david - he/him, 31, ace/gay villain apologist and monster fucker - icon by @maxxifer - doughritoart.carrd.co i forget to change my age on my birthday so sometimes my bio is wrong lol
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(Yes, pls join me in cackling that the smut fic ended up assigned to 69.)
So so so excited to announce that I'm participating in the 2026 Steddie bang, along with my incredibly talented artist and beta, @desolateyears!
Rating: Explicit
Content Warnings: Violence, possessiveness, power dynamics, BDSM, D/s dynamics, under-negotiated kink, depression/anxiety, mentions of past abuse (not between main characters), choking, spanking, spitting, comeplay, risky sex.
Tags: Alternate Universe - Prison, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Slow Burn, Dark Romance, Angst With A Happy Ending
Steve arrives at Pendleton Correctional with bruises he earned in holding, a uniform that hangs wrong on his shoulders, and a name nobody in the gallery came to defend. He keeps his head down. He learns the laws of the mess hall, the three corridors between Block C and the yard, the precise angle of not-quite-hiding. He does not expect to survive this, and he is not entirely sure that he wants to.
He does not expect Eddie Munson.
His cellmate takes up space like a thunderhead- unhurried, total, already settled into the room and the block and the yard long before Steve arrived and already decided about things Steve hasn't finished thinking yet. He smokes slowly. He watches everything. Within a week, Steve has learned the three distinct creaks of the lower bunk. The specific weight of being watched across a mess hall. The difference between the silence that precedes violence and the silence that comes before he feels owned. What it costs, in the dark, to touch himself without permission - and that it costs more to stop.
Munson doesn't ask for anything, because he doesn't need to. He simply identifies what Steve is with the calm, assessing patience of a man who has done this before and is not in a hurry, and waits for Steve to finish arguing with the confirmation.
Love triangles where they don't all end up together is such a fascinating concept because it's not really a fucking triangle at all. That shit's a V. If they're not wrist deep in one another by the end then I don't want it😭
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it is tiring, being endless political just as someone existing. my teacher asks me if i’m writing more of that “feminist poetry.” a lot of it is just talking about me, being a woman, being afraid in the city. i write about walking a line, about how i am expected to choose between home and work, how each comes with a slew of its own insults; how it feels when i am wearing shorts and there are too many men outside. these are just facts of my life. someone in the comments says, “where are woman even coming up with these crazy generalizations in their feminism?”
i hold hands with the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen and someone sighs when they see me. “do they have to make everything gay?” she asks her friend, loudly, “like, do you have to force those views in my face all the time?” i can’t stop blushing. my girlfriend holds my fingers tighter, tighter, tighter, until my knuckles are white, and i let her. somehow, this is us, protesting.
my father’s cuban blood stains my skin, i think. when i am honored with a position in the dean’s private council, a boy sneers, “you only got in because you’re hispanic.” did i? i spend the rest of our meetings wondering if i was selected for my stellar academic record, for the multiple recommendations, for the clubs i lead - or if i was just a move the dean made, to make use of me. when we all take a picture, the dean brings me in the front. in the first three we take, i am not smiling.
it is odd. “i exist.” i say, “i deserve to exist.”
“oh my god,” he groans, “we get it, you’re a feminist.”
I’ve seen this post three times on my dash and i still cant fucking figure out what it means is it like some secret code. are 22,000+ of you in a secret society????? what the fuck is going on?????
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Season 2 AU where the last person Eddie ever expects to see show up at his table in the woods is Nancy Wheeler.
He says exactly as much and she cuts to the chase, “Do you make deals for anything other than drugs?”
Eddie blinks.
The answer is yes. Alcohol. Illegal fireworks. It may take some time, but he can even get you a passable fake ID but - “What is Nancy Wheeler looking for?”
“Friendship.”
Eddie blinks again, dumbfounded. He asks the question slowly like approaching an animal you don’t understand, “You…want me…to be your friend?”
“No,” She says quick and dismissive, dropping her binder of books onto the table and pulling out her neatly labeled English notebook. “You know Steve Harrington?”
“Do I know Steve Harrington?” He asks dully. “Is there someone in this town who doesn’t?”
“I want you to be his friend.”
“I…what?” He asks, baffled. Truly baffled. Even more baffled when she rips a page out of her English notebook and hands it to him. It’s a depressingly short list labeled Steve’s Favorite Things. “I- I need you to back up? What’s happening?”
“I’m making a deal with you,” Nancy says which isn’t how drug dealing works at all. “I want you to be friends with Steve and I’ll pay you.”
She opens her little pocketbook, pulls out her matching wallet, and holds out twenty bucks. She says, “I don’t have a lot but I can do twenty dollars a week. Thats a little under three dollars a day to be someone’s friend and you don’t even have to talk to him every day.”
Yeah, Eddie thinks. Sure. He’ll entertain this Twilight Zone episode for a second because, “Why would I be friends with Steve Harrington?”
“Because he doesn’t have any,” Nancy says and then sighs. She looks tired. “Steve stopped talking to his old friends last year which. That’s not a bad thing. They’re assholes. But he did that for me and now he won’t talk to me be-
“-cause you smashed his heart into a million tiny pieces?”
She gives him a look that makes him think twice about saying anything else, “Steve got hurt. I hurt him but he also got physically hurt. You saw him and I - We’ve been through a lot. All of us but he’s shutting me out.”
“He’s shutting everybody out,” She adds. “I’m worried about him.”
Okay? Edide thinks. That’s sweet and all but-
“What does that have to do with me?” He asks. “Don’t know if you noticed but I’m a freak.”
Nancy smiles, “You run Hellfire.”
“I don’t think Harrington is going to be up for some fantasy role playing, honey.”
“No, probably not,” Nancy concedes, “But it’s not about that. It’s about you and the effect you have on the people in Hellfire. Every year, you bring together people who probably never would have talked to anybody and gave them somewhere safe to be. That’s what Steve needs. He needs a friend.”
“He needs you,” She says, pushing the money across the table. “So, accept my offer.”
Well…
If Eddie thought more about this maybe he would’ve seen how this was going to inevitably blow up in his face but he wasn’t thinking about that.
He was thinking about eighty bucks a month and now many records that could buy. He was thinking about gas money and movie tickets, not about what Steve was going to think if he found out or how bad he’s going to feel about it so…
The first party Billy goes to after the “mall fire” is the first time Billy’s ever felt out of place, at least in a long damn time. His normally oozing confidence is tamped down. He nurses a beer and lets the loud music pound in his ears as he sinks into a battered couch by himself. He needs something to take the edge off, because the beer is doing fuck all for him, and like hell is he going to go home and try to sleep. Neil’s been on his ass even worse since he got out of the hospital.
And that’s when he spots a certain Eddie “the Freak” Munson, an unlit joint tucked behind his ear as he works on packing and rolling another one between his long, ringed fingers. There’s a couple girls hovering around him where he’s sitting in a recliner, watching him and giggling–maybe because they’re drunk, maybe it’s because they, like so many others, think he’s a freak, maybe they genuinely are excited. He does generally have decent stuff, from what Billy’s heard. Billy watches him seal the joint and hand it over with an exaggerated bow and a lazy smile. One of the girls reaches over, something tucked between her fingers that Eddie smoothly swipes from her hand and stuffs into the pocket of his vest.
Maybe he’s a freak. But maybe he could be useful. And it helps that he has those pretty brown doe eyes.
Eddie genuinely looks surprised when Billy steps over to him, giving him a quick once over. Maybe he thought he was going to beat him up or something.
“Hargrove, good to see you’re up and moving again,” Eddie chirps, leaning back against the recliner with a cocked eyebrow. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Billy’s eyes dart to the joint tucked by his hair before they flicker back to Eddie’s. “How much for a joint, Munson?”
Eddie’s face breaks out into a lazy smile and he reaches up to snatch the joint from its holding place. “For you? First one’s free.” He offers, hand extending to Billy. “From what I heard, you’ve been through Hell and back. You look like you need it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy barks back, eyes narrowing, though the way he takes the joint from Eddie’s fingers is gentle. He’s trying to keep up his hard exterior, but goddamn is he worn out from it.
Eddie throws his hands up in surrender, grinning nervously. “Listen man, all I’m saying is you look tired. I get it. Near death shit will do that to you.”
Billy’s shoulders slump, all fight immediately going out of him as he sticks the joint between his lips. The room is starting to feel suffocating, and he needs to get out before he has some kind of panic attack. The heavy music, the waft of bitter beer, the constant chatter…it’s starting to make his head pound. He hates how damn sensitive he’s become.
“‘M going outside. You coming?”
Eddie blinks up at him, those pretty brown eyes round and curious before he shrugs and gets up, snatching the metal lunch box he had set down by his feet. “If you’re sharing, sure.”
Billy doesn’t bother waiting to get out of the house to light the joint. He takes a long drag and holds it in as he pushes the front door open, the smoke curling inside him probably longer than it should but he wants the burn in his lungs and his throat. He finds a spot to lean against the railing on the porch of–shit, whose house was this even–and tilts his head back as blows the smoke out.
As Eddie sidles up next to him, Billy hands over the joint. He can feel the warmth of his body so close to him. Part of him wants to lean in closer. “You do have good shit,” he grumbles, but there’s no bite in his tone.
“Wouldn’t be the best dealer in town if I didn’t have top tier stuff,” Eddie replied with a huff of a laugh, taking the joint from Billy and taking a decadent drag from it.
Billy blames the strong weed for the way he narrows in on Eddie’s lips. He has to force himself to look away before he does something dangerous.
A quiet settles between them for a few moments. They pass the joint back and forth between each other on autopilot, like they do this all the time.
“You come here with anyone?” Billy blurts suddenly, before he can stop himself. What the fuck was he doing? Why did he even care?
He was lonely.
Billy was fucking lonely, and it was downright embarssing. But he’d heard rumors about Eddie. That he was queer. That the little hanky that hung out of the back pocket of his jeans wasn’t just for decoration. And a small, daring part of him wanted to see if the rumors were true.
Eddie turns to him slowly, an eyebrow raised. There’s almost a playful glint in his eyes. “I know you’re still a little new here, Hargrove, but I’m not really the kind of guy who people want to invite to parties.” He replies easily, taking another hit off the joint. He doesn't pass it this time though, studying Billy carefully. “I mostly show up for the money. Sometimes the people watching.”
“You, however,” Eddie continues, poking Billy playfully square in the chest–his nearly bare chest. Billy resists the urge to grab Eddie’s wrist and keep his hand there. The tips of his fingers are warm and there’s something grounding about the touch that he’s been missing for a while. “Could probably have just about any girl at this party. I bet you could even give Harrington a run for his money with your reputation. I heard you’ve even got quite a repertoire with the Hawkins PTA.”
Billy makes a face. Eddie isn’t…wrong. But he’s just…not interested in that. And it scares him. “Yeah well…” he looks away, watching a couple people stumbling across the lawn and whooping when another one of their friends face plants. “Not in the mood for that.”
“Man, the accident really did change you, huh?” Eddie replies quietly, and Billy expects to see some kind of teasing look in his eyes. But Eddie looks genuine. If anything, he’s got a concerned crease between his brows. Billy has the urge to smooth it out with the pad of his thumb before he shakes the thought from his head.
Billy’s jaw sets hard and he snatches the joint back to keep his hands busy before he does something he’ll regret. “Put a lot of shit into perspective.”
Eddie nods, like he understands, and there’s something calming about it that allows Billy’s shoulders to slump a little.
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