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elvendria · 7 months

Text

Clean

(re-releading this because it got hidden the first time)

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part Four

Summary:

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies, in fact, there was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big, you just dream of making it out of here alive.

Look, take willows age with a pinch of salt, I have numerical dyslexia but it'll make sense I swear

\\enemies - lovers//

There's some trigger warnings for stuff to do with willows birth, that's all I can say without giving away everything

((Warning I'm not from the US, so bare with me when it comes to states and such))

18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, the reader Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, the reader is 20 and Eddie is 21, Chrissy is the villain but we stan Grace. Reader has a small scar on her lower torso. underage drinking, allusions to smut, no details of smut for obvious reasons, eventual smut in upcoming chapters, brief mention of Y/N

WC : ~5511~

part one part two part three part four

It was coming up to the middle of August, which meant one important thing was due to happen. The pinnacle of the year, the most sensational holiday of all time, the biggest event to ever rock the town of Hawkins.

"It's my birthday it's my birthday it's my birthday!" The little rocket herself was zooming around the kitchenette, hair a whiz as you walked out, rubbing sleep from your eyes. You reached your hands out, holding her shoulders to keep her in place.

You were seriously gonna need to encourage her to join track or cross country or something.

"Tomorrow it is, but today we need to get you some birthday clothes, so how about we go to that shop in town? The one where all the fairy tale people give their clothes?" It was a thrift store; you were almost certain Willow knew that, but you weren't about to crush the delusions of a soon to be 5 year old. Especially one that's starting kindergarten in a matter of weeks.

Oh god, she's starting kindergarten. In weeks.

You pushed the thought to the back of your mind, the last thing you needed was to be an emotional wreck in front of her. Joyce had helped you with documentation for enrolling her, but it had never really set in. And it wouldn't. Not today.

Her little eyes lit up as you said that, and her bouncing started up again, causing you to grin and roll your eyes. You loved this kid, and her ability to be excited about anything.

"Come on then munchkin, let's hit up the fairy tale store.''

When you reached the store, you hopped from the car and almost bounced up the sidewalk, a bundle of joy and giggles and sunshine. Willow was adamant about getting something pretty and sparkly for starting school, and once again your heart tugged in your ribs.

4 years ago, you were holding her in your arms, cradling her as she cooed up at you, flexing her fingers and scrunching her nose a little. She was perfect to you, you knew that the second you held her in the hospital, moments after her birth.

And now, she was running off to get sparkly pink shoes to go with a tutu she wanted to wear on her first day. Something to match the fairy wings you already told her she couldn't wear. One of the many meltdowns you've managed to navigate in the past few weeks in the run-up.

Entering the store, you were hit with a new but familiar scent of clothes and dust, the room light and airy and full of clothing racks. Row by row of different colours hanging side by side. You wondered about them, oftentimes finding your imagination ran away from you.

You would hold up blouses, covered in dainty flowers, and imagine a woman wearing this to a job interview. You pictured her leading a room full of men, becoming so powerful that she no longer needed the shirt because she had a full wardrobe now.

A pair of shoes, leather old and cracked. You pictured someone spending every day of their lives keeping them in pristine condition until they were too old to keep them clean.

Or a white linen dress, that reached your knees. The kind that flowed out and moved delicately. You could see yourself, walking the aisle of a small chapel to see a tall dark-haired man at the end of it, ring-clad and-

No, no you couldn't go there, you couldn't imagine what your life might've been if Eddie hadn't fucked everything up.

You decided you'd get the dress anyway because it hugged your curves just right. Willow was having a small party, organised courteously by Wayne. He had become like an uncle to her, the way he had for you. You'd wear the dress there, just something simple and plain.

Browsing the racks, you found Willow holding a raglan t-shirt, with black sleeves and a white front. It had a design that wasn't her usual style, but she seemed... drawn to it like she'd seen it before.

"You like that shirt honey?'' The design was okay, and realistically she could wear it to school without scaring the other kids, it's not unlike something from a storybook.

"Well, if you like it, let's get it then!" You scooped her up in your arms, balancing her on your hip as you walked through the store, pointing out other items as you played your little game with her, before heading to the counter to pay.

It wasn't expensive, one of the many joys of a thrift store, but when you saw the guy behind the till ring up the white dress you felt your chest lurch, like you wanted to pull it back. A voice in your head that forever lingered there whispered to you.

You're not good enough

It'll never look right on you

You're too big to wear something like that

Your skin felt hot, you hadn't had those thoughts since a few months after Willow was born, and they hadn't led to the greatest of outcomes. But you were better now, you had to be, especially for her.

Paying, you pushed it all down, heading back to the car so you could get home and out of the blistering heat that seared through your shoes. The rubber soles felt like they were beginning to melt off, and you wanted to get back to the trailer so you could take a cool shower and a nap.

Okay, maybe the cold shower wasn't directly related to the heat.

It seemed that no matter where you went in Hawkins, the air conditioning was always broken. Whether it was your car, your job, or your home, the heat followed you like a curse. Although having lived in Nevada for a few years, it was safe to say you were accustomed to it.

What you weren't accustomed to was the lack of air. At least in the desert, there was a bit of a breeze, albeit it was usually coated in sand and grit. But here in Indiana, it was like the heat hung heavy in the air. It lingered in every breath, every movement. You could feel it like droplets clinging to your skin as you walked.

The whole aspect of hanging up laundry in the scorching sun was maybe not the best idea. The lifting and bending and stretching to hang up bedsheets and clothes were making you sweat like crazy, your shirt and jeans stuck to your skin. But you didn't care, all you wanted was for everything to be perfect for Willow's birthday.

You had just finished hanging up your bedsheets, stepping back to get something else from the basket on your hip when you looked down, two black combat boots sticking out from underneath them.

"Been wanting to see you tangled in your sheets for a while, didn't think I'd have to wait till laundry day though."

You hated that you could tell his voice anywhere, that you could tell it was him from his breathing, from the way he made the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. You hated that you never wanted that feeling to end.

"What do you want?" You were talking gruffly, arguing with a fitted sheet before just throwing it over the line, catching a glimpse of him as it flew up.

"I want to talk." He pushed past the sheets until he was standing in front of you, his dark brown eyes like small storms.

You moved away from him, balancing the basket on your hip as you began putting up Willow's clothes, stained from an argument with a juice box that nobody won. "I don't know what you mean, there's nothing to talk about." Okay so you were being stubborn, but you couldn't help it.

"Oh really? So you dropping to your knees in my job to suck me off meant noth-" Your hand flew up, covering his mouth to prevent him from saying another word. If his eyes didn't give away his enjoyment at your reaction, the smile pressing into your palm sure did.

"That never happened, you hear me? It was a mistake." When you were sure he wouldn't talk again, you removed your hand from his mouth, only for him to grab your wrist and hold it near his face, breathing hot on your skin.

"So what was it then, a mistake or something that never happened? Because I've got the imagery ingrained into my mind pretty damn hard." His eyes bore into yours, and you despised how weak your knees got. He shouldn't have this effect on you, you promised yourself he wouldn't.

You tore your hand back, ignoring him as you continued to hang clothes up, your shirt riding up on the front. You hadn't noticed until he spoke, until he pointed out something.

"Where did you get that scar?"

Your breath stopped, your hands stilled, and your mind began to race for an answer. No one had ever spotted it before, you always kept it covered.

"It wasn't there before you left. Did... Did your dad do it to you?"

If only he knew how wrong he was.

Flashback to 4 years ago

"There's been a complication."

On this day of all days, that was not what you wanted to hear.

"Is everything okay?" You grabbed for your mom's hand, fingers clasped and clammy.

"She's going to be fine, but we need to operate, her blood pressure is spiking and she's losing oxygen. If we leave it any longer we put her at risk of a heart or brain condition." The doctor spoke quickly, stepping back and in turn scaring you further.

All these words that you didn't want to hear.

After that, it was a blur, the sound of squeaky wheels and the bright lights causing you to remember very little else about that day.

Back to the current day.

"Hello? You're just staring at me now and you look a bit nuts."

You were frozen solid until he said that, quickly rushing to pull your shirt down, covering your scar. You didn't show it, not for insecurity reasons, but purely because having to explain it was so much worse.

"I'm fine, I have to go." You hadn't finished with the clothes, but you needed to go, you needed out of here. "I need some air."

"We're outside." Eddie held your bicep, not gripping it tightly, but the touch alone was enough to stop you. "Please… talk to me."

What could you do? What could you say? The man you've loved your whole life was standing before you, looking at you like you were a bird, ready to fly at a moment's notice. You felt like you could, like at the smallest breeze, the slightest movement, you would be gone, flying to brighter skies and away from this pain.

"What do you want from me? What more is there to say? Have you found a part of my dignity you haven't crushed yet?" Your words were venomous, uncontrolled and spiteful. Your mother would be proud.

He stood there like a deer in the headlights, looking at you with his lips slightly parted. You wished you never looked at them, wished you never fell into his sticky maple eyes and got stuck.

"Ever since I met you, I knew we were going to be good for each other. Wayne saw it too, even my Dad said it when he was in between highs. I never saw it… not until freshman year." He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly seeming nervous to speak.

The air around you both grew tense and muggy to the point that you weren't sure if it was the conversation or the heat.

"That's when I knew it. That's when I realised that…"

He lingered, his eyes downcast and refusing to meet your own.

"Realised what Eddie?" You were quieter than you were meant to be, softer and more gentle than you were mere moments before. You knew this wasn't going where you've always wanted it to because there's no way it could.

It was as if all the air had been pulled from the world. Your throat was dry, almost like you had crossed a thousand deserts with no water. "Eddie…"

"Yes?" His eyes were hopeful, maybe because you'd answered him, maybe simply because you said his name. Whatever it was, it made it so much harder to say what you were about to say.

To look at him was to see the embodiment of a breaking heart. A heart Eddie didn't even realise still beat. He had been mad at her for so long, that he figured his heart had become as calloused as his hands.

For some reason, this made you mad. How could he look so… so… perfectly broken, when it was you who had endured the pain and suffering that he had dealt you?

"When you stopped the letters, when you sent them back unopened, I went through every fucking stage of grief there was. I accepted that you didn't care, and I got better Eddie. I got clean. You were the most addicting, fucked up thing in my life and I got better, I got clean from you." You were panting as you spoke, chest heaving as every word carried more and more weight, yet somehow relieving all of it from your shoulders.

"Christ I've loved you for as long as I can remember and you never cared because you're an entitled selfish asshole who only thinks about himself! Moving away was the best thing to happen to me because it opened my eyes and showed me that you were never going to love me back." You were sobbing now, cheeks red from your tears.

He didn't speak, he didn't say a word. He just started at you. You needed him to talk, to show you that he listened to you, that he understood how angry you were, but all he did was stare at you with a neutral look on his face. You wanted him to be mad, you wanted him to yell at you till you felt it in your lungs.

"Jesus Eddie, fucking shout at me, scream, saying something don't just stand there and look at me!" You shoved his chest, but he was like a solid wall, unmoving.

You thumped on his chest with your fists, looking, no, begging for some sort of reaction. You didn't even realise Eddie stepping towards you, hands clasped around your wrists to stop you from hitting him any harder. You didn't notice him almost pressed against you, not until he had cupped your face, thumb hesitantly tracing your bottom lip before speaking in a hushed whisper.

"You know… you're as beautiful as the day I thought I lost you forever."

You barely had time to seek out his eyes with your own before he kissed you, soft and needy, unlike the first kiss between you when you came back. Unlike the kiss in the garage. No, this kiss was something else, it meant something else.

It was as if a windstorm had opened around you. A rush of adrenaline surged through your veins. Your hands instinctively weaved into his hair, pulling him closer as his palms rested on your skin, delicately placed between your shoulder blades and the small of your back.

It was the type of kiss you'd read about in stories or watch in movies. Where the protagonists' problems all vanish in an instant from the touch of two pairs of lips. You were oblivious to your surroundings.

Maybe you shouldn't have been.

Eddie pulled away for air, looking at you with a heaviness in his eyes. "You walked in one day wearing this yellow sundress, and all the guys were staring at you. I felt this intense rage like I wanted to make sure no one looked at you like that except me."

You were confused, and it must have shown on your face. His lips were slightly swollen, and you were guessing yours were the same.

“You asked me and I never answered you." Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, he looked at you with a fondness you've never seen from anyone before. "I realised that I just don’t think I can see myself with anyone other than you for the rest of my life.”

You couldn’t explain the feeling that spread through you. You knew this shouldn’t happen, there were so many reasons you two couldn’t happen. You had worked so hard on yourself, convinced yourself that all your problems lay in the hands of a 16-year-old boy from a backwoods town in Indiana.

But now… now you weren’t so sure. You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

“Eddie, I…” You were cut off by a voice calling out, a high-pitched noise calling out for him. You’d recognise that sickly sweet screech anywhere.

“Eddie baby? Where are you?!” Chrissy called out from the front of the trailer, unable to see the sight of you together from where she stood.

“Eddie you have a girlfriend.” You placed your hands on his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. There were so many things you had to tell him, so many things that needed to be said.

“Only if you’re saying yes.” His voice was quiet, making your heart thump as he leaned back down. You thought he might kiss you again, but instead, he leaned in, whispering in your ear. The feel of his breath on your skin made you shiver despite the heat outside.

“And I’m hoping you will.” He pressed a final kiss to your cheek, leaving you unable to comprehend what just happened as he disappeared behind the clothesline once again.

You were so completely fucked.

Chrissy wasn’t stupid.

Well no, let me correct that, she wasn’t entirely stupid, despite her dumb cheerleader personality.

She knew when she was losing, and ask anyone who’s ever been up against her and you’ll find out that Chrissy was a sore loser.

Despite his efforts to hide it, Chrissy knew from the day the girls’ car broke down that Eddie was distracted. She’d always known he wasn’t interested in her for anything more than her flexibility and eagerness to have sex with him, but this was something different.

She knew from the day in the garage that they were fucking, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to know what a blowjob sounded like. She had been standing behind the wall for a minute or two before making her presence known, wanting to give the girl a chance to at least make herself look presentable.

Ever since that day Eddie hadn’t touched her, hadn’t even wanted her to touch him. She was losing him to some white trash lowlife and there was nothing she could do.

Except for one thing.

Chrissy had a flair for ruining lives and getting her way. In a way, she was quite proud of what she could accomplish when she set her mind to it. And she was one hell of an actress too, given that she was able to convince Jason Carver that ‘no, he didn’t have a micropenis and yes, he was the best thing to happen to the Hawkins High Tigers.’

And so when she saw Eddie pull up outside and not immediately rush in to meet her, she ran to the window to see him going over to another trailer, her trailer, she felt her blood singe her veins. No one took her toys from her, no one stole what was rightfully hers. At least not until she was finished with it.

She walked out the door, intent on confronting them when she saw the kiss, the kind that she’d never gotten from Eddie or anyone for that matter.

And then she saw the kid's clothes, and her plan fell right into her lap.

Scurrying back into the trailer, she pretended to cry as she picked up the phone, finding the number in the phone book.

“Hello, hi, I hope I have the right number...”

The day of Willow's birthday was here, but you couldn’t sleep that night, your mind too active with thoughts of the previous afternoon. You didn’t know how someone could sleep when they had all this… emotion building up inside of them. You spent the night staring at your ceiling, and as a result, you were exhausted before the party even began.

Willow had donned her new t-shirt and a pair of black jeans you’d packed when you left. She looked adorable, even sporting a plastic princess crown you bought from the dollar store, waving the matching sceptre around like she was giving commands. Which she was.

“Look, Willa, I will get you a slice of birthday cake when the guests arrive, how does that sound?” You kneeled before her, hands on your thighs as she sat up in the soft brown lazy-boy armchair. She had been calling out for one all day and it was slowly turning your brain to mush.

She let out a little hum as if she was thinking it over, before answering with an enthusiastic “Okay!”, before going back to watching cartoons.

It wasn’t long afterwards that people started arriving. And by people I mean Eddie, Wayne and some of Eddie’s friends. Apparently, they were good with kids.

You remember some of them, particularly Steve Harrington, because who could forget the kid who came in freshman year of High School and immediately made the varsity basketball team? But the others you weren’t sure of. Yeah, you remembered faces, but names escaped you.

“Hiya, I’m Robin.” The girl came up to you, hand outstretched for you to shake. She had one of those friendly faces, an almost sunny disposition that radiated onto you. She was the only one you didn’t recognise, and you didn’t mind all that much.

Next was Steve and Nancy, your eyes going wide as they walked in and smiled at you, saying hi. You were almost certain they didn’t know who you were when you left, so seeing them in your dingy little trailer was quite a shock.

“I’ll be honest, never in my life did I expect to see the Steve Harrington standing in my doorway to come to a kids' birthday party.” You huffed a laugh, stepping aside to let them in. It was like a fever dream, watching the most popular guy in your sophomore year moving to sit on your couch, helping to blow up some balloons without ever being asked to. You remembered when he and Tommy H would give the nerds wedgies, Steve keeping lookout while Tommy stole someone's lunch money.

You also vividly remember Eddie breaking Tommys' nose when he tried to grope you at a school dance, but now probably wasn’t the time or place to bring it up.

A couple of kids showed up, early teens at best, all sitting on the floor. You knew some of them from being Will's friends and even babysat a few of them once or twice. Each of them came up to hug you, Will being last. His arms gripped you tight as if he was worried you’d disappear if he ever let go.

“It’s alright bud, I’m here, I’m not gonna leave again.” You squeezed him back, oblivious to the stare Eddie was giving you.

It was like your words were speaking to him directly. Like you were reassuring him that you were going to stick around. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, his palms sweaty against his jean-clad thighs. He didn’t realise how worried he was about this whole situation until it was presented to his face. He’d lost you once, almost overnight. He’d been in this situation before, where you were just out of reach, slipping through his fingers.

He was determined that wouldn’t happen again.

You released Will, turning around and meeting Eddie’s eye. Normally he’d look away, maybe even make an awkward cough, but this time… this time he held your gaze, lips turned up ever so slightly in the corners. It made your insides flutter just seeing it.

“Okay, who wants cake?”

The party was going off without a hitch. Willow loved the tea party set you got her as well as the crayons and colouring book from Will. She’d even made sure to give everyone a cup before plonking herself down on the ground, waving her little wand ceremoniously to announce that they could start their tea.

But her favourite gift was one that made you tear up a little, only a small bit, but teary nonetheless.

“Hey Willa, I made you something, it's called a mixtape,” Eddie spoke gently, holding his hand out to help her up before lifting her onto his knee. It warmed your very soul to see them like this, even if the truth of it all lingered in the background.

“What's that?”

“Well, it’s a bunch of songs that your sister and I used to listen to when we weren’t much older than you.” As he said that, he stared across at you, that same gentle smile returning. You remembered those days like they were yesterday, lying out on the dried patch of grass that passed as his lawn, listening to whatever tape you two could find. It was always a hit or miss, sometimes it would be some weird music you weren’t sure of, but other times… other times it was music that would seep into your bones, would melt over your skin like a fine film, coating you in a layer of bliss and peace despite the thumping bass and squealing guitars.

You sat and watched her turn the gift over in her hands, watching as Eddie took her over to the stereo to show her how to use it. Soft notes filled the air first of all as Close to You by The Carpenters started playing. It wasn’t your usual style, but it was memorable for you.

It was the song that played when you first realised how much you cared about Eddie. When you turned your head on that dry yellow grass, to see him staring right back at you.

You let time slip away, listening to the music as Willow came and grabbed your hand, wanting to do that dance where she just swung your arms back and forth. You were so involved with her that you hadn’t even heard the knock on the door until someone pointed it out to you.

That was when the dread kicked in.

You couldn’t explain it, you weren’t even sure why it had come over you suddenly, but with every step towards the door, your hands got clammier and clammier until eventually you pulled it open. It was then that you could’ve sworn on it, would’ve bet on it, that your heart now resided on the floor across the room.

A woman stood before you, 40’s at least, blonde wispy hair turning grey at the roots. And behind her, stood a strawberry blonde she-devil with a grin so wicked it would make your skin crawl.

“Hi there, I’m Sandra with Child Protective Services, I received a call and would like to have a quick talk.”

It didn’t take long for everyone to clear out, leaving only Eddie behind to see what was going on, and to console you if needed. He wasn’t going to leave you, not when something like this had landed in your lap.

“So it’s just you and…” Sandra flicked through her notes before speaking again. “Willow, is it?”

“Yes, it’s just us here… I’m sorry I need to ask,” You shot Chrissy a look, your answer already cemented in place with every inching step she took towards Eddie. “Who called you?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential information that we can’t release at this time.” She flicked through more notes before landing on what she was apparently looking for. “It says here that Willow was born in Nevada, is that correct?”

“Yes, she was born this day 5 years ago in Summerlin Hospital.” You rubbed your arms, wanting desperately to hold Willow, but for some reason, this demon of a woman wouldn’t let you.

“And is her father in the picture?”

You froze, not entirely too sure how to answer that without spilling everything. You weren’t ready, and you’d never be ready, so how were you supposed to cough up now, in front of people who had no business in knowing? “We um… we left my parents in Nevada, they were… well they were abusive towards me growing up, I didn’t want that for her.”

You thought you’d managed to get past the question, maybe even diverted the topic of conversation. If you could even class this a conversation, more like an interrogation.

“That’s not what I asked you, I asked you was Willow's father in the picture.”

That was when you saw it in her folder, a copy of Willow’s birth certificate with only one name on it, scribbled messily by a nurse who had no business working in a hospital.

Then, just when it was all going horribly wrong, it got a whole lot worse.

“But Willow is her sister, they have the same parents, your question doesn’t make any sense.” Eddie piped up from the corner, and it took all your might not to tell him to shut the fuck up.

“Please allow her to answer the questions herself sir, your being here is a privilege, not a right.” If only she knew how wrong she was. If only she knew that he had every right to be here.

That was when the tears fell when you knew you couldn’t hold back the secrets any longer. You turned to Eddie, cheeks stained as all you could do was mouth “I’m sorry.”

“No, her father wasn’t in the picture… we fell out of contact after I told him I was pregnant. But he’s back in it now.”

It was as if you were standing in a glass bowl, and suddenly it shattered around you, your whole world came crumbling down around you. You looked at Eddie, watched as it dawned on him what you were saying, staring as he worked the dates back in his head, face gone pale.

“Wait, I’m sorry I was called under the pretences that you had taken Willow from her parents. Are you telling me that Willow is your child?” Sandra looked at you, handing you a packet of tissues from her cracked leather bag.

“Yes, Willow is my daughter.”

After everything had come to light, it didn’t take long for Sandra to decide that there was no need for any inspection as it seemed that Willow was in a fit and loving home, something you could’ve told her from the start. You stood outside the trailer, Eddie and Chrissy just behind you as you watched her navy Pontiac drive off in a cloud of dust.

And as soon as she was gone, you turned to Chrissy, palm connecting with her cheek in a fit of rage.

“How dare you do that, how dare you try to have her taken from me? What have I ever done to you? I’ve stayed out of your way, I have done nothing towards you that warrants you being that spiteful, that hateful.” You went again, lunging at her, and you would have made it if it weren’t for Eddie grabbing you.

“Thank you, baby, I thought she was going to actually hurt me!” Chrissy said in her whiny high-pitched voice, pouting out her bottom lip as if to show that she was about to cry.

“Let me get this clear for you. We’re done. I never want to hear from you, hell I never want to even so much as see you again. We’re through.” He set you on the ground as Chrissy looked on shocked, annoyed that her stunt hadn’t resulted in lives being ruined while her own prospered, before spinning on her heel and walking away in a huff. You could only feel the terror and rage beginning to grow inside of you as he turned you to face him. “And as for you, I think it’s time we had a talk. A real one this time.”

You wanted to protest, you wanted to kick and scream and cry and dig your heels in. You couldn’t have this conversation, you wouldn’t.

“What is there to talk about, your psycho bitch of an ex tried to have my kid taken away and failed, end of story.” You went to walk inside, stopping in your tracks when he spoke again.

“Our kid.”

Hearing him say it, like actually say it, wasn’t what you expected it to be. Instead of a ten-tonne boulder crashing onto you, it felt like a weight had been lifted.

“When were you gonna tell me Willows my kid too?”

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Only one more chapter to go!!

@vintagehellfire @1paire2vans @introvertedmouse @ms1oftheboys @ashlynnkennedy @poisonedluv @302rocks @micheledawn1975 @corrodedcoffincumslut @f-cklife @chloe-6123 @hellfirexwhore @caseyqdilla @alyisdead @winchester-angel @sunflowerabyss @badluckgirl @blackb4ts @tlclick73 @eddiemunsonsgf2 @rozxartaki @emilyslutface @them-cute-boys @ilovetaquitosmmmm @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @captainonaboat @lottie-90 @adaydreamaway08 @munsonmunster @thecomfortgoth @uglypastels @ghost-proofbaby @trashmouth-richie @blueywrites (im honestly just tagging people i would really like to have read this.)

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patchworkgargoyle · 4 months

Text

🩸 A Steddie Big Bang Fic 🌙

Chapter 3

story by: @patchworkgargoyle || art by: @mcdadarts || playlist to come by: @steves-strapcollection Rating: E || Words: ~4.3k || CW: graphic depictions of violence, blood drinking || Full tag list on ao3! || Posting: weekly Fic title from Wolf Like Me - TV On The Radio NOW WITH ART!!! Thank you so much again, Gabe!! Please go check out his post and give it a reblog!

With a long, drawn out exhale, smoke oozed and twisted from Eddie’s lips. He watched it curl in the tiny vortices in the air and then dissipate into the rest of the haze hanging above his head in his bedroom. Iron Maiden blared, flat and tinny, through the speakers of the shitty tape deck he’d salvaged from the thrift store. He half-mouths, half-whispers along to the words, “Melting his face, screamin’ in pain, peeling the skin from his eyes…” and lazily shakes his head along to the increase in tempo, pillow messing up his hair.

It had been a good night. He’d made a few deals, enough to slip Wayne a bit of rent before he’d left for the plant and kept some for his new guitar fund. The thought made Eddie grin. Shifting, he glanced at the cut out ad from the metal magazine he’d snagged from the record store, taped up on the mirror. An old cigar box sat beside his Fender amp, propped open with the steadily growing stash solely for the Warlock. He couldn’t fucking wait to get his hands on it. Wayne’s old guitar was great, sure, but a Guyatone is no Warlock. Soon as he had his hands on that pretty thing, he’d be unstoppable. Y’know, figuratively.

Sighing, he flopped back onto his bed and recounted the money in his head, the calculations easy after all the times he’d run them through. If he’d had a motivator like this in school, maybe he’d actually bother to pay attention in math class.

Not that it mattered anymore. Kinda hard to attend class when sunlight burned his skin like gasoline on a bonfire. Turns out, being a vampire wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Eddie should’ve taken Louis de Pointe du Lac more seriously instead of rolling his eyes at the book and calling him dramatic. And he knew dramatic. Who wouldn’t want to live forever as a badass creature of the night? Well, he ate those words for sure.

He sings along to another song now, the rapid drumbeat pulling him out of his tiny pity party. “Now you’re alone but alive for how long? Dead men tell no tales,” he rasps out, throat dry from the smoke, but managed to wail along and play some air guitar with a small grin.

It would’ve drowned out the knock on the trailer’s front door, should have if not for the whole “vampire thing.” But little escaped his notice now. It was annoying when the neighbours in the Winnebago a few lots down wouldn’t do the decent thing and fuck quietly. It’s like they didn’t care that a creature of the night lurked amongst them. The nerve of some people.

The knocking came again, more demanding this time, and Eddie groaned loudly. Not bothering to turn off the cassette, he rolled out of bed with a frown and stomped down the hall. As he unlocked the door, he started speaking.

“If you’re not a petite blonde or looking to get high, you’d better have a great fucking excuse for–”

The words died out as soon as he saw Steve Harrington looking up at him from the bottom of Eddie’s stoop, half lit by the light from the kitchen, half shaded by Eddie’s silhouette. One of his eyebrows twitched up quizzically, as if Eddie was the odd man out here. He nearly laughed before his throat closed around the sound.

Not only was it weird to see Harrington gracing the Forest Hills trailer park with his presence; not only was it strange to see Harrington at his door when they’d barely even interacted before. It was fucking terrifying. Eddie knew what he was. Chrissy had told him. Steve Harrington, star of multiple Hawkins High sports teams in his day, rich and entitled asshole hailing from hoity-toity Loch Nora, hunted goddamn monsters on the side for funsies. And Eddie, of course, was one of those monsters.

Shit.

“Well, well, well. The Hair Himself at my humble abode. To what do I owe the honour?” Eddie asked with a tight smirk, bowing sarcastically.

“Uh,” Steve said eloquently. His eyes darted over Eddie as he straightened out of his bow, his confused eyebrow drawing higher. “Just hoping to buy some weed, man.”

Eddie hesitated. Weighed his options. “Fine. One sec,” he said, turning back inside. He went to close the door and leave Harrington waiting outside, but Harrington jogged up the steps, following like a lost puppy, and Eddie froze, staring at him.

“What, you’re really leaving me outside? It’s cold,” Harrington said. It must be, Eddie figured, though he didn’t exactly feel the cold anymore. But Harrington had shown up in a polo of all things, not a jacket or sweater to be seen.

Had he planned it that way? It was a good excuse to get inside, and if Eddie denied it he’d be an asshole at best, but look suspicious at worst. Or, y’know, more so than the rest of Hawkins already thought. Eddie might seem like he was hiding something. He hated being out-schemed.

“Bring a jacket next time,” he sneered, but left the door for Harrington to close behind himself.

Trudging to his room, Eddie heard Harrington follow a short distance behind. His heart beat faster than its usual sluggish pace, knowing he now had a whole-ass monster hunter in his home, had turned his back to the guy even. Jesus christ. If he survived this–if Harrington really was just after some weed–he’d thank whatever unholy thing probably held his undead soul captive for letting him see another night.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t got much left, so you might be S.O.L. if you’re looking for more than a few grams.”

“Got any pre-rolled? Kinda bad at doing it myself.”

“Of course,” Eddie muttered to himself. Then, louder and sarcastically sweetly, “I’ll whip one up just for you, sweetheart.”

“Thanks.” He heard Harrington give a short laugh.

In his room, Eddie gestured to the one chair least covered in dirty clothes. “Make yourself at home.”

Harrington stared down at the clothes pile before apparently deciding to lean against his dresser, arms crossed over his chest. Eddie fished his lunchbox out from under his bed–sending a few dust bunnies and crumpled campaign notes scattering–and sat on his bed with a huff, watching from under his bangs as Harrington awkwardly took up space. He’d started to aimlessly rifle through the various odds and ends piled on the dresser.

“You’re nosy,” Eddie commented dryly, and Harrington withdrew his wandering fingers, tucking them back under his arms. Unfortunately for Eddie, he could sense the flush of embarrassment that flooded Harrington’s cheeks, blood tingeing his cheeks just the slightest bit pink that might as well have been a flashing neon sign to Eddie’s ever-present hunger, even if it did smell a little… different. Must be something about hunters, and that thought pulled Eddie right back to the present. Telling himself to screw his goddamn head back on straight, or as straight as it could be, Eddie pulled out some rolling papers, weed, and a grinder and got to work.

“So what’ve you been up to these days?”

Eddie snorted at the question. “Don’t need to make small talk, dude, awkward silences are just fine with me.”

“I wasn’t- I’m just curious, Munson. Don’t see you around town much.”

“So you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” Eddie tried his best to sound not terrified. Maybe leaned a little too flirty, but it was hard to control the impulse when the thought of Harrington watching out for him sends a thread of panic down his spine. It might prove to be a decent distraction at least.

Scoffing, Harrington said, “Nah, you’re just hard to miss.”

That, at least, made Eddie laugh some. “Got that right,” he mumbled, shaking the grinder out into a rolling paper. “Been up to this, Harrington. Selling illicit substances to the not-so-sober populace of Hawkins. Maybe playing a few shows at The Hideout once in a blue moon.”

“That’s all, huh?”

He sounded casually judgemental, even stood there examining his nails, but Eddie didn’t miss the keen way those brown eyes met his briefly before glancing down to his chest. Eddie swallowed.

“What, not good enough for you?”

“Just saw you at Penny’s party last weekend, hanging out with Chrissy Cunningham is all.”

Eddie’s fingers paused around the half-rolled joint. He couldn’t look up. Forced his hands back into their habitual motions. “Yeah. I go to parties sometimes. Kinda part of the job.”

Silence stretched like frost between them, a chilly, widening divide, while Eddie finished the joint. Somehow he managed to keep his hands from shaking. Eventually, he had to look up, so he did and held the joint out across the chasm of the small room.

Harrington was watching him. Really, it felt like he hadn’t taken his eyes off Eddie since his first question, his gaze intense. His stomach threatened to drop through the floor.

“You guys go anywhere else that night?”

He blinked. “What- is that what this is about?” He stood and tossed the joint to the floor. “Did fucking Carver send you? Is that asshole seriously sending his old basketball buddy to come intimidate me because he thinks ‘his girl’ is fucking another guy? Well, newsflash shithead, we didn’t do anything!” Eddie glared at Harrington as he stomped towards him, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to calm the hell down. He really couldn’t afford to lose control. But he was tired of getting kicked around by these fuckers for no actual reason, and he sure wasn’t going to let them drag Chrissy through the mud either.

To his credit, Harrington stood his ground as Eddie stalked forward. “That’s not what this is–”

“Oh, it’s not?” Sarcasm dripped from Eddie’s words. “Good. Then get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.”

“Fuck you, Harrington. Get. Out–”

With a single step, Harrington got right in Eddie’s face. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, he brought his free hand to Eddie’s face and before he could pull away Harrington jabbed his thumb against Eddie’s lips. His upper lip. Pushing, he exposed Eddie’s teeth. Eddie froze.

Oh fuck.

“Weird how your teeth got pointier the angrier you got, Munson.”

Breath caught in Eddie’s lungs. Not that he needed to breathe anymore. But as his wide, panicked eyes stared into Harrington’s cold, single-minded stare, he still felt like choking on air. That thumb still pressed against his sharpened canine tooth, the warmth of it as shocking as it was… enticing. Eddie could feel the subtle pulse of blood under the pad and, unbidden and unwanted, he started to salivate. Goddamnit, this wasn’t the time.

“Listen–” he began, his tongue brushing against that fucking thumb and sending a wave of hunger through him right as Harrington tore his hand away from his mouth with a sneer. “Man, I swear, I haven’t done anything or killed anyone-”

“So that werewolf in the woods out back was, what? A ghost?”

“Sorry, werewolf?”

Harrington yanked him closer. “Don’t play dumb, Munson.”

“I’m not!” Eddie yelled, but Harrington wouldn’t budge. He could hear it, in his elevated but steady heartbeat, saw it in the set of his brow. Shit. Shit.

Whatever. He was just a fucking human. Trained to fight things like Eddie, sure, but that’s all. Eddie wasn’t.

The low light of his room grew brighter as his eyes changed. He could see, now, the faint jump in Harrington’s neck, but pushed it aside. Grabbing Harrington’s arm, hand still clutching his shirt, Eddie twisted, fast, faster than a human. The momentum, the speed, sent Harrington stumbling. His knees hit the bed, but before he had the chance to recover, Eddie ran.

As he sped down the hall, a low growl rumbled out of his room. “What the fuck. What the fuck!?” he panted.

Rapid footsteps thundered behind him. Eddie’s hair stood on end. Reaching the door, he went to throw it open, desperate to get the hell out of there, but Harrington slammed into him. A broad hand shut the door with enough force to knock mugs off the wall and rattle the window. Another landed on his back. Eddie’s face and chest hit the door. He let out a pained groan, wincing his eyes open.

There, right by his face, was the hand Harrington had been examining earlier. Only the blunt nails were growing. Thick brown hair started to sprout from the back of his hand as dark, curved nails–claws–embedded themselves in the metal of the trailer door with a muted squeak.

“What the fuck are you, man!?” Eddie’s voice broke, raw and breathless. The hand on his back grabbed his shirt and flung him towards the living room. Nearly tripping, Eddie floundered until he found his footing, spinning to face whatever Harrington was turning into as fear clawed its way up his throat.

Standing in front of the door, chest rising and falling rapidly, Harrington looked changed. Like he was mid-transformation. His hands were the worst, furry, animalistic. His eyes were flashing more golden than brown, and his face–

“You should already know. You killed one of my kind last weekend,” Harrington grit out, almost growling, his lips moving awkwardly around the strange array of canine and human teeth, his nose and jaw uncannily elongated.

“I told you, I didn’t do it!”

Harrington’s head cocked to the side, dog-like, as his eyes roved over Eddie’s face. They narrowed. Just as he opened his mouth, primed to say more, the door behind him crashed open. Both men jolted, and Harrington whipped around to face the sound.

He came face to face with a tiny, furious cheerleader wielding a wicked crossbow, the bolt pointed between Harrington’s eyes. Her hands shook, and her eyes widened when she saw what Harrington looked like, but she didn’t waver.

“Leave him alone.” Her demand rang through the room, her usually sweet voice strong.

Eddie wished he could collapse with the relief that flooded through him. Still, he stayed upright, tension keeping him at a knife’s edge. Harrington wasn’t budging, so Eddie leaned into a crouch to pounce if the asshole tried to attack Chrissy. Like hell was he going to let her get hurt, coming to his rescue again.

The trio didn’t move. It felt like a stand-off. Eddie hated it, hated staring at Harrington’s back and hoping he could catch any telltale twitch of muscle foreshadowing an attack. The fur on his arms kept receding and growing, like he was stuck, deciding whether to fully transform–into a goddamn werewolf–or revert back to a human. It was weird as fuck to watch.

“Chrissy, you shouldn’t be here,” Harrington eventually said, hands balling into fists.

“No, I really should be. Whatever you’re after him for, he didn’t do it. He doesn’t kill people.”

“He’s a vampire, of course he does.”

Eddie let out an indignant, “Hey!”

“Okay, and werewolves, what? Don’t lose control on the full moon? Don’t randomly attack people?” she asked. Her perky sarcasm nearly made Eddie laugh, couldn’t help but let a small snort escape. Yet, while she spoke, Harrington’s head tilted to the side again. Like he was listening for something. In the silence, Eddie caught it too. Bike wheels.

They came to a skidding stop and the bike clattered to the ground while a familiar voice cursed up a storm and bolted up to the trailer. A mop of curls barely contained by a cheesy trucker hat bounded in the open door, past Chrissy, shouting, “Wait! Wait, wait, wait!”

“Henderson?” both Harrington and Eddie said, the two of them glaring at each other.

“Yes, because apparently all of you need someone around with some actual goddamn sense!” Dustin waved his finger at all three teens, who looked at him with varying levels of annoyance, before landing on Harrington and pointing with the utmost sass. “Especially you, Steve! I told you Eddie was innocent. But did you listen? No!”

Harrington gave an offended scoff. “Are you kidding me? Dustin, it’s him. He’s a vampire, has the strength and speed to take down a whole werewolf if he really wanted to.”

That was news to Eddie, who didn’t bother hiding his surprise. Dustin immediately looked to Eddie, but instead of fear he looked fascinated. Awed.

“Really?” he asked, a grin breaking over his face. When he started walking towards Eddie, Harrington held him back with a decidedly human hand. Thank fuck the claws were gone. Dustin tried to shake him off, but the grip on his hoodie was too strong.

“Don’t go to him!”

“He’s not gonna hurt me, Steve, jesus christ you’re so overprotective.”

Eddie started to put his hands up, but went slower when Harrington began to growl again. “Listen, Harrington, I have zero interest in hurting Henderson. Or anyone. I swear on,” he gestured to the ceiling, and then the carpet, “whichever deity you’d trust more. I have no idea what you were talking about with this werewolf either.”

Squinting at Eddie’s chest again, Harrington gave a frustrated huff, and Dustin finally broke free from his restraint to speed walk over to Eddie. He didn’t even hesitate to grab Eddie’s wrist and start feeling his pulse, which Eddie protested with a half-hearted, “Hey!”

“You know he’s telling the truth Steve,” Dustin said. Harrington merely crossed his arms and went back to glaring at Eddie. In turn, Eddie pursed his lips and wiggled his head with mock triumph, letting Dustin do whatever poking and prodding he wanted to do just to prove to Harrington he could shove his suspicions where the sun don’t shine.

Chrissy, who watched the exchange alertly, finally lowered her crossbow and worked at getting the bolt out. “Why are you after Eddie, Steve?” she asked.

“The night of Penny’s party, Dustin and his friends found a dead werewolf in the woods a little ways away.”

“It was decapitated,” Dustin helpfully supplied, as if it were a fun fact and not a gruesome murder.

“Oh.” Chrissy paled. Meeting Eddie’s worried expression with her own, she said, “That’s pretty bad.”

“Doesn’t explain why you went after me, though,” Eddie said. “Do I just give off ‘werewolf killer’ vibes?”

Harrington’s jaw clenched and he stared at the floor. “You smelled like blood. At the party.”

“I what now?”

Sighing, Dustin planted his hands on his hips. “Yeah, because, clearly, he’s a vampire. Of course he’s gonna smell like blood.”

“I didn’t exactly know that, Dustin!” Harrington threw his hands up. “And where’d he be getting the blood from anyway?”

“Oh. Uhm. That would be me.” Dustin and Harrington turned to gawp at Chrissy. She’d leaned the unloaded crossbow against the open doorway and had started fiddling with the bolt, avoiding the sharp point. It was so at odds with her preppy, pastel sweater. She smiled at Eddie apologetically. “I might’ve insisted, since it’d help him eat regularly and he wouldn’t have to try and find it somewhere else.”

When Dustin turned to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively at Eddie, he frowned and smacked the kid’s shoulder. Lightly. Light enough. “No.”

“Does Jason know?” Harrington asked, seeming tense. It didn’t ease when she shook her head, but he did let out a slow exhale.

“Is that the only reason you went after me? I just stank?”

It was Harrington’s turn to shake his head. “No, we found one of your weird band shirts there.”

“Oh yeah, like there aren’t other metalheads in Hawkins,” Eddie snarked. Not that he thought any of the ones he knew could take on a werewolf, if Steve’s strength was anything to go by.

“It smelled like you, man.”

“Which is exactly why my theory is that you’ve been framed!” Dustin said, completely interrupting Eddie’s bizarre realisation that Harrington knew what he smelled like. He held his index finger aloft. “Someone knew it was yours, planted your shirt there, killed the werewolf. Why? Maybe they had some sort of feud. Maybe they thought other werewolves would find the corpse and seek revenge.” Eddie had a flat expression on his face as he motioned to Harrington, but Dustin waved him off impatiently while Harrington rolled his eyes. “No, no. I don’t think we were supposed to find it. No one knows about Steve except for our group, and maybe one or two creatures we’ve helped. Creatures who definitely wouldn’t do this. The killed didn’t account for us. And, I think, didn’t account for you being a vampire.”

Eddie groaned. “Okay, great. Someone’s pinned a fucking murder on me! This night just keeps getting better!” Without anything better to do, and wanting to ignore the desperate desire to grab Chrissy’s hand and run, he flopped onto the couch hard enough to make the springs squeak and covered his face with his hands.

“But! You have us on your side now.”

Peeking through his fingers, Eddie took in the sight in front of him. Dustin, hands on his hips again and chest puffed out, grinned in a way that was somehow both egotistical and childish. Harrington looked only slightly less aggrieved than Eddie felt, but at least he looked fully human again.

Slowly, Chrissy walked over to Eddie and sat beside him. She took one of his hands away from his face and held it reassuringly, despite the clear furrow of worry between her brows. He gave her hand a squeeze, a silent thank-you.

“Fine. What do you propose, my little detective?” Eddie asked, taking a tiny bit of glee from the slight sneer Dustin made at being called “little.”

“I propose that we hide you away, make it so the real killer doesn’t know where you’ve gone, and see if that either flushes them out while they try to find you or if they commit another murder.”

“Jesus christ, Dustin, we can’t just wait around for another person to die!”

“I know, Steve, but that’s the cold, hard truth! We don’t know their next move. Hopefully they try to find you,” Dustin pointed at Eddie, “before they find another werewolf to kill again.”

Eddie didn’t miss Harrington’s pained grimace as he shuffled uncomfortably. The guy may have just pinned him against his own front door and flung him across his living room, but Eddie could, begrudgingly, sympathise. Harrington could very well be that next werewolf. Which, what a wild discovery that was.

“Did you know Harrington was a werewolf?” he whispered to Chrissy while Dustin and Harrington argued about the plan.

“No, not at all. Pretty sure Jason would’ve warned me if he knew, too. Though…” She pursed her lips and glanced at the subject of their gossip. “Maybe not. I don’t think he’d leave Steve alone if he knew.”

That seemed like a massive understatement. With what little Chrissy could relay about Carver’s reputation, Eddie knew that Harrington would be at just as much risk as Eddie would be if that asshole knew. Watching Harrington as he bugged out his eyes and shook his head at Dustin in frustrated disbelief, he also knew that he’d have a trump card over Harrington if he tried to rat him out to Carver or any other hunters. At least that was an upside to getting found out so disastrously.

Dustin seemed to win the argument, clapping his hands once and turning on his heel to face Eddie and Chrissy again. The kid really had a flair for the dramatic. “Alright. Eddie, you’re coming with us.”

“The hell I am,” he laughed, baffled.

“You need to. Either the killer got your shirt from somewhere, or they broke into your house and stole it. And pretty much everyone knows where you live, so. You can’t stay here.”

“And my uncle is, what, chopped fucking liver? What happens if he’s here, but I’m not, and the killer comes knocking?”

“I doubt he’s at risk. He doesn’t seem like a likely target. Unless he’s also a vampire?” When Eddie shook his head, Dustin continued, “There you go. Problem solved. You’re staying at Steve’s until we find this person.”

Harrington met Eddie’s offended look with one of resigned dread. “No way. Hide me at Chrissy’s.”

“I don’t think my parents would, uhm, agree to that.” Chrissy laid her other hand on top of Eddie’s. “Not to mention Jason.”

A low, whiny groan oozed out of Eddie as his head thumped back against the couch. It got louder when Dustin said, “Plus, if we saw you and Chrissy together, who’s to say the killer hasn’t?”

He felt like throwing a temper tantrum, fists flying and legs kicking, the whole shebang, if he weren’t being framed for murder. “Holing up at The King’s giant rich bitch mansion for who knows how long? Great. Wonderful. Always wanted to see how the other side lived,” he grumbled, not missing the loud sigh Harrington let out.

“Deal with it, Munson. This is the best we’ve got. I’m not thrilled about it either.”

“Oh goody. I’m an unwanted houseguest, even.”

“Eddie,” Chrissy started, “I know you’re scared, I am too. But… I do think they want to help. Their plan makes sense to me.”

Sighing, he dropped the sarcasm and dramatics. For now. “Yeah. I guess. Alright, Detective Henderson, I’ll go along with you and your loyal bloodhound.”

Dustin and Eddie both snickered at Harrington’s unimpressed frown.

#SO EXCITED FOR THIS CHAPTER #definitely one of my fave scenes #mcdadarts #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #vamp!eddie #werewolf steve harrington #stranger things #hideous thing sbb #steddie big bang #steddie big bang 2023 #steddiebang #steddiebang23 #sav scrawls stuff

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dumbmusclehypnojockboy · 1 year

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Odds & Ends: The Muscle Shirt, a Sk8ter Dreams story

9,900 Subscribers SPECIAL

Thank you everyone! In the lead up to the big 10,000 subs, I'm going to be posting some of my oldest original stuff. I used to be a tf writer known as LanceFan2001 or Ikaika. I frequented cyoc.net and the narcississ archive (i think it's the predecessor to the current GSS.com) and the original gay muscle story archives.

These were the days that we had to put warning lables before we posting gay stuff. It was a time before network admins or parental controls, It was a different world. But maybe not so different.

I was lucky to find a community, and someone important to me, whom I have lost contact with was O'Melissokomos: The Bee Keeper. He had his own site, that was part transformation stories part political news blog. It just worked. Anyway, he illustrated this story. I am so thankful that CYOC still has those images. So, I present,for the first time with illustrations , Odds & Ends: The Muscle Shirt.

Odds and Ends: the Muscle Shirt

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction depicting gay sex. If reading such material is offensive to you, or if you are under the legal age to read such material, please read something else.

Author's Note: This is a tale in the Sk8ter Dreams universe spin- off, "Odds and Ends". Special Thanks goes out to Reaver who started this universe.

Second Author's Note: This story is not meant to offend ANYONE. It is FANTASY, and should be taken as so. Thank you! >>>Ikaika<;<<

Trent Stephens dried his hair with a towel he had taken to storing in his school locker-yet again. This time, some freshman jocks had the pleasure of "flushing" him. You would think that as a high school senior, Trent would be the one administering that particular rite of passage, or at the very least would garner a little respect from the incoming freshmen. Sadly, he did neither.

Perhaps it was because of his appearance that he faired so poorly with his peers. Trent stood at 5'6", and weighed 235 pounds, most of it fat. He never wore any trendy clothing, instead, sticking to a wardrobe consisting of thrift store finds. Perhaps, adding to Trent's position on the bottom of the social ladder, was the combined fact that he was the new kid, who had no backbone.

Trent was also a nerd. Growing up, while the other boys were outside, playing tag or participating in sports, he preferred to sit in the library and read books, or sit in front of his custom-built computer, and play games. He really had no friends either. He obviously didn't fit in with the jocks or trend setters, and even the computer nerds felt that he was too geeky for their clique.

Trent slammed his locker shut, and with a clumsy, jerking movement, swung his book bag over his shoulder. Just as he was leaving the school, his backpack, filled to the brim with books for school, and "a little light reading", ripped at the seams, causing one of the straps to tear, and littering the deserted hallway with his books and folder paper. "Shit," he silently cursed, "What else can go wrong today?"

It took Trent about 15 minutes to pick up his things, and find a plastic bag to put his stuff in. He exited the school, and made his way to the bust stoop. As he approached the stop, he heard the bus approaching. He ran for it, only to be left behind in a cloud of dust, as the bus zoomed past.

"Great," he thought to himself, "looks like I'm walking home again."

Luckily for Trent, he only lived a mile from the school. He began his trek home, huffing and puffing in the hot and humid August sun.

He passed the many banks, stores and strip malls that were a common sight in suburbia, not paying too much attention to what he was seeing. He walked by a bakery, enjoying the smells waffing in the air. He pressed his face against the glass to see what treats were available for sale inside. As he glanced back towards the sidewalk, he noticed something unusual. The lot next to the bakery, that had been empty ever since Trent had moved to town, was now filled. In it, a store had appeared, almost overnight. Green awning lined the front and the sides of the store, and a sign reading "Odds & Ends", displayed the name of the establishment.

His curiosity piqued, Trent entered the store, and he heard the jingle of a bell ring overhead. Trent took a moment to look over the shop. It looked like a thrift store, with shelves piled high displaying miscellaneous artifacts. There were also a few racks, tables and bins of clothing, and a shoe rack in the corner. His eyes fell upon one item in particular... a sleeveless, Navy Blue, Abercrombie & Fitch shirt. Trent walked towards the rack, his palms sweating in anticipation. The shirt looked oversized... Really oversized! Just as eh was about to reach for the shirt, a voice called out to him, "Can I help you, sir?"

Trent jumped in surprise. "Where did he come from?" he wondered as he got a look at the person the voice belonged to. He was a teenager, looking both innocent and mature. The shopkeeper was dressed in a baggy green shirt, and had a backwards, sized, baseball cap on with a logo that was unfamiliar to Trent.

"Hi," Trent said, a little shakily.

"Hello," The shopkeeper said, "looking for anything in particular today?"

"Well, this shirt intrigued me," Trent answered. "I've never seen such a large A & F shirt before. Is it genuine?"

"Indeed it is, sir," the shopkeeper said, as he calmly walked to the rack, picked up the shirt, and showed Trent the sewed-in labels.

Trent looked at the labels, the shopkeeper presented. Stitched into the material of the shirt was an original label. It showed the size of the shirt as being a XXL. It also had a second tag sewed in above the main tag that read "muscle."

"I never knew A & F made shirts in a XXL size," Trent quasi-asked, quasi-stated.

"If I'm not mistaken," the merchant replied, "They tried it once, but found that it didn't fit in with their marketing campaign."

"Heh," Trent thought, "their marketing campaign. All those hot models in, but mostly out of their tightly fitted clothing. Those hot bodies... how I wished I had a body like that.

"How much?" Trent asked.

"Only $5.00," the storekeeper responded, "but, I think that it's a little too big for you. Why don't you try it on? The fitting room's right there," he added as he ushered Trent into what looked like a closet with a shower curtain in front of it.

Trent shrugged his shoulders, took the shirt the teen held out, and slid the curtain shut. Feeling a little strange, he shucked off his sweaty polo shirt, and put on the Abercrombie & Fitch tee. Trent looked into the mirror. He felt that the shirt fit him just fine. It wasn't baggy at all. In fact, the vertical white stripes down the sides of the shirt, actually helped Trent look a bit simmer. It was his slight paunch, however, which stretched the shirt out a little, that kind of ruined the effect.

"How does it look sir?" The storekeeper asked, breaking Trent from his train of thought.

"It's a little tight," Trent said.

"Nonsense!" The teen replied, opening the curtain and ushering Trent out of the room, and in front of a mirror mounted on a wall. "Let me take a look."

"It's a muscle shirt," the shopkeeper said, "so, it's supposed to be a little tight." He tugged the shirt in a few places, adjusting a few folds, and smoothing out the shirt. "Looks like a perfect fit to me," he said, admiring his work.

"How can you say that?" Trent asked, a little irritated.

"Look in the mirror."

Trent did as the shopkeeper asked, and was taken aback by what he saw. His stomach wasn't protruding as much as it was just a few moments ago... In fact, his belly seemed to be diminishing, the accumilated fat, just melting away.

"How did that happen?" Trent asked.

"What do you mean sir?"

"That," Trent said, as he pointed to his stomach in the mirror. Trent let out an audible gasp as he was in for another surprise. His once flabby stomach was now gone. He stood transfixed as ridges formed on the shirt, holding tight to his body, and revealing slight definition. The crevices deepened as a four-pack developed into a six-pack which then morphed into a highly defined, ripped eight-pack.

"Whoa... What was THAT?" Trent asked dumbfounded.

"I still don't know what you're talking about sir," the shop keeper said, ignorant to the fact that Trent was changing before his own eyes.

Trent realized that he was now looking down on his companion. He could have sworn that he was eye to eye with the shopkeeper when he had walked into the store.

"This is so fucking cool," Trent said.

"Sir," the shopkeeper responded, "I still don't know what you're talking about..."

But the shopkeeper's remarks were cut short, as Trent doubled over, and reached for his legs. They were cramping... BIG TIME! As he put his hands around his calves, he thought to himself, "They're growing!"

And he was correct in his analysis. Trent's claves were growing. In fact, his whole leg was expanding in both directions. Rock hard muscle developed on his calves and thighs, as they both lengthened. They were engulfed in pain, until finally, the growth stopped. The results were diamond shaped calves, the definition impeccable, and the size of a football. His thighs were so thick, they resembled the trunk of a coconut tree.

Trent then began to feel a pressure around his feet. They felt squeezed into his shoe all of a sudden... suffocating in the tight quarters in which they were contained. Quickly, Trent bent down to take off the shoes. When he did so, he found that his feet were also growing. Creeping past a size 11... slowly stretching, elongating past a 12 �... the bones crunching, crackling and reconstructing themselves, finally stopping at a size 15. His socks then reshaped, and readjusted themselves from knee high tube socks, a pair of Nike no-show socks.

"Are you okay sir," the shopkeeper asked, not really understanding what his customer was going on about.

"I don't kn..." Trent cried out, "But.. but... ARRGGGHHHHHH..."

Trent's comment was cut short by a new pain, this time centered in his chest. On the one hand, he felt like he was being massaged, yet on the other hand, he felt like his chest muscles were being pulled apart. He started sweating profusely, as he gawked in the mirror. His man-tits were disappearing! They were restructuring themselves, turning the once jiggly fat reserves, into solid plates of steel. His pectoral muscles (that's what they were now, not fat, but pure muscles) stretched his shirt to the limit. Trent realized that the shirt he was wearing began to shrink. The bottom hem creeping up, revealing the cobblestone bricks he now had for abs. Trent watched as his nipples shifted, now facing outwards, instead of the downward direction they once faced.

His pecs now pumped, the pain moved to his sides, back and shoulders. Trent's traps, lats and back muscles grew out, forcing his arms to hang at an angle, instead of straight down. His shoulders widened and broadened. The changes finally stopped when Trent's frame looked like a doorway: intimidatingly looming.

Trent didn't have time to comment on this, however, as the pain moved to his arms. Bones crackled and muscles elongated to keep up with his lengthening arms, which grew in proportion to his new physiology. Then, as they stopped their downward journey, his arms began to swell. Like a balloon inflates, Trent's arms blew up, but unlike a balloon, Trent's biceps and triceps were filling up with strong, hard, potent muscle tissue.

Trent's arms continued bulking up, finally reaching a point when his upper arms resembled basketballs. His skin was stretched tight, that it appeared his skin was no more than a sheet of paper. The feeling shot from the arms, down to the forearms. They pumped up, increasing in size, finally looking like miniature legs of lamb, but without any of the fat.

Next, Trent's hands expanded. Growing to mach the size of the rest of his body... HUGE! Joints popped, bones broke apart and reformed, and ligaments and tendons realigned themselves until Trent could more than easily palm a bowling ball... yes, a bowling ball!

At this point, Trent looked into the mirror, and realized what was happening. He saw his solid body, rippling with newly formed mass and muscle. He was turning into a jock. He was becoming one of those jocks he had always fantasized about being. One of those jocks that had always picked on him. The very jocks he detested, yet, subconsciously longed to be.

With that thought, an erotic rush came over Trent's body, centered in his groin. He accepted these changes... No... not accepted, he embraced them... welcomed them. Then, he felt movement on his thighs, and realized that his briefs were turning into boxer briefs... The underwear inched down his thighs, and fit tightly over the densely packed muscles of Trent's thighs and bubble butt. Then, he felt more movement, and an electric shock in his penis. "No, not my penis," Trent corrected himself, "My cock... my fuck stick."

He felt his cock snake down his thighs, and was surprised when the growth seemed to complete itself when it reached about three-quarters of the way down his thigh. Another erotic rush shook his body, as his balls swelled in size from the size of grapes to the size of golf balls, and even then, a little bit bigger. Trent's nutsack dropped, and met expanded to match the growth of its contents.

"UUUGGGH!" Trent grunted, his now deep voice, echoing with a bassy resonance. "Oh, fuck!" he exclaimed, a new sensation spreading across his face and neck.

"Sir," the shopkeeper said, "If you're going to be a while in front of that mirror, I'll just be doing a few things that need to get done. Just call me if I can help you with anything." And with that, he disappeared from Trent's view.

Trent watched in the mirror as his face rearranged itself. First, his eyes lightened, going from a dark brown, to hazel, passing pale green, and finally stopping at a bright, mesmerizing blue. His cheekbones and facial structure transfigured, giving Trent more angular features, raising his cheekbones higher, and squaring off his jaw. Then, his nose collapsed, and reconstructed itself, giving Trent a nose that appeared to have been broken a few times, yet still having a shape that perfectly matched his other facial features. The pieces of the puzzle coming together, Trent looked into the mirror, and marveled at the fact that the face looking back at him was a face that could be on billboards, magazine covers, and even in the Abercrombie and Fitch Quarterly!

Trent's hair lightened in color. Changing in a few seconds from black, to a sun-highlighted, bleached blond look. It filled in fuller, and thicker than ever before, and all of a sudden, his scalp started itching, as it all started receding back into his skull. All that was lift was a short crew cut, with the sides and back faded down, and his bangs up-turned and spiked out. Then, he watched as his sideburns filled out.

The itching exploded all over his body, as all the hair on his chest, legs, arms, abdomen, back, underarms and crotch, retracted back into his skin. The itching continued as fine blond hairs, started filling in creating just a very slight treasure trail that lead to a very well trimmed and maintained patch of hair. His balls still remained hairless, as did the rest of his body, which would forever remain so. Trent's skin then started darkening. It changed from the pasty white that he once was, and darkened into a rich, golden tan. His complexion was simply perfect, and his whole body just radiated a glowing aura.

All of a sudden, Trent clutched his chest. It felt like something was moving in his heart. He felt something crawling under his skin, and in a moment, he realized that the sensation was veins. Veins snaking their way across his body, down and across his chest and abdomen. Veins popped along his legs, and arms, forming obvious webs and patterns here and there. And then veins started popping along his newly muscled neck.

Trent was feeling pumped! He felt the strength that he now possessed welling inside of him. As he made a double bicep pose in the mirror, he froze. He wanted to stop posing, to go into a most muscular pose (something that he never knew about before), but was frozen in place. Something was wrong... something was tickling him? Trent looked into the mirror at his stomach, and saw that his clothing was now changing. The shirt he tried on remained the blue and white sleeveless Abercrombie and Fitch shirt that it was, however, bottom hem crept up, and took on the appearance of a cut-off tee-shirt.

His former jeans, which now looked like ridiculous high-waters, tied on with a cloth belt (which seemed to have tightened itself throughout the transformation) altered themselves. They grew longer to match Trent's new height. Then, they changed colors. In some places it got darker, turning into a dark brown or black. In other areas, the jeans lightened, turning olive or light green. Then, as a whole, the jeans began to fade, looking as if they had been washed many, many times. Rips and tears appeared randomly, and Trent's belt's excess length hung in front, perhaps hinting at the massive organ that Trent now possessed. The pants had become a pair of waist 28, vintage wash cammos from Abercrombie and Fitch.

The shoes that Trent had cast off earlier now faded out of reality. They disappeared from sight! A brand new pair of black and white Nike cross-trainers formed on his feet.

Trent's book bag then began to flicker. It elongated and widened, darkening to black. A logo appeared on it, finally revealing itself to be the Adidas logo. Trent's backpack had become a gym bag. The books that were in a plastic bag next to the backpack disappeared, gone from Trent's memory, and the memory of the world. The new gym bag filled itself with workout clothing, a pair of shoes, and a jock strap. Not to mention a few other items... condoms and lube!

Suddenly, a sharp, throbbing pain erupted in his head. Trent quickly reached for his temples. It was like a vise was pressing his head, squeezing tighter and tighter. "ARRRRGH," Trent screamed in anguish, "My fucking head! What the fuck is happening to m... ARRRGH!" The pain was incredible!

A new feeling was added to the torture he was enduring. From somewhere within his cranial cavity, it felt like his brains were being forced through a small sieve. Trent's natural ability to learn, and hold knowledge of the world decreased. His very IQ lowered, nearing 90. Things Trent learned from school and books seeped from his head, leaving an empty brain. "Fucking A man, make this stop," Trent cried out, still in pain.

As the torture continued, Trent's brain rewrote itself with information. It filled with knowledge about working out, nutrition, and sports. Trent could no longer tell you the state capitols, but he could tell you that he worked out everyday for two hours, doing bench presses, cable flies, and bicep curls. He could ramble of rosters from sports teams. He didn't know anything about foreign trade policies, but he now knew that the Camero was a bitchin' ride.

Trent's attitudes changed. He now had an aversion for geeks and nerds. His life revolved around, hot guys, hot cars, hot sex, and flexing his muscles on and off the sports field. His world now focused on keggers, and his vocabulary now only encompassed simple words and phrases. Trent no longer would be the sniveling coward who just took everything that came his way. He would now be a cocky jock, who had an air of arrogance and confidence in everything that he did. And his voice, no longer would Trent be confused for a woman on the phone. Instead, his testosterone charged voice boomed with a bassy resonance.

And, as suddenly as the pain started, it stopped in an instant.

"Whoa," Trent said, "That was one nasty trip. I wonder if that's the ephidra in Xenadrine or somethin'."

The sales person came back to the dressing area. Not having heard or seen Trent in a while, he was a little concerned about his customer. "You still doing okay, sir?" he asked.

"Yeah, dude," Trent replied, "I'm okay. That was one hell of a rush!"

"Sorry sir."

"Not your fault guy," Trent said, "what do I owe you for the shirt?"

"Let's see now," the shop keeper said, "Five dollars for the shirt."

Trent reached into his pocket, and retrieved his money, having a little difficulty counting out five ones.

"Thanks man, that's fucking cheap! Let me know if you get anymore in." Trent said after handing the kid his money. "I gotta go to the gym... There's a stud waiting for me, and he's gonna be in for the pounding of his life," he added, thinking about how the star quarterback was his own personal boy toy. Man, this shirt is gonna look awesome on me tomorrow when I start going to my new school `Trent Hall's School for Young Adults'."

"I'm sure it will sir," the shop keeper replied.

And with that, Trent Stephens picked up his gym bag, and walked out the door, the bell overhead jingling one last time, and headed out to his new life.

"Another satisfied customer," the mysterious shopkeeper said to no one in particular. •

Please let me know if you liked this retro post. I have some others that are in reserve, so if you would like to see me post more, like and comment!

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