Emergency Contact

“I’m so lonely” - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: you finally confess to Eddie how lonely you’ve been feeling. Emotional hurt/comfort

A/N: my first posted ST fic! I’m so nervous. I hope people enjoy this, it may or may not have been heavily inspired by my own feelings of loneliness. If only I had an Eddie lol. Please reblog or comment if you enjoy my work! My requests are open, my rules can be found in my navigation post which is linked in my bio >3

Warnings: discussions of loneliness. Reader sits in Eddie’s lap but no mention is made of size or appearance of the reader. 'Princess' is used as a term of endearment but the reader is gender neutral. No use of Y/N. Not proofread sorry

Word Count: 1.3k

Eddie Munson was the best boyfriend on the planet. You were certain that no one could hold a candle to your Eddie. 

He told you he loved you a hundred times a day - quite literally, he always counted. He’d gaze at you like you’d hung the moon, even when he was meant to be focused on the movie showing in the cinema or the road in front of him as he drove his van. He’d make sure you drank enough water every single day. He’d tie up your shoelaces if they came undone in the street. He was perceptive enough to realise whenever something was wrong, and he’d listen while you vented, before attempting to kiss the hurt away. Eddie was everything to you. But that was part of the problem. 

Eddie wasn’t just your boyfriend, he was your best friend. Which sounds cute. Yet he was your best friend because he was your only friend. Sure, you had fun with Robin and Steve, and occasionally you and Eddie would invite Max and Lucas over to his trailer for a movie night. Although you loved your family, it was a small one. 

In essence, you often felt that the only person you made a difference to in life was Eddie. That the only person who’d notice your absence was Eddie. Sometimes you’d berate yourself for feeling this way - ‘why isn’t that enough?’ - but it simply wasn’t. 

Eddie made you feel loved, constantly. He made you feel seen, he made you feel heard, he made you feel beautiful. 

But whenever he was gone, the loneliness would gnaw away inside you, consuming your mind. A sense of isolation from those around you grew. You could be sitting next to someone on the sofa but they might as well have been a million miles away. The nights you didn’t spend with Eddie, you’d cry and cry until you fell into an exhausted stupor and finally drifted off to sleep. 

Loneliness had even begun to creep into your moments with Eddie. Sometimes you’d drift off into your own little world, especially when he’d mention something he’d done with his own friends, which served as a painful reminder that you didn’t really have any of your own. 

He’d noticed lately that your face seemed to pinch into a frown more often. He tried to convince himself that your sorrowful expressions weren’t because of him, but you had been pulling away lately, skipping plans and coming up with bullshit excuses. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Eddie murmurs as he plops down on the bed next to you. You silently curse whichever member of your family had let him in the house. Because Eddie is right, you have been avoiding him. 

“No I haven’t,” you mumble back, studiously avoiding eye contact. 

“C’mon, don’t lie to me. Please.” If you hear the quiver in his plea, you don’t acknowledge it. 

“Am not.” Eddie huffs at your second lie, dropping off the bed and coming to kneel at your feet. The way his big soft eyes gaze up at you reminds you of the labrador you had as a kid and the way it would beg for treats. Eddie, on the other hand, was begging for something more serious. 

“I love you.” Your voice breaks slightly and you sigh deeply, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. You squeeze them shut, willing them away, but you can feel Eddie’s eyes glued to your face and the tears can’t help but fall. They betray you, as if your poor attempts at lying hadn’t already. 

“I love you too baby.” He knows better than to press you. Shuffling in closer, Eddie places his hands in your lap, letting you fiddle with his rings. You lean forward to press your forehead to his as you sniffle, basking in the scent of his shampoo as his curls draw a curtain around your face. You try to speak but choke on your sobs, squeezing his hands. 

He shifts back up onto the bed next to you, and pulls you into his lap so your chest is touching his. You have no idea how long you spend sitting in his embrace, willing yourself to speak. 

“I just…” Your voice cracks. Silence. He waits. You swallow. 

“I feel like a burden to you sometimes. You’re my only person.” Eddie’s brow furrows. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” His soft caress on your face is soothing, and encourages you to continue. 

“I know I have family and sometimes we look after the kids and see Robin and Steve, but…” Deep breath. “You’re… you’re the only person who I really have. I feel like you’re the only person who loves me. The only person who’d miss me if I wasn’t here.” 

Tears roll down your cheeks but you make no move to stop them this time. Eddie does the job instead, his thumb gently wiping the moisture away, repeating the action as more tears fall. 

“And I love you so much, it should be enough that the only person I’m important to is you. I don’t know why that isn’t enough, but it isn’t. You make me feel so loved, Eddie. More loved than I’ve ever felt. But I feel so fucking lonely.” At your final admission, your throat closes and you can’t carry on speaking as sobs rack your body. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay my love.” Eddie rocks you back and forth slightly in an attempt to calm you as you sob into his shoulder. You both stay in the same position for a while, Eddie as patient as he always is with you, waiting until you exhausted yourself with your sobs before speaking again. 

“Will you promise me something?” Nodding, you pull away to face him. His thumb wipes the tear tracks on your cheeks with such a gentleness you find yourself wanting to cry again, although this time for a happier reason. 

“Will you promise to tell me when you feel like this? I know I can’t make it all go away but you don’t need to bottle this shit up, princess. You don’t have to fight it on your own.” You crash into his chest and squeeze him tight, prompting him to chuckle into your hair as he draws his arms back around you. 

“I promise,” you mumble into his torso. “I love you, teddy bear.” He flushes and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

“Do you want to talk about it more?” You ponder his question for a few quiet moments, but you’re physically and mentally exhausted from the sobs that had racked your body. 

“I’m too tired Eds, but maybe tomorrow? If you’re really sure you want to listen.” 

“Of course I want to listen. You’re my girl, and that means you never have to deal with anything on your own. I’m right here, sweetheart. Always.” 

Eddie sticks to his word in the morning. Not that you ever doubted he would. 

You guess that Eddie has at least told the others that you need some TLC in the following few days when Will calls just to remind you he loves you, with a sincerity that no one could mistake; when Mike concedes that you’re pretty cool, followed by the awkwardest shoulder punch known to man; when Nancy and Robin rope you into their weekly movie nights - you’d never confess to them that the films they chose were far too highbrow for your taste. 

You don’t think it’s a coincidence either when Lucas invites you on his and Max’s upcoming pinecone collecting adventure in the woods next to Hawkins. You’re absolutely certain it’s not a coincidence when Steve offers to teach you how to drive in his precious BMW, knowing that he’d never willingly let anyone else behind the wheel. 

While Eddie would absolutely claim it’s a coincidence if you called him out, it’s entirely intentional on his part that he now tells you I love you a hundred-and-one times a day.

Please help a writer out and reblog if you enjoyed my work! 💗

Steve had always wanted a dog. He wanted to cuddle on the couch, tug of war with old socks, and play catch in the yard. Most of all, he wanted a friend that would love him unconditionally.

So when he and Eddie got their first rundown house on the edge of Hawkins, he wanted to get a dog. They had a yard, savings in the bank, and plenty of time to spare between Eddie’s gigs and Steve’s school. He wanted a dog.

Eddie, though, wanted a cat. He was never a huge dog-lover. He didn’t really like the way dogs seemed so attached to their humans, they were too needy. He wanted a cat that kept to itself 23 hours of the day before finding its favorite person for minimal scritches and pets before disappearing once again to be a cat.

They were at an impasse. Neither one was backing down and after a two day silence streak, they reached a compromise. They would get a dog. Eddie could be reasoned with on the condition that they got a golden retriever because if he got a dog, you better believe it was going to be Steve’s twin.

With his acceptance, Steve brought home a puppy and named her Cinnamon. In a need to wreak havoc however, Eddie called her Van Halen and she only ever answered to that.

Years later when Van Halen was fully trained, Steve got his revenge. Eddie brought home a cat named Ozzy and Steve saw his chance. He called her exclusively Cuddlebug and from then on, she only answered to that.

It was so much worth it, seeing the grimace and full-body sigh Eddie took whenever he called her name. He learned the hard way that Steve holds a mean grudge (and usually gets payback in unexpected ways).

imagine that every time Nat sees Steve in civvies, she nods approvingly, frames his pecs with her hands and says “Specimen”. imagine Steve almost cracking up every fucking time she does it but pointedly refusing to explain the joke to anyone, no matter how much they whine 

Wayne thought perhaps Eddie had a cold after the third sniffle sounded from behind Eddie's closed bedroom door, and made a mental note to check the date on the back of the medicine bottle left over from the previous time sickness had struck the Munsons down.

But then he heard a muffled sob, followed by a whimper and a sniffle and then -

Wayne was up and out of his seat in seconds. Didn't hesitate as he rapped with a knuckle on the bedroom door. "Eddie?"

A rough sniffle, a quiet, "shit, shit" and then rustling before the door cracked open. Eddie looked rough; his eyes all red, his cheeks damp and sticky with tears, skin blotchy, some hair stuck to his face where he'd roughly smeared tears across his skin.

Wayne suppressed a sigh, motioned towards the bed as he let himself in, sat down with Eddie. He didn't say anything; Eddie would open up when he was ready to, and not before. If Wayne tried to pry, Eddie would put his walls back up so fast he'd never know that Eddie was ready and willing to let them down in the first place.

His blue eyes were soft as he looked at the boy he had raised so well - given the circumstances, Eddie had turned out beautifully - and Eddie cracked yet again, turning his head away so Wayne could only see the dark curtain of Eddie's hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and Wayne let him hide in himself.

He'd come out of his shell when he was ready - clearly, he wanted to talk. If Eddie didn't want to, he would have left the room or otherwise made it known.

"Do you - " Eddie exhaled roughly, shook his head, his hair brushing the tops of his shoulders, "believe them?"

Wayne winced, immediately knowing what Eddie was referring to.

Freak. Cult leader. Dangerous. Devil worshipper. Drug dealer.

Only one of those things were true; Wayne didn't necessarily approve of it, but Eddie had his reasons and he trusted him. He defended Eddie against ignorant people every day and now he had to defend Eddie on his own behalf... it put a bitter taste in his mouth but he swallowed it down, focused on his Eddie. His kind, sweet, greatly misunderstood boy.

Wayne shook his head. "No, son. You know I don't."

Eddie choked and his head whipped around to look at his Uncle, eyes wide, glistening with tears.

Wayne continued. Had to hammer the moment home.

"You're innocent." At Eddie's incredulous look, Wayne smirked, "I've seen you cry at Bambi, my boy. It's just not in your nature to be what the town says." Wayne shrugged easily, raising his arm as he saw Eddie shuffling over. His boy folded himself into Wayne's side and Wayne rubbed his hand up and down Eddie's arm, squeezing him in a half hug.

Eddie sniffled and leaned his head on Wayne's shoulder, dark curls spilling over red and blue plaid. They stayed there together for long enough that Eddie stopped crying into Wayne's shoulder and slumped down until his head was on his lap. Wayne's hands found Eddie's hair and brushed his fringe away.

"More'n you know, Eddie." Wayne patted Eddie's shoulder, "You're more'n you know. S'bout time someone showed you."

Eddie wiped a hand over his face, sat up and gave Wayne a shaky smile. It was full of gratitude and affection, soaked his next words. "You do, dad. Every day."

Wayne's heart squeezed and now he was the one who wanted to cry.

Munson family tags @hellfirebabe @eddiemunsonshoney @alliecheer007-88 missfangirl-slightly-obsessive @bakerstreethound @gemstone-roses @sweetpeapod

Happy Birthday Chris

This Town | Oslo

I love all the eddie with pets posts but what if eddie has a Guinea pig that just roams free in the trailer? And eddie and Wayne are so protective over it like they get it the best food they can and shampoo it and it’s completely pampered but it always looks like an absolute MESS. the first time Steve comes over he almost has a heart attack because this THING barrels out from behind the couch squeaking at him and headbutts the side of his foot. Before he can react eddie has scooped it up and forces Steve to apologise for scaring dirt. The Guinea pig is called dirt.

all i want is a stranger things reboot where everything is exactly the same except david harbour plays eleven and hopper, joe keery wears his djo wig at all times, joe quinn switches his american & british accents between scenes and nobody acknowledges it and every time someone says something dumb gaten looks straight at the camera in complete silence like he's on the office. is this too much to ask for?

Anytime Steve goes on vacation by himself, with Phil, or with his parents, he returns to a pouty Eddie that looks like a mopey cat that’s begging for attention. Teary, pathetic, but also still mind-numbing my adorable.

Whenever he’s gone, Eddie sulks around the trailer aimlessly. He drives Uncle Wayne crazy and he withdraws from the Party until Steve comes back. It drives everyone insane enough that they all notice Steve’s absence all too well.

So, the next time Steve has to go on a trip with his parents and he can’t take Eddie along, he assigns Phil to be on Eddie-duty. He tells him to entertain him, keep him out of trouble, and make sure he doesn’t get too mopey. Basically, he tells him to be a good babysitter.

If there was one thing Harringtons could do, it was be a good babysitter. On day two of Steve being away, Eddie opens the trailer door to find an unamused Officer Callahan on his stoop with a box of Kleenex, four VHS tapes, and snacks in his arms.

“Let me in so we can watch movies and complain about how much of an asshole Steve is for leaving you here. I have movies and snacks.”

And what else is Eddie to do besides let him in and do exactly that?

(When Steve comes back from his trip to Florida, it’s to find that Eddie and Phil are now best friends. He’s never been more horrified at his own actions than he is in that moment.)

Every Step of the Way

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: After struggling through the entire week, Steve’s there to comfort you when you need him the most.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: severe depression is depicted, Steve and reader being naked in a shower together but nothing sexual, major hurt comfort vibes

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: this is 1000% self indulgent, I wrote this when I was in a really dark place, struggling to even just get out of bed every day and I needed Stevie there to comfort me. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

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Opening your eyes seems like an effort too great for the amount of energy in your reserves.

Every breath is a heave, as if trying to gasp for air with an anvil sitting on your chest.

The backs of your eyes sting with tears at the thought of needing to get out of bed. You don’t want to face the day, don’t want to be the early bird catching the worm. You want to stay under the covers and sleep, that’s all you have the motivation to do.

Dirty dishes are stacked next to your sink, they’ve been accumulating since early in the week and you’ve just not had the energy after working and making dinner each night to actually wash them yet.

Clothes litter the floor of your bedroom, but you’ve put off going down to the laundry room for the past few days, with each new sunrise promising it’ll be tomorrow you’ll find time to do it, but that tomorrow never comes.

The bathrooms need cleaning, the floor needs vacuuming, surfaces need dusting - you put off doing them last weekend to focus on other household chores, but this weekend has come around and you’re not any more inspired to complete them.

You hear keys rattle in your front door, the sound startling you enough to finally open your eyes, but not sufficiently concerning to warrant leaving your bed. The only person who owned keys to your place was your boyfriend and though you didn’t want him to see the mess you were living in, there wasn’t anything you could do in the two seconds it would take for him to open your door.

As if instinctually he knows you’re still snuggled up in bed, you hear his heavy footsteps striding steadily towards your door.

Bracing for the furious displeasure you have been conditioned to receive from ex partners when they discovered you in a relapse, you pull the covers tighter around yourself as if to shield you from what was about to happen.

“Stevie…” Your voice is soft, vulnerable as he enters the room, but it’s not pity nor annoyance you see in his eyes, which you had been expecting, but instead they are brimming with concern.

“Hey darling.” His honey voice is slow and smooth, soothing the jittery anxiety ricocheting through your mind and chest. “Not feeling too good?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you shake your head anyway, clutching the duvet closer to your chin. Steve pulls his shirt over his head, rounds the bed and climbs in next to you.

“C’mere.” His strong arms envelop you and pull you into his strong chest, the weight of them on your back and his musky scent, which now consumes your senses, is the secure reassurance you’ve been needing all week that you’re not completely alone in this brutal world.

He doesn’t ask what’s the matter with you, doesn’t ask why you’ve barely answered his messages all week, why your home is a complete mess or why you’re laying in the dark at noon on a weekend. He doesn’t make you justify your change in behaviour, why you kept him at arm's length, doesn’t scold you for your absence as other people have done in the past. Instead, he kisses your forehead, whispers that you’re safe with him as he gently rubs his hand up and down your back.

He could have easily chastised you for withdrawing into yourself and not seeking help, could have pointed out the state your home was in, or mentioned that you smelled in need of a shower, but he does none of that. Rather, he tells you over and over again that you’re loved, ingraining the notion in your mind so that you won’t ever forget, placing kisses over every inch of your face he can reach while still holding your body close.

The sound of his beating heart lulls you to a peaceful sleep, feeling safe and treasured, and for the first time this week like you don’t have to carry the weight of expectation and hollow desolation all on your own.

* * *

When you wake, the warmth provided by your sturdy boyfriend is missing. Distress fills your chest for a moment, thinking perhaps Steve coming to soothe you to sleep was a figment of your imagination, until you hear the faint sound of movement from the main living area.

With an effort you believe rivals running an entire marathon, you push the sheets off yourself, heave yourself out of bed and trudge into your kitchen, but not before noticing that the clothes that were strewn over your bedroom floor this morning were no longer there.

Once your eyes adjust to the light you notice Steve hunched over your sink, elbows deep in soapy water doing your dishes. Part of you is thankful, you’ve been needing to do them all week and just hadn’t found the energy or motivation. But another part of you, deep in your chest, feels ashamed - you have to rely on your boyfriend, who has a hectic enough life of his own, to do something as simple as washing your dishes. How pathetic.

“Steve, I can do them.” You declare, lumbering over to the counter, feeling somewhat relieved to see there’s only half the number of dirty pots and pans as was there when you left them last night.

“It’s okay darling, I’ve already got my hands wet…”

“I don’t want you doing my dishes for me, Steven.” You don’t know why those particular words leave your mouth, because seeing the dishes you had failed to clean the last few days finally have the grime scrubbed off them alleviates some of the hefty gravity pushing you chest so tight you almost can’t breathe. But it also makes you feel incapable, worthless and weak.

You’re not sure what quality it is in your voice that indicates it, but Steve immediately removes his hands from the bubbly water, dries them quickly on the back of his pants and pulls you into his chest just as tears you didn’t realise were coming start silently streaming down your cheeks.

“Shhh, it’s okay, deep breaths for me baby.” His large hands rub soothing circles around your back as your tears dampen his shirt. You try your best to follow his instruction, slowly take deep breaths and calm the flow of untameable misery pouring out the corners of your eyes, but your throat starts constricting and each new tear running down your cheeks evokes two more.

You just want it to end. You want to be able to function like a regular human being without exhausting all of your energy reserves by simply getting out of bed.

You just want to be normal. Be someone Steve can be proud to call his girl. Not someone who struggles to do the simplest of tasks.

When Steve senses that your flood of emotions isn’t subsiding, he shuffles with you in his arms towards your bathroom, whispering that the warm water of your shower will help refresh you.

He helps lift you onto your bathroom countertop, kissing away the stray tears on your cheeks before turning on the shower. While he tests the temperature of the water with one hand, his other maintains hold on yours - even just the connection to him helps in your attempts to calm yourself down. He’s here for you, and he isn’t going anywhere.

When the temperature is just how you like it, Steve helps you strip off your clothes and directs you under the stream. You let the water wash over your face, taking some of your worries with them, as Steve steps in behind you.

You can’t tell the difference between your own teardrops and drizzle of the shower as you look up at your boyfriend, grateful for the care and tenderness he’s shown you while you’re at your lowest. No one else has stuck around when they’ve seen you like this, but in this moment you feel nothing but pure love.

You place a gentle kiss to a scar on his bare chest and Steve kisses your forehead in return - a silent message to thank him for being there for you, and him to acknowledge that though you’re unable to voice your gratitude at the present moment, he understands it’s there.

Once Steve washes your hair, knowing the steps of your routine perfectly, and the rest of your body, you step out of the shower feeling like the load you’ve been carrying for the past few weeks has been washed off your back.

Steve smiles as he pulls his own shirt over your head, kissing your nose once your head pops through the hole. Now your tears have settled, you can appreciate the affection overflowing in his baby blues, fondness you don’t believe you deserve, but cherish nonetheless.

Forgetting all about the dirty dishes in the cold, soapy sink, Steve directs you back to your bedroom, climbing in after you and pulling you once again into his strapping chest.

“Darling, you don’t have to carry this burden alone. I’m here for you, and I love you, you don’t ever have to face this by yourself again.” Steve speaks softly into your hairline, the intent and conviction in his voice enough to drive you to tears again.

“But it’s not like I have that much on my plate, I should be able to do simple things like housework. I just… I just can’t. I can’t explain it, my brain just doesn’t allow me to.”

Steve pulls away from you slightly so he has an angle to look at you directly in the eye. It looks like it physically pains him to see you struggling so much.

“My love, you are the strongest person I have ever met. I am so proud of you everyday that you are here with me, that you keep battling your own mind. You’re my fighter, my best girl, and I’m here to help you through this difficult patch. For better or worse. In sickness and in health, I love you.” He punctuates his declaration with a sweet kiss, reinforcing his words.

“We’re not married Stevie.” You point out, but he simply smirks at you.

“Not yet.”

Before Steve Rogers you believed love was tumultuous and torture, that it was meant to tear you in half, because you cared about the other person so ardently it left you bloodied and bruised. But Steve proved to you that wasn’t love - love isn’t supposed to feel like you’re going to war, instead it’s comfort, it’s a reassuring embrace of someone who has seen your battle scars and tells you it’s time to rest.

Love is solace.

And Steve Rogers is certainly your solace.