put to anything tangible in the past year.

The series ended at a weird time--during the middle of the season--and some investigative journalism show took over its time slot. Barbara Walters couldn't hold a candle to you, so it wasn't difficult for him to keep himself rooted in reality on the nights where he typically indulged in his silly fantasies.

The daydreams that he had were limited to lyrics for Corroded Coffin originals and ideas for Hellfire, and nights were spent alone in the darkness of the living room, with his reflection in the television set to keep him company as he tried his best to do homework that he'd already done before.

Before he realized, though, the school year was coming to a close and he was--big shocker--on the brink of failure. It wasn't until Higgins called him into his office, again, that you made your violent resurgence into his life.

There was a tentative truce between Higgins and Eddie for a while.

Civility was a strange thing for both of them. They actively avoided one another, save for a snide jab here and there, and Eddie tried to stay out of the Principal's Office as much as he could.

That is, until Higgins was forced to tell Eddie that he needed to repeat his repeat senior year.

"Don't act like I want this at all," he sneered at Eddie who tripped over a reaction. "I'd rather have you out of these halls for good. You drop out one year, then you re-enroll and you fail another. Try to make the most of it this time Munson; I don't want to have this talk again."

Eddie grumbled the whole drive back to the trailer, and he fell onto the sofa with his head in his hands once he got in.

"Which one of the fates wrote this stupid plot for me now, as if last year wasn't enough. You can't make this stuff up sometimes."

He laid there, wallowing in his misery for hours, days, years, until it got dark enough for headlights outside to be noticeable as they shined through the window. There was a glint of a reflection that caught his eye and had him turn his head.

"TV," he sighed and reached out as though he could touch the set and stacks of tapes neatly piled below. “The cause-of and solution-to all of life’s problems.”

He contemplated his life for a few more minutes.

He could make the most of the final few weeks of the school year. He could set himself up as a willing and reliable pupil for these last few assignments and tests, even though they wouldn't mean very much.

He could do all of these things so that when he walked into the halls of Hawkins High in the fall, on his absolute last first day of school--whatever deity or powers-that-be willing, because how "getting the hell outta dodge or he would die here" turned into "two extra years in that shit hole" he could only attribute to cosmic intervention--the faculty would already know he would try his best this time.

It would show them he was serious about graduating and that he would succeed despite all odds against him. Finally.

He could do this.

Or...

He could put in one of the tapes from the stack and scrounge for loose bills left over from his last few transactions and order a pizza. Pretend like he didn't exist for a little while.

And given the choice?

Eddie Munson chose the latter.

And he continued to choose the latter throughout the summer and even into the fall.

Nights that he didn't already have plans were spent in front of the television.

They were cherished nights with you.

Aside from his VHS recordings, he found a channel that showed reruns of Port Geneva after 10pm. Two hours of small town shenanigans that might very well be found just outside of his own door--if he only went and looked--with you just there, making your appearance every so often and catching his eye.

Homework was sometimes left halfway done on the coffee table until he needed to switch out a tape, or change the channel, and he spent more time filling his heart than enriching his mind, so to speak; he knew all of this school stuff already anyways.

Third times a charm and all right?

He talked to the screen more often than not, tried to warn you against one disappointment or another. Sometimes, if he was watching one of his tapes, he'd pause right on your face and just talk to you. Mundane things, usually, like Ronnie's last phone call home or some album that got released and a song he thought you might like.

Other nights, like tonight, he got vulnerable. Moments where life seemed a little extra trying, and he'd confess his feelings to your image.

Knelt on the floor in front of the coffee table, warm light bathed his face promising comfort as he spoke, and the din of static emitted from the television set, akin to an angel's voice...beyond understanding of humans.

He'd never been one for church, but this kind of confessional was sacred enough.

An eternal bond, just you and him.

He stopped his ramblings at that thought.

It was a strange moment of clarity.

Where had that come from?

"I..." Eddie looked down at himself, a foot away from the television set, remote clenched in his hand. Then he looked at you, soul-filled eyes just beyond the glass, not looking at him, only...through him, just past him. "What am I doing?"

What was he doing? He was...he wasn't a kid anymore who could hide in his dreams; well, honestly he was always going to do that, but this was different.

One minute he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders as he told you about his troubles, and the next it was all back, heavier than ever, as he realized how silly this all was.

And here he was, wasting his life knelt at your altar.

It wasn't holy. It was pathetic.

You'd never answer; you weren't real.

"Why?" he asked aloud, jaw clenched. He gripped the remote tightly. "What did I do to not have...someone? Huh? What have I ever done to be alone? That I have to rely on a fucking television character to feel understood. And now I'm losing my mind talking to myself, talking to you, at midnight every night. Why am I here wishing that you're real? Why couldn't you just...be...real?"

If there was a God, he would let Eddie Munson have you. If there was a Satan, he would let Eddie sell his soul for you.

And that's how he knew neither of them existed: you didn't exist either.

Eddie hit the eject button on the VCR and was about to shut everything so he could go to bed, when there was a crash outside.

Crashes in Forest Hills weren't abnormal--someone backing into trash cans, losing traction on the icy roads in the winter, and the one time Mrs. Dawson kicked her husband out and threw all of his things out the window--but it was something he'd gotten used to since he came to live with Wayne.

This crash, however, started a ruckus.

Someone was yelling and that stupid dog across the way started barking.

Eddie was a lot of things...but a dramatic gossip was definitely high on the list.

What else was there to do in the Midwest?

He grabbed his cigarettes from the bowl full of junk on the coffee table and stepped outside, fully intent on plopping down on the old couch on the porch to smoke and watch the scene unfold.

A car crashed into the telephone pole; didn't look like there was much damage but it had run through some trashcans and might have clipped the drivers side mirror off of Mrs. Mayfield's car. The same Mrs. Mayfield who was on her own porch being held back by Max as she yelled.

"Are you kidding me? It's fucking midnight!"

"Mom! Stop!"

"The car, Max!"

Maybe there'd be a fight.

He barely got his cigarette lit when he noticed--really noticed--the offending car: a powder blue Volkswagen Beetle.

He blinked several times and then rubbed his eyes, thinking it might have just been a trick of the light or something.

Or it was a coincidence.

Or a dream.

Maybe he'd had a heart attack and died in front of his television or something?

Plenty of people drove Volkswagen Beetles. He was pretty sure he'd even heard Nancy Wheeler asking her parents for one as a graduation present.

But with the same license plate number?

The same one from the show, the same one that was in the TV Guide all those months ago. The same one on the makeshift poster he had taped on the wall next to his bed, that he'd run his fingers over to "kiss" you goodbye countless times, just like he did to his guitar.

"It's just dark," he tried to convince himself, "and I'm tired, and...and..."

It was a coincidence. It was a dream.

He repeated the mantra over and over in his head like a lifeline.

It was another fan like him who just used fantasy to make their life a little better. That's all he was trying to do too, right? He could understand; hell, if this was a new neighbor, maybe he'd be able to chat with them about the show. Wouldn't that be something?

Eddie was so distracted making up endless excuses for himself that he didn't notice Mrs. Mayfield as she threw her hands up in the air with an exaggerated "I'm calling the police. He didn't hear Max holler at her mom to calm down, or see the tail lights of the Beetle turn off either.

It wasn't until the driver's side door swung open and a sneaker-covered foot crunched against the gravel that he forgot all the excuses he was conjuring.

And his heart stopped as the driver got out of the car and stood in the faint glow of the streetlight.

Because that driver was you.

Next Chapter: Alternate Universe

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

#Eddie munson x reader #stranger than (fan)fiction #stff #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #stranger things fic #stranger things Eddie munson #Eddie munson #stff updates

559 notes · View notes

idrawgaystffs · 8 months

Text

Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System says [}HELLO{]

#my art stff #portal 2 #Portal GLaDOS #portal #portal fanart #jeez it’s been two hours #Lighting is all over the place and I made her too clean but it’s fine she’s pretty :)#colorssss #my art

570 notes · View notes

slightly-gay-pogohammer · 6 months

Text

aaaaaaand here's some typeswaps i was particularly inspired for!! thank you so much!!!

#type swap #pokemon #pokemon typeswap #houndour #houndoom #swablu #altaria #gegnar #mimikyu #my drawing #colored stff

258 notes · View notes

angelpuns · 7 months

Text

Oh oh pronouns update ( not changing just talking bout how I am feeling)

I like them lots :) I feel like a little space guy and that's good cause I like space :)

I wasn't sure just cause of gender binary stuff but gender isn't real so :) I win actually

#thats #urgh im so bad wkth words rn #but thats how to describe it #yummy good space feeling #idk how to explain the complications of the binary stff with me #like #i hate they/them pronpuns for nyself #makes me feel lile no one will ever see me as a mam #but stars/star is different #it feels good #and not like they/them at all #boy star :)#my chest hurts cant thunk good

61 notes · View notes

licorishh · 4 months

Text

OH YEAH ALSO finally watched the FNAF movie with the coolest person on Earth, 11/10 movie, Mike looked ready to curl up into a fetal position on the floor and burst into tears at all moments, he is so me, would watch again

#fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt #anyway. i loved the end scene where the four of them do the thing with afton #i was also extremely glad the springlock scene was very palatable and not gory or overly vivid because i can't and won't watch that stff #when i tell you i HOLLERED when cory showed up. almost cried. my BOY #cory is the king of youtube fr fr. nobody does it like him #he's on a hiatus again but we the samurai will patiently wait for the shogun's return #i am getting off-topic. matpat's nametag said “ness” which was extremely funny #afton was in literally two maybe three scenes tops which i was not expecting but he stole the show ofc. very spazzy. dig it #vanessa was so mysterious??#i kinda loved her and mike's dynamic though. so very silly the pair of them (running from real-life manifestations of fictious characters)#I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW FOXY WAS IN THE MOVIE. THAT MADE ME SO HAPPY #foxy's always been my favorite. my boy. he can have a little murder. as a treat #VANESSA HAD A GUN!! VERY COOL AND GOOD #she barely even shot afton though. honeybun literally had the upper hand by a mile #that man did not have a long-range weapon. he was entirely at her mercy. if she'd shot him all the animatronics would've instantly helped #still like her for some reason though. she permanently has the default sim expression etched on her face #also i don't know if y'all saw but in the credits it says foxy's humming was my boy kellen goff!!#mike was so STRESSED and so DISTRACTED the ENTIRE TIME i see so much of myself in him #can we also agree josh hutcherson looks great with a goatee like that is eons ahead of the peeta look (never read/watched himger gims ok)

26 notes · View notes

minceraftfan · 15 days

Text

Makin skins again

Undertale!

#my art stff #WiP #minecraft skin #minecraft #undertale #ut frisk #frisk undertale #gif #my art

8 notes · View notes

spoonbenders · 7 days

Text

translation error

#tk's art tag #oxide (OC)#OCs #deltaverse #theres wingdings in this u can translate them if u want but its just edgy stff #this wont be th lsat time i draw him referencing smthn like this. grins.

8 notes · View notes

kristalpepsi · 2 years

Photo

siblings,

#Deltarune #undertale #kris dreemurr #chara dreemurr #fictive #fictives #vent art #chara #myself #the bottle #Blossom caldarone #my art #the bottle blossom caldarone #i dnt hav mch 2 add ^_^ feel free 2 rb!#i jst heard thise sng n it hit rlly hrd.. esp w thngs tht hppn in our sys btween me n Chara ;_;;… orz #also [spongebob WAIT!! pose] Chara uses they/thm i jst wrte the lyrics word-per-word OK‚‚‚‚‚‚‚#altrntv title: I’m sure you’ve got things to say #also thise ddnt rlly hppn inspce.. its mor like.. smth i wnna tll thm ovr n ovr‚ n hop tht thy undrstnd it truly #ive tld thm stff lke thise b im nt sre if theyv rlly tkn it in‚ yk?

154 notes · View notes

nightyelean · 10 months

Text

celestial idiots thng teehe

youtube

i enjoy

#celestial idiots #yup #just wanted to share it here so that u guys will act like i am active #/j #SORRY😭 i swear i wll draw #and write #and some other stff #Youtube

24 notes · View notes

mysicklove · 10 months

Note

pet play , sensory deprivation and overstimulation are definitely up there i think lol

flirty darling ♡︎

Pet Play: 10/10 AHHHHH. not even that extreme but oh my god putting bunny/puppy/kitty ears on subs literally makes me freak out. and COLLARINGGGGGG. idk what's better their name on the tag, or mine. theirs would be cute bc it really symbolizes that they are just a pet, but mine would indulgent cause i claim ownership of them (im possessive lol). maybe smthing like "pretty puppy/bunny/kitty" on the front. passing out

Sensory Deprivation: 7/10 how fun. kinda like it bc it makes me feel powerful, and completely in control lol. strangely (idk is this strange?) i am obsess with the idea of a sub having to completely depend on me to get off. eyes covered, noise proof headphones, and chained up, while slowly dragging a feather over their chest? the way they would squirm is ADORABLE

Overstimulation: 10/10 YES YES YES YES but i think thats bc i like seeing subs cry and wither. and if they beg you to stop it, complaining thats sensitive?? i have to continue, im sorry that literally spurs me on

#💌 - love letters #flirty darling #it strange saying these things #cause i have never talked about it #my friends and i dont really talk about kinks #so this is really fun #i hope people send in more stff

18 notes · View notes

jo-harrington · 2 months

Text

The Boy Is Mine (Jo's Edition)

Summary: A romantic night in at the trailer. And a first date.

Word Count: 1.7k

Themes: First Date, Fluff, First Kiss, Teasing, Banter, Geekery

Notes: My submission for @carolmunson's The Boy Is Mine Writing Excercise. This was a fun one, and I know the idea was for it not to be an AU...I guess technically it isn't (although I definitely thought of my STFF Eddie who...well...it's fanfiction *wink* especially since we're not gonna see their first date in the story). Thank you for putting together a fun game Carol.

Tagging a few friends who I think would have some great additions to this prompt: @eddiemunsonbignaturals @undead-supernova @storiesbyrhi

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Pizza? Delivered.

Twinkies? Vanilla frosting. Not Banana.

Trailer? Tidied.

Sheets? Changed.

There was a knock at the door and Eddie took a breath and held it as he stared at his bed.

"You're not gonna end up in here," he muttered to himself.

Ok but maybe you would. He could be hopeful. Maybe a kiss would lead to something else.

"No idiot. It's just a study date."

There was another knock and he turned on his heel and rushed for the door.

He paused at the last second--glanced around, ran his hands over the front of his t-shirt, and put the most casual smile on his face--before he opened the door.

And then there you were.

A backpack slung over your shoulder, 6-pack of Dr. Pepper hanging from your fingers, looking...hot effortlessly gorgeous...or at least he thought so.

"Hey," you greeted. "Sorry if I'm late."

"No," he shook his head quickly and shifted to the side to let you pass into the trailer. "Right on time sweetheart. Hope you like pepperoni."

Of course you did. It was your favorite.

"It's my favorite."

Eddie clenched his fist in victory as he shut the door and then stood back and watched indulgently as you took in the wonders of the place he called home. He committed it all to memory; the way your eyes lingered on Wayne's collection of mugs and hats from over the years, or your nose scrunched up cutely at the sight of family pictures on a shelf--

Please god, don't see the picture of him missing his two front teeth.

--or the way it scrunched further, more in annoyance than fondness, and your eyebrow quirked at the stack of video tapes beside the television.

Shit.

"Uh," he cleared his throat and swooped in, arm hovering around your shoulders as he led you to the couch where the pizza and his history homework waited. His hand drifted to yours so he could grab the sodas. "Lemme put this in the fridge so it gets cold. I have Mountain Dew...or beer, if you want one."

"Mountain Dew's fine."

"As you wish," he bowed and you giggled. He cursed himself as he headed to the kitchen.

What a fucking nerd--

"So you read the Princess Bride?" you called out to him.

"Y-yes."

"It's one of my favorite books! A story within a story and all of that. And it can be critical of itself. It's perfect!"

Eddie's heart soared.

The two of you went back and forth for a few minutes discussing the merits of the book and the way it provided so much suspense and adventure and escapism; something it seemed, and Eddie wasn't surprised to find, you both had needed throughout your relatively-young lives.

Before long, he shuffled out of the kitchen with two cans and two solo cups to find you comfortably settled on the couch with your legs criss-crossed and a throw pillow settled in your lap. You looked right at home, at ease with him, and he had to say...he liked that sight quite a bit.

"I ran out of like, nice cups," he changed the subject so he wouldn't focus too much on how much he enjoyed the sight. "Hope this is okay."

"Ok, well what are the nice cups?" you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. "Because I see plenty of nice cups right in front of us, Mister."

You gestured at the shelves lined with mugs and Eddie couldn't help but roll his eyes at you.

"Those aren't nice cups Madam," he scoffed. "Those are family heirlooms. The nice cups are the Star Wars: Return of the Jedi glasses I got from Burger King. Obviously."

"Well excuse me," you straightened in your seat and rocked your shoulders back and forth haughtily. "The fine crystal."

"And don't you forget it."

"And here you are, presenting me with...plastic. Like a peasant."

"If you don't stop, we're gonna have a problem."

He held out the red solo cup filled with fluorescent green liquid and you snatched it from him with a quick flash of your tongue.

Then the two of you got right down to business: homework.

You pulled a small notebook from your backpack and then asked to see his notes from class so you could help him get a better idea of what was important for an upcoming quiz that he'd mentioned the day prior. He was ashamed to say he wasn't the best notetaker, but you pivoted easily as you flipped through a few pages and went from sparse notes about Civics and the US Constitution to long drawn out paragraphs about the Riders of Rohan and graphic descriptions of the Meduseld.

"Don't be like that," you scolded him. "That's not even true. What is this?"

"This?" He waved dismissively. "It's just...notes for Hellfire. Ahem...Hellfire Club...my Dungeons and Dragons club at school."

"Oh yeah?"

"Planning a one-shot for my buddy Jeff's birthday in a world where Theodred doesn't die and goes on to become...well...it's just nerd stuff."

Eddie sniffed and thought back to the many times that he'd been cut short trying to explain his ideas to others; even Ronnie got on his case when he got too into it.

How many times had she heard him get into an argument with himself over the benefits of Mithril vs. Adamantium?

"Excuse me," you looked at him expectantly, breaking through his thoughts. "Nerd stuff?"

"Yeah," he shrugged and let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Nerd stuff. We're supposed to be focusing on History."

"Ok, yes but..." you reached out and poked him in the the dimple in his cheek. "You didn't say in a 'we should just focus on history instead' way. You said it in a 'you don't want to hear about this' way."

"Well do you? Do you actually like that?""

"Did I not just tell you that Inigo Montoya is the real hero of Princess Bride and not Westley or Buttercup not five minutes ago?"

Eddie stared at you like a deer in the headlights.

Ok. You got him there.

But...but...God...old habits died hard.

How many times had people not given him the time of day when it came to silly little stories and make believe worlds? How many times had the people closest to him not even taken the time to listen?

He'd already been sold on the fact that you weren't just a dream; how could you be real and actually be his dream girl too?

God, it was too good to be true.

Eddie swallowed hard and centered himself back in reality. He was gonna have to salvage this moment before he made a real fool out of himself and asked you to marry him or something. That would be a little too strong for a first date...and a study date, at that.

He grumbled something under his breath.

"'Scuse me? What was that?" you leaned in closer to him.

"It was 10 minutes ago," he spoke up, staring at you matter-of-factly, a fiery challenge in his eyes to hide the fact that he was actively falling for you. "Actually."

You threw your head back in a laugh and slapped the back of your hand against his shoulder.

"You shithead," you cackled. "Ok fine. 10 minutes. Now. How about we actually study for 10 more minutes, and then you can tell me about this...Dungeons and Dragons while we eat ok?"

He happily agreed.

Towards the end of the night, pizza and sodas had been devoured, homework demolished, and Eddie actually felt like he had a shot at getting a decent grade on his next History quiz.

"Alright," he sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. "I think we're done here. A success if I do say so myself. I guess I'll keep you around."

"Keep me?" you quirked an eyebrow at him. "Uh huh, more like, will you please come back and help me study again?"

"Are..." Eddie scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"You volunteered!"

"I volunteered for one study date."

"What, so a second one is out of the question?" he asked as he leaned forward and edged into your space.

"Well," you began with an expression that oozed contemplation in an exaggerated fashion. God, you were almost as dramatic as he was.

You were perfect.

"Well, if you're asking me for a second date, Edward? Then the answer is yes."

He clapped his hands together and laughed.

"Haha, see I knew that you couldn't get enough of--"

"But," you stopped him, and he stared, open-mouthed with words half-falling from his lips. "If you're asking me to come back to study? Well, then the second session is gonna cost you."

And he fell for it for a second. Just a split second. He thought that yeah it made sense if he wanted your help, he was gonna have to give something in return.

But then he saw the sly little smile that you were fighting to keep off your lips, saw the adorable little scrunch in your nose that he'd memorized earlier in the night, and the way your fingers fiddled on the couch cushion, as you slowly inched closer to him.

And he understood.

Oh...

"Oh yeah?" He narrowed his eyes at you in faux-suspicion. "Alright...name your price."

"It's not gonna be cheap," you insisted.

"I can pay anything."

"You sure about that?"

"Oh," he leaned closer to you now, volume and timber getting lower the closer he got. "I'm absolutely sure sweetheart."

You bit your lip slyly.

"I think fair market price...is a kiss."

"Just one?" he teased, lips absolutely within smooching distance from yours now.

"Maybe two."

You bit your lip to keep your smile at bay and Eddie had to stop himself from kissing you right then and there.

"Two?! Well," he sighed. "You drive a hard bargain. And who am I to pass up such a once-in-a-lifetime deal?"

"Just a nerd," you whispered against his lips.

"Just a nerd," he repeated, and then slotted his lips right against yours, ending your perfect first date with the perfect first kiss.

Just like on TV.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #prompt game #the boy is mine #stff updates #stranger than (fan)fiction #carol <3

233 notes · View notes

idrawgaystffs · 1 month

Text

Made some pixel art based off of @miundy-again ’s beautiful scene of these two in the rain! (Below)

{The sketch and the WiP under the cut}

They holdin hands :]

https://www.tumblr.com/miundy-again/728064131795697664/rainy-coloured-sketch

^^ The link to Miundy’s art again just in case

#my art stff #undertale #undertale frisk #ut frisk #undertale chara #ut chara #charisk #undertale fanart #pixel art #the left version uses the in game palettes and a few extra colors #the right one is colorshifted and brightness adjusted to get it closer to the moody colors in miundy’s version :)#my art

145 notes · View notes

auteurdelabre · 5 months

Text

Something to Fight For (series) Part 16

I'm sorry I can't go to the rehearsal this weekend," Paul tells you Monday morning at the two of you prepare for work. "Wish I didn't have to go to this stupid work mixer."

"It's no problem," you assure him through bites of omelette. "Just enjoy and get to know the people you'll be working with."

Paul takes a deep swig of grapefruit juice, watching you over the glass. You're distant, your eyes unfocused.

"Then again I don't even know if I should be going to the fucking wedding," Paul says with a shake of his head. "You saw her face when I told her we were engaged."

Your unfocused look is gone, replaced with concern.

"Paul. That's not fair," you explain patiently. "She was just surprised. Everyone was."

Including you. The agreement was not to share the engagement with everyone until after the wedding. You'd wanted to tell Maria at most, in private.

But Paul had been so excited, he explained later that day when a trip to the ER confirmed that he had a bruised jaw. So overjoyed to share his love with the people you cared about most.

"She wasn't surprised," Paul replies glumly across the table from you. "She was pissed off."

"Why would she be pissed off, Paul?" You falter, your eyes avoiding his because you know exactly why Maria is upset. The same reason you've been staying at Paul's place since the party and Joel’s punch.

"Because she doesn't like me," Paul answers flatly. "Hasn't really liked me since we got back together."

"I think she's just gonna miss me living with her," you say quickly not wanting to get into things. "Emotions are just running high with the wedding coming up."

Paul's face shows that he doesn't believe you, but he lets it go. His handsome face is slipping into a smile, his hand coming to rest over yours. Your hand twitches under his heavy grip.

"Well hopefully she gets over it. She and Tommy are always welcome to come visit us in Leander."

///

Monday morning, after the most miserable Sunday in recent existence, Joel calls you. He knows you won't answer if you know it's him so he calls your work, his fingers tight around the landline as it rings.

"Austin Rescue."

Joel is shocked when you pick up your phone after the first ring. It's still early in the day. At the sound of your voice he feels his eyes shuttering.

"Hey."

There’s a soft inhale followed by the sound of you sucking your teeth. You're irritated he called you at work where you can't see who calls you.

"What do you want, Joel? I'm busy."

"Listen," Joel begins, his voice lodged in his sternum. "I need t- I wanna apologize for what happened on Saturday."

"I really don't wanna hear your excuses," you interrupt lowly. "If it weren't for Sarah I would have hung up the second I heard your voice."

Joel just stares into middle distance, his large eyes glittering.

"I made a promise to always be there for Sarah and I intend on keeping it," you explain in a tight voice. "So I'll talk to her on the phone anytime. Maybe you can bring her to a park and I can meet her there. Or if you're comfortable with it maybe I could take her to the arcade or somewhere she'd like."

It takes everything in Joel to stay focused, to swallow the thick knot in his throat, his eyes shut.

"So, you're just never gonna come to my place again?"

He wishes that didn't sound so needy, so devastated.

"Paul isn't comfortable with me in your house."

This changes something in Joel's disposition. His back goes straight and his eyes narrow. His grip on the phone tightens.

"What? Why?"

"He says you're violent," you reply evenly. "And after you punched him in the face for no reason at Sarah's party I'm inclined to agree."

Joel's blinking at that because it's as if you've punched him across the jaw. Then all at once the wounded look is gone from his eyes, replaced with a hard shell.

"You know why I punched Paul?" Joel rasps. "Because he was thanking me for letting you spend time with Sarah. He thanked me for it because he said that now you'd be more open to getting knocked up."

He hears nothing but silence on the other end of the phone.

"So are you?" Joel demands even though he knows it's not his place. "You gonna ride my thigh and come for me and then go marry Paul? Have his kids?"

More silence. Only the faraway sounds of someone typing and muted barking from outside of what he assumes is your office window.

"You tell Paul yet by the way?" Joel asks you, his voice the sharpened edge of a steel blade. "You tell him how wet you were for me in my kitchen?"

He hears the catch in your throat, the shameful way you swallow. He doesn't need to see you to know that you're blushing, your eyes on the ground.

"No."

"Right," Joel says with a scoff. He can hear the recrimination; almost feel your temper rising over the phone.

"Oh and I'm supposed to believe that you told Tess?"

"I told her we kissed before Sarah's party."

You're shocked by this, so shocked you must momentarily forget to be angry at Joel because your voice has lost its chilly edge.

"She... What did she say?"

"Doesn't matter," Joel replies, looking grimly down at his feet. "None of it fucking matters."

Before he can continue Sarah appears around the corner, holding Toad. She looks up at her father to see his mouth set in an angry line.

"Daddy what's wrong?"

"Nothing babygirl," Joel says, clearing his throat. "Just talking to a friend."

"Is that Sarah?" You ask over the line and Joel can actually hear you soften. "Can I talk to her?"

Joel looks to Sarah staring up at him and tells her it's you. She smiles widely and he helps her into the chair next to him before handing her the phone. She takes it, not used to people calling for her so this feels momentous.

"Hello?"

"Hi bug," you say warmly when you hear her little voice come through the line. Joel can hear you faintly from where he sits and hearing the sweet nickname makes him blink rapidly. "Any chance you wanna go for ice cream this week?"

Sarah's large hazel eyes are stuck on her dad, looking at him warily even as she speaks to you.

"Can daddy come?"

Joel's face drops a fraction at Sarah's request, bracing himself. He hears you stutter on the other line.

"I uh, thought maybe we could just do a girls day," you say, trying to sound jovial. “Just you and me.”

Sarah had smiled at the first sound of your voice on the phone and she is normally so excited, so eager to spend time with you. But right now she can't stop looking at her dad who tries to smile at her but only manages to crack a weak curl of his mouth.

"Go on, babygirl. You can say yes."

Large hazel eyes scan his face slowly before Sarah shakes her head.

"No, thank you."

You're both taken aback by the clarity in her young voice. You can hear her place the phone down on the kitchen table before Joel brings her into his arms, giving her a quizzical look.

"Since when don't you want ice cream?"

Sarah toys with one of the buttons on her father's shirt. She shrugs non committal.

"She wants to see you, Sarah, your favorite person."

Sarah shakes her head, unseen by you.

"You're my favorite person, daddy."

Joel feels his chest tighten at that and he gives her a watery smile, his large hand dwarfing her cheek as he cups it.

"And you're mine, babygirl."

He presses a kiss to her forehead. Sarah looks at the phone sitting there on the table for a moment and Joel's thinks she's going to say something else to you but she only looks back to him.

"Daddy I wanna go watch Beauty and the Beast."

A still shocked Joel lowers Sarah to the ground so she can scamper off to the DVD collection. Joel watches after her a moment before picking up the phone in confusion.

"I don't know what happened," Joel starts. "She uh-"

"It's okay," you say with a tremble in your voice that he can hear over the line. "It's fine. Just tell her that I love her."

The phone goes dead.

///

Things feel bad.

Sarah sits watching Chip dancing with Belle but Sarah isn't focused on that. Her mind is still back in the kitchen with Daddy.

She came into the kitchen moments ago to see her big strong father collapsed in a chair, his head in one hand, the other pressing the phone tightly to his ear.

Daddy's eyes are so sad today. He doesn't smile right when he looks at Sarah and hands her the phone. His voice sounds funny when he urges her to go for ice cream.

And even though Sarah wants to go with you for ice cream, she doesn't want her daddy here at home alone.

She hears her daddy talking to you in the other room, his voice a low murmur before he hangs up.

She hopes he won't call miss Tess for a playdate. Sarah is sick of Daniel and her. Sick of her too-tight hugs and teeth-baring smiles. Sick of Tess' whispers about how she can't wait to take Sarah to the mall and spend some one on one time together. (No thanks).

Sarah doesn't want to go with Tess anywhere. She just wants you here.

Sarah really doesn't like it when Tess asks about you. When were you last here? Do you and Daddy spend a lot of time together? Does daddy talk about you a lot?

Sarah never answers Tess. It feels like a trick. It feels weird that she asks that at all.

Sarah thinks of the photo under her pillow. The one she'd asked Auntie Maria to print out for her. The one she has been looking at and talking to each night since her birthday.

When will the three of you be together again? She's tired of waiting.

Sarah's attention is drawn back to the dancing cutlery on the screen and these thoughts fade, leaving her for now.

///

You leave work that day and you need to speak to someone. The gentle rejection of Sarah is playing on your mind. The information Joel shared with you about Paul.

It's all too much.

You need to talk to someone. Maria and Tommy are busy with wedding stuff. Your mom has her hands full and Alex is just a coworker. It's this which has you stumbling up the stairs of your neighbors house, ringing the doorbell with a desperate intensity.

Please be home. Please be-

Bill opens the door, his brows tight in the middle. He's dressed in a threadbare t-shirt with holes around the collar.

"What?'

"Can I talk to Frank?"

"He's at a gallery opening," Bill replies. You think he's going to tell you off for bothering him during his time of solitude but then he tilts his head to better peer into your face. "You been crying?"

No point in lying. "A little."

"Better come inside, then."

You watch Bill turn on his heel for the kitchen, pausing when you don't immediately follow. His face shows extreme irritation at you hanging back, unsure.

"You're letting bugs in. Come in and close the fucking door."

Bill and Frank's house always smells like how you'd imagine the inside of a small French bakery to smell. Cinnamon and coffee some days, peppermint or bread others. Today as you follow Bill inside towards the kitchen it smells of sweet confection, like icing sugar and vanilla.

You glance at the counter, your eyes drawn to the paper there. It's a sketch of a three tiered cake, forest themed. Your eyes widen at the detail.

"Whoa what is all this?"

"Your friend's wedding cake. Well, a sketch of an idea I had that Frank did up for me." Bill looks critically at this idea committed to paper before shrugging. "Makin' cupcakes for the rehearsal dinner. Working on the trial batch today."

"They'll be delicious," you confirm knowing it to be true without even seeing them. Everything Bill makes is delicious.

"Here. Test one." Bill points at the table and you take a seat, grateful for the delicious pale pink cupcake he slides to you.

"Strawberry," he tells you with a small quirk of his lips as you bring it to your mouth. "Frank's favorite."

It's heaven. Plain and simple this is heaven in a baked good. Flavors explode in your tongue a mix of sweet and tangy that combines to make your taste buds dance in delight.

"Holy shit."

Bill gives one of his trademark smiles, one so faint you barely see it under his beard. He's pleased. You take another bite, your eyes closing as the onslaught of divine taste overwhelms you. It's like you can actually feel love in every bite.

Bill takes a seat across from you, watching your closed eyes and the serene look on your face. He almost hates to interrupt it.

"So why the tears?" Bill says cutting down to the business at hand.

You can tell this is already painful for him and a part of you wonders if this is Frank's influence. You can almost imagine the slender man giving Bill detailed instructions on what to do if one of their neighbors comes over in a panic.

"Uh, I don't. . . "

You look back at your cupcake, thinking that if you just take another bite it will buy you time. Bill seems to sense this because his beefy fingers are on the delicate china, pulling it back to his side of the table.

When minutes tick by and you still don't explain he gives a soft exhale through his nose.

"Just say it."

"Say what?"

"You got feelings for that contractor. Joe."

You stare open-mouthed at Bill.

"Joel," you finally correct him. "And no. Why would you say that?"

Bill gives an impatient sigh, drumming his wide fingers on the table.

"Last time you were here. Seemed pretty obvious to me."

"Bill, I'm engaged to Paul. I'm moving in with Paul. My life is with Paul."

Bill heaves another heavy sigh, rubbing at his face as if he's having the most painful interaction of his life. Knowing Bill, this may just be true.

"Paul's a fucking dud."

You bark out a laugh at Bill's sharp appraisal. Then you immediately sober, guilt going through you.

"Bill-"

"I don't understand," Bill says and you can tell its earnest. "You care for each other. I could see that plain as day when you were here with him."

"He's with someone else. So am I."

Bill nods, his face unreadable. It’s the kind of face that holds no emotion, good or bad. The kind of face you feel you can speak to without judgment.

"Even if we both were single I just don't think I'm good for Joel," you say looking at your lap. Bill’s chair creaks as he tilts forward.

"You want him?"

"Of course I want him," you finally say, your voice trembling as you say it out loud. "But Tess makes so much more sense for him. She has a kid; she'll be a natural mother to Sarah. And I've hurt Joel. I've hurt him in ways that he doesn't deserve."

Bill is quiet at this, regarding your splotchy face. He doesn't know you as well as Frank might, he doesn't even know your last name, but there's something in you right now that reminds Bill so much of himself it shakes him.

It's why he doesn't roll his eyes or tell you to quit with the hysterics. It's why he folds his hands on the table and fixes you with a look a father would give a daughter and says your name real quiet until you finally look over at him.

"I used to own that hardwood shop on Lamar Blvd, years ago. Frank used to come in to get spirits for his oil painting. First time I met him I thought he was fucking annoying. Talked too much."

You give Bill a watery smile. Yes, that sounds right to you.

"But I figure this guy'll never come back and I won’t have to suffer the headache, plus he was buying lots" Bill continues, his voice laden with faux irritation. "So I put up with him. But then next month he's back. More supplies, more talking. And he does this for a year. A full fucking year of me grouching at him while he yammers on about everything under the sun until one afternoon I can't stand it and I just kiss him to shut him up."

Your eyes are wide, your heart pounding as you imagine this. You try to envision Bill and Frank a decade ago, younger, softer.

"Then of course I pretend it was nothing. I hid. Didn't want everyone knowing I was into guys," Bill explains. "Two years we danced around it. Two years of secret meetings in hotels and then stretches of silence. Two years of pushing and pulling and we couldn't stop. Each time we thought we should just walk away it was just seeing each other and. . ."

Bill raises his hands between you circling the air as he tries to explain this connection, this deep abiding love but he can't. Words aren't enough for it.

"I couldn't understand why he was always coming back. I thought Why is this guy still after me? Why would he want me? I'm a grumpy asshole who hates people. But Frank kept coming into the shop, kept breaking down those walls and then one day you know what changed?"

You shake your head.

"I thought Frank is a smart guy. Smarter 'n me in a lot of ways. So if this smart guy is telling me he wants me, why am I so arrogant to assume he's wrong or that I know better?" Bill twitches a brow as he looks at you. "Now I don't know Joel all that well, but I can tell he's a man who knows his own mind. So if you tell him how you feel he'll be honest back. But maybe you're worried about what you'll hear, good or bad."

“It’s not just that.”

You will the tears back. You swallow them. You blink them away when they try to sneak out the corners of your eyes.

"There's an ugliness in me, Bill," you finally say with a catch in your voice. "Something that makes me want what I shouldn't. A really ugly selfishness."

You think back to Joel in your arms, his mouth on yours. You think of how he looked above you, his eyes open and beautiful. And you remember that this was stolen time. Stolen from another woman, a better woman.

"Is it the same thing that made you bake cupcakes for his kid? Or spend hours of your time with her?"

You're silent at this appraisal.

"Is it the way you put yourself in shitty situations just so your friend can be happy?" Bill notices your look of surprise. "Yeah, Frank tells me a lot."

You've never had Bill talk to you this long. You can't stop staring at him.

"Or maybe it's the way that you probably love this man more than you want to admit and you'd still stay away from him because you think he'd be happier without you," Bill finishes. "Is that the selfishness you're talking about? Because if it is, I think you might be fucking insane."

When the sobs suddenly overtake you, Bill doesn't rush to hug you. It's not his way.

Instead he watches as your body curls, your head held in your hands. As you let out all the ugly you've been holding in, Bill's hand comes to rest on your shoulder patting softly.

"Don't make the same mistake I did," he urges you. "Tell him soon. Don't wait."

How can you explain to Bill that it isn't that easy? That he and Frank fit like pieces from a long lost puzzle.

With you and Joel sometimes it seems intrinsic so fucking fated you could write poems about it. Other days it's so hard you feel handcuffed to a boulder.

Isn't love supposed to be easy?

But then you look at Bill and Frank and their love that takes your breath away and you think on Bill's story. Maybe, just maybe love is something you have to fight for.

But you can't fight for Joel. You can't. You love him and because you love him you know you have to let him go. Joel, flower giving, sweet kissing, patient Joel deserves all the good things.

Paul is what someone like you deserves.

You stop yourself from hugging Bill as he walks you to the door minutes later mumbling about how he'll see you at the rehearsal dinner.

You walk home with puffy eyes and a heavy heart.

#fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #fanfiction #joel miller smut #smut #dad joel miller #joel miller #pedro pascal #STFF #STFF series #Something to Fight For #Something to fight for series #story #Bill and Frank

236 notes · View notes