#They make Robin carry all of the bags so they can pick their rooms first

[artiststarme]

Let's Get Out Of Here

Aha, the writer’s block is gone! I’m not sure what this is but I hope you guys like it! Please leave your thoughts in the comments.

~*~*~*~

Eddie had wanted to leave since he stepped foot into the god-forsaken town. As soon as he’d passed the town’s border in the backseat of the social worker’s sedan, he knew he didn’t belong there. Hawkins was everything he despised about society; white picket fences for the rich, small town boys who thought they were better than everyone else, and snobby adults that turned their nose up if he so much as looked at them.

So yes, he’d been imagining a way out since he got in. He’d imagined Corroded Coffin making it big and getting to leave Hawkins together, best friends living the best life on stage while sharing their music with the masses. They wouldn’t be the outcasts that people treated like shit beneath their boots anymore, they would be something important. Unfortunately, that dream was squashed by his experiences over Spring Break. His old friends wouldn’t so much as glance at him much less leave town to hit the road with him.

Gone were the friends that would listen to him narrate a campaign for hours on end. Gone were the the friends that would drop everything to practice one of Eddie’s spur of the moment song ideas. After Spring Break of his third senior year, Eddie was alone.

He managed to avoid criminal charges by the skin of his teeth with a bogus alibi fabricated by the surprisingly-still-alive-Chief Hopper. He was finally able to graduate from high school and get a full time job to raise some money. But everything else was ruined. The friends he’d had since sophomore year were gone, the trailer he’d called his home was savaged, and his body was marred with gruesome scars that still wrought pain on the worst days.

On the bad days when the pain kept him in bed, he’d fantasize about leaving Hawkins. New, more achievable dreams centered around moving someplace new with Wayne. They’d pack everything up in the van and truck and just take off. They’d leave the tragic Midwest behind and head somewhere bigger like LA or NYC to take the world at storm, Munsons against the world as it had always been. Unfortunately though, they just didn’t have the funds to do that. Wayne couldn’t leave the plant when he had no savings to his name. And Eddie didn’t have anywhere near enough saved from working at Thatcher Tire to support them both.

He still had nothing going for him in Hawkins though. The harsh glares and pointed insults had only worsened since Chrissy’s death. He had to leave. But, he’d always been a coward at heart and he wasn’t brave enough to leave on his own. He would be trapped in the town that hated him until he died or something happened to force him out.

The one thing he had still was his family. It had lost several members but it had gained even more. The Party had managed to creep passed his defenses to find a place in his broken heart. Steve and Robin in particular grew close to him, assigning themselves best friends of Eddie Munson 1 and 2, respectively. They would hang out around Wayne’s new trailer, bother him at work, and he’d bother them at theirs.

It was on one of these impromptu hang-out sessions that a spark of hope developed in his chest. He’d been mourning his cowardice and inability to leave in silence until Steve started complaining about feeling trapped in his empty home. It was then that Eddie saw an opportunity.

“I don’t know, man. I know it sounds stupid, how can I feel trapped in a big house? But there’s just nothing there! And it’s, it’s suffocating, man. I don’t know how much longer I can stay there.”

Steve murmured his words against the end of a cigarette, his body leaning against the side of the car that Eddie was pretending to work on. But how was he supposed to focus on changing a timing belt when the object of his affections was expressing a will to leave?

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Eddie nearly fell over as he rushed to reassure him. “Hell, I’ve felt suffocated since I got here.”

Steve hummed softly and took a puff of his cigarette.

Eddie smirked sardonically and chuckled to himself. “Maybe we should leave together. You could stop being a ghost in your parents house and I could stop being the murderer that killed his classmates. We could get a place together and decorate it half jock, half metal. That’d be a sight.”

Steve looked over at him with squinted eyes. “Really? You’d want to leave with me?”

“Why not? You’re one of my best friends, Stevie. I’d love to leave with you.”

The suspicion melted from Steve’s expression and a genuine smile took its place. He dropped the cigarette to the gravel ground, pulled the tool from Eddie’s hand and pulled him into an all-encompassing hug.

“Let’s do it! You and me. And Robin, I don’t think she’d let me move without her. We’re a package deal, if that’s okay.”

Eddie laughed and it’s him, high in the moment despite it all being a joke. “Of course! You can bring your emotional support lesbian and I’ll bring my Sweetheart. Then we’ll take the world by storm.”

Steve held onto him for another few moments before pulling away. “Okay, when do you want to leave?”

The smile fell from Eddie’s face. “Wha- seriously? You actually want to leave with me?”

“Um, yes? I feel like I made that pretty obvious.”

Eddie blinked. “Um, okay. How about the end of the summer. Then we’ll have enough time to find a place and raise some cash.”

Steve grinned. “Sounds good! I’ll tell Robin. See you later, Eds!”

Eddie could only watch him skip to his car in shock. Steve continued to surprise the hell out of him. He’d shocked him in the Upside Down by being a genuinely good guy. Again when he’d fought the entire basketball team two weeks afterward to protect Eddie’s honor. And now with plans to rescue him from the stifling hatred of Hawkins.

When he pulls him into a gentle kiss as soon as they step into the apartment with Robin behind them griping about carrying all the bags, that’s a nice surprise too.

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[blueywrites]

I Will Wait

a soulmate!fakemarriage!au with rockstar!eddie and personalassistant!reader (also featuring ronance)

cowritten by @abibliophobiaa, @blue-mossbird, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, and @fracturedarkness

18+ only for mature themes and eventual sexual content. fem!reader, alcohol consumption

three (15.3k) | next | masterlist | AO3 | 🎵 shmackin' tunes

in this universe, there is no upside down, the year is 1995, and corroded coffin = nine inch nails. enjoy! 🐝

The next few months are an absolute whirlwind. Corroded Coffin was in the last legs of producing their new album when you were hired, meaning the period of time when they were gearing up for the debut was just getting started. Photoshoots, interviews, preparing press releases, scheduling future appearances, and a million other things all seemed to be happening at once.

In addition to being the middleman between Eddie and the powers that be, which mostly consisted of Steve sending you constant emails of new appointments, you also were quick to learn some of the other expectations that comes along with being a PA for a celebrity. Mainly: house work.

At first you had thought they were fucking with you when Eddie mentioned that he needed you to come to his brownstone in the morning to do his laundry. As it turns out, he was both completely serious and incredibly amused with your ignorance of all the things you had technically signed up to do for him by taking this position. So you found yourself letting yourself into the Munson brownstone in Greenwich Village a few times a week to do menial tasks for your client. 

Today, you’d walked in around 10am, much to Eddie’s displeasure, and were greeted with a bag full of laundry thrown at your feet. “Good morning to you too, Eddie,” you offer, albeit a bit dryly as you place your pocketbook on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Did the maid I hired not get around to laundry this week?”

“Fired her.” Eddie sounds way too chipper for this time of day, and you can only guess it’s because of his smug smile as he forces you into doing things you’ve tried to work around. “Kept looking at my underwear weird; thought she was gonna sell it or something.”

Not believing it for a second, you still give him a tight smile. “I’m sure. I’ll work on finding another maid to clean the brownstone. Again.”

“You do that!” He calls over his shoulder as he walks further into the bright and airy kitchen. In his black sweatpants and bleach-stained tank top, he looks completely at odds with his own home. It sometimes makes you wonder if his wife, Robin, picked everything out or if they had just gotten a designer to come in and make it like a show home. The first floor is beautifully decorated but stale, like no one actually lives there. It gets a bit more personal as you ascend but it still seems strange to have a home feel so disconnected. “Oh—” he looks back over as you lift the bag of laundry into your arms with a huff, “I have a pair of silk boxers in there that need to be hand washed, so don’t even think about putting them in the machine. And, uh… don’t worry about the stains.”

Oh, how you wish you could smack the cheeky grin off his face sometimes. You mumble an acknowledgement as you carry the bag through the first floor and past the kitchen, passing through an open door frame that leads into the laundry/mud room. Sorting lights and darks, despite the very intense lack of white articles that need to be cleaned, you start shoving black fabric after black fabric into the top load washing machine. When the tips of your fingers brush silk, your teeth clench tight together as you clutch it in your fist and throw it towards the deep sink a few feet away.

Once the machine is started, you walk back over to where the bundle of black silk now rests at the bottom of the plastic basin. Upon first examination, there are no suspicious ‘stains’ to be seen, but you still don’t trust it. Pinching one of the hems between your fingernails, you lift it up to eye level to inspect further, wanting to know exactly what you’re getting into before you get started.

The french door behind you pulls open with a stream of sunlight and a brush of floral perfumed air. Still holding the offending garment between your fingertips, you spin toward where Robin has just entered the mud room, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose and a book in her hand. “Uh…” Her hand slowly drops from the door handle, a smile stretching across her face as her eyebrows raise. “Whatcha doin’?”

Embarrassment wells up to warm your face, which you assume was Eddie’s goal all along, while you give Robin a tense smile. “Eddie fired the maid again. Said his silk underwear needed to be ‘hand-washed’.”

Robin’s sigh is one of long-suffering acceptance as she crosses over to you, grabs the boxers, and throws them into the running washing machine. “He’s fucking with you; you know how he is.” The sunglasses are pushed up into her hair so she can fix you with her blue-eyed stare. “You can just… push back a little. Don’t let him walk all over you.”

“It’s my job to—”

“Your job is not to just do whatever the fuck he tells you to do. Like, hiring the maid was a good move. He probably would’ve had you over here everyday dusting his little trophies if you hadn’t outsmarted him.” Her smile is warm, almost like she’s proud. “Your job is to make sure he can do his job. That’s all.”

Since meeting Robin 3 months ago, she has been nothing but sweet and kind to you. Despite being your client’s wife, she very often put herself in your corner, facing off against some of Eddie’s more unreasonable requests. While you don’t necessarily need her intervention, it still is nice to have sometimes. Her reassurance has your tension easing, a deep breath expanding your lungs in slight relief. “Thank you, Robin.”

“No prob,” she taps the cover of her paperback against your bicep as she moves past you and out into the kitchen. “Eddie!”

You follow her through the entry just in time to see Eddie spinning toward her shout, an open gallon of milk in his hand and a white stain on his upper lip. “Hey Rob, what’s the move?”

“God, Munson, you’re so fucking gross.” She pushes his shoulder out of her way to reach into the fridge and pull out a decanter of orange juice. “Remind me to never drink the milk in this house again.”

He sets the jug on the kitchen island and leans on his elbow to keep himself in her sideview, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “And you married me anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans, although it betrays a certain level of amusement with her husband as she places her palm on his forehead and pushes him away again. Watching the easy interaction of their back and forth, always acting more like best friends than a more formal married couple, has a pang twisting in your chest. You can only hope for such an easy and comfortable relationship with your soulmate one day.

Two days later, you’re once again standing in the Munson brownstone in the early hours of the morning. Or, Eddie’s version of early, which happens to be anytime before noon. You hadn’t had time to find another cleaning service yet so you were elbows deep in the sink in their kitchen, bright yellow silicon gloves protecting your hands from the hot, soapy water as you washed bowls and coffee cups.

Eddie appears at the bottom of the stairs, yawning loudly as he stretches his arms skyward, shirt lifting to show a peek at the ink beneath. You pay him no mind as you continue your methodical cleaning of ceramics, keeping your eyes down even when he walks right up beside you and leans on the counter. Fully content to ignore him until your task is done, you can’t help but startle away when his fingertips ghost against your temple, pushing the hair back.

“What are you doing?” You finally glance over at him, your voice pitching up a bit in surprise. His smile is mischievous, eyes shining in the light, leaning over further to rest his chin on his fist.

“Oh, I was just fixing it for you. Your hands are wet and soapy.”

Exhaling through your nose, you go back to focusing on scrubbing the burnt eggs from the bottom of a frying pan. Over the last month or so, Eddie has gone from barely tolerating your existence and trying to make your life miserable, to being very pleased with your existence so he can continue to push the envelope on making your life miserable. It has become more and more like a game for him – testing the boundaries on what you will tolerate. Both what you will do for him and how much he can flirt with you until you get terse.

After a moment of awkward silence, at least on your end, you move to break the tension. “We should go over your schedule for today.”

He gives an exaggerated sigh, turning to lean both arms back on the counter beside you. “If we have to.”

“Your stylist asked you to be on site by 10am so they would have time to get you ready before the photographers arrived.” You’re barely halfway through your sentence before Eddie is groaning, sinking a bit lower onto his elbows. Mustering a flat look, you turn your head in his direction. “Why are you pouting?”

“I forgot the fucking photoshoot was today.” A ringless hand comes up to rub at the side of his face, still a bit swollen from sleep. “The only thing worse is those stupid press interviews.”

You turn back to the soap filled bowl in your gloved hands to hide your smile. “Good thing that’s not today. The interview is later this week.” Eddie’s reaction is instantaneous and dramatic – he moans in outrage as he slides all the way down to the floor beside you, leaning over to lightly hit his forehead against the side of your outer thigh over and over.

“I swear, it’s like you hate me,” his voice is muffled from below, face directed down. “You hate me when I have been nothing but nice to you.”

An amused snort leaves you against your will at the idea. His head whips back to look up at you in surprise and you barely manage to school your expression in time. “It’s not personal, Eddie. I’m just doing my job.”

“Speaking of your job,” he picks himself up off the floor in a less-than-graceful fashion, his sweatpants running much lower as he rises. You keep your eyes in the sink as you wipe down the last coffee mug left and pretend you aren’t seeing him adjust the fabric around his groin. “I need you to walk my lizard today.”

Halfway through removing the stopper from the sink to drain the used water, you freeze with your forearm still in the slowly lowering water. “Excuse me?”

He’s leaning on his elbow again, a smug smile on his face as he watches your reactions. “My lizard. You know, the one upstairs?” You make a noise of acknowledgement that you know what lizard he’s referring to. “He needs to be walked once a week. Specifically on sunny days. Normally around noon when the sun is highest, so he gets the most of the heat, y’know?”

You feel your eyebrows drawing together in confusion, trying to think back to what you know about lizards. Which, admittedly, is not much. Still, needing to walk a lizard sounds incorrect. You’ve never seen someone walking around with their lizard on a leash. You’re about to start to question him more when you catch sight of his expression. He has his lips drawn in between his teeth, his eyes pinched tight as he tries not to laugh. “... You’re fucking with me.” The laugh escapes as a bark, his palm slapping down on the counter beside you as it echoes out into the high ceilings of the brownstone. “You almost fell for it too!”

Bristling in annoyance and just a little bit of embarrassment, you take a deep breath and hang the damp gloves over the edge of the now-empty sink to dry. “I think it’s time for you to get ready to leave.”

His mirth dies down fast, his head rolling back to sigh at the ceiling. “But, and here’s the thing right, I really don’t want to go.” You make another noncommittal noise, not looking to encourage his antics right now. Neck rolling toward you, that cheeky grin that you’ve come to loathe is back. “Beg me and I’ll do it.”

Another exhale out of your nose to remain calm, you weigh your options. If you beg, you are playing into his games and encouraging antics like this. But, you also get the result you want faster. If you refuse, you are technically standing your ground, but could end up with a bigger fight to try to get him ready and out the door in time. Deciding to play his game, you give him the flattest expression you’re capable of. “Will you please get ready to leave for your photoshoot?”

This time the sigh he lets out is satisfied, his shoulders falling and eyes closing in what looks like relief. When his eyes meet yours again, they’re accompanied by a lazy smile. “Love when you say please.” He taps the tip of your nose, shocking you still, as he turns back toward the stairs. “I’ll be ready in no time!”

He is not ready in no time.

You’re standing at the bottom of the stairs at 10:10am and have still not seen head nor tail of Eddie since he traipsed back up. The car outside has already honked twice, letting you know it’s waiting, but you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Eddie, we’re already late!” Your voice echoes through the multi-floor space, definitely loud enough for him to hear, but you get no response. Patience running thin, you raise your voice again. “Eddie!”

You finally hear him reply, voice far off. “I got stuck in my pants, maybe you should come up and help me!”

Pressing your fingertips to your brow bone hard enough to pull the skin of your eyelid, you call back, “If you’re struggling to put your own pants on, I should probably call a medical professional.”

The soles of now-familiar boots appear at the top of the tall staircase, your eyes trailing up their occupant as he begins to slowly lumber his way down the stairs. He’s in his usual attire. Scuffed Doc Martens, a pair of black jeans stretched tight over his endless thighs, leather jacket fitted against his frame, those chunky rings adorning his fingers. Around his neck he wears multiple silver chains of varying sizes, dipping low into the collar of his shirt. “Y’know you could stand to be a little more fun.”

You remain firm, arms crossed as you wait for him to hit the final step. “I don’t think I understand your version of fun.” He blows a raspberry in your direction as he crosses the foyer to start shoving things into the already-tight pockets of his jeans. “We’re already late, and that means we are just delaying further when we can get to your preferred portion of the day at the studio.”

He meets your eyes through the mirror before him. Both of you showing an attempt at nonchalance.  “I swear, sometimes when you talk it’s like a fly buzzing around my head and I just,” he swats once, “can’t,” twice, “get it,” three times, “to stop.”

“Maybe you should get better aim,” you offer coolly as you cross behind him to hold open the front door, hoping to get him to finally walk through it. “Or, better yet, you should consider actually listening to me instead of letting it go in one ear and out the other.”

“But it's like a buzzing little bee in my ear. Gets so annoying whenever you’re droning on and on about responsibilities and my to do list and shit.” He walks past you as he continues his rant, bouncing down the small set of stairs leading to street level. You’ve just turned back from locking the door when he whirls on you. “Maybe if you wore something a little more easy on the eyes, I’d be able to focus more on what comes out of your mouth.”

When you grit your teeth, his grin only grows, backing up towards the black sedan waiting for you both. Your voice is a thinly veiled warning when you start to say, “Eddie –”

“Careful, little Bee,” he opens the door, lifting a boot to rest on the frame. “If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.” Then he falls into the darkened car, leaving the door open and sliding across so you can get in next to him. With no other option, you stomp down your frustration and climb in after him.

You’re not sure what to expect as the car pulls up in front of an abandoned warehouse out on Long Island. At first glance, it’s a dilapidated looking hole in the wall. From where you’re sitting, you can see the rusted metal roofing, the smashed in windows, exposed beams standing erect to hold up the exterior of the building. You knew the team intended for a grungier, broken down scene to represent the lyrics of the band’s latest album portraying a man’s downfall; however, you hardly anticipated something such as this in the seemingly middle of nowhere. 

  Eddie’s knee spreads further right from where he sits next to you, jean-clad thigh brushing yours ever so softly. Your head shifts to take him in, gaze trailing instantaneously to where you’re connected, stamping down the feeling that wells up and lingers behind your ribs with every fleeting moment such as this. His amber eyes are shrouded behind a pair of sunglasses today, tattooed hand nearest to you sprawled over his bent kneecap. There’s a thought burgeoning in his gaze, ever present before he ever even opens his mouth to speak out his reluctant drawl of, “Guess it’s now or never.”

The two of you slide out the car in unison on opposite sides of the respective vehicle, winding around the exterior and meeting to join in the center of the uneven, grassy ground. His lip quirks upward as he takes in the sight of you like a newborn doe on heels that insist on sinking into the ground, head tipping your way in the only acknowledgement of your presence you’ll likely receive. Inside, you’re immediately greeted by rusted over conveyor belts in the center of the room. There are steel beam stairs leading to an upper deck overlooking the central portion of the interior. To your left is the wall least eaten away by rust throughout the years, silver metal spanning from floor to ceiling, with endless lights positioned around the edges of the parameters to illuminate the set.  

Your head tips to Eddie, standing there disinterested as ever, head tipping up to the sky, visible through the broken up ceiling. Like this, you can see every dark wave of hair that dances along the leather of his jacket, the ridges on the column of his pale throat, the tattoos that creep up high along the neckline of his collar, hinting at intricate detailing beneath. And then that left hand settles over the bridge of his sunglasses and pushes them upward, the glint of his wedding ring catching in your field of view, and you set your gaze on the glowing set before you as you edge closer to your destination. 

The room itself is bustling. People shift and mill about the warehouse, carrying various pallets and crates in hand and positioning them strategically around the room in order to create impactful angles for the intended photos. Workers chat amongst themselves with cameras draped around their necks, clipboards in hand as they mark down a list of tasks you’re not privy to. Once nearer to the group, a woman comes barreling over in a flurry of movement. She’s gorgeous. Deep russet skin, dark hair styled to perfection, a tape measure over her shoulder, and a pair of leather pants curled over a forearm. You catch the glint of her artful gold hoops in either of her ears and the bright makeup covering her eyelids. You admire the rips in her jeans and the fabric of her oversized hoodie as she tuts audibly and glares Eddie’s way. You assume this isn’t the first time Eddie’s run behind schedule, try as you might to get him there as close to on time as possible.

“You’re late!” She admonishes, hand dropping to a popped out hip. For the first time since you’ve been working for Eddie, you catch the slight drop in his steely facade. It’s barely noticeable, just the slightest downturn of his lips, but you capture it all the same, knowing this woman intimidates him in a way no one else seems capable of doing so. She turns to you then, flashing you a megawatt smile. “Erica. Erica Sinclair. I’m Corroded Coffin’s stylist. I’m sure you tried your very best to get him here on time, but you see Edward wouldn’t be Edward if he wasn’t late to everything.”

“Fashionably late, Sinclair.” She glances him up and down, clearly unimpressed by his excuse, and curls a hand around his shoulder.

“Says the man who would wear the same ugly ass Hellfire shirt to every fitting when I first started working with you all. It’s a miracle by my own doing that you know how to dress yourself now. Come on, the team is already paying for your lateness,” she says, and without another word your way, she ushers him to a trailer standing just outside of the warehouse, where you anticipate the rest of the band to be readying for their photoshoot within. 

You’re left to stand in the back of the warehouse, trying to keep out of the way of those working around you. With a low sigh, you wander over to the furthest wall covered in sheet metal and broken in windows, looking out into the grassy landscape. A bird flits on by, drawing your attention, just as a voice sounds from behind you. Jolting, you whirl on the heel and spot none other than Steve himself, and beside him, a man you’ve yet to meet before.

The man’s bearded face is twisted in a scowl as he shouts into his brick of a cell phone. He’s gesticulating wildly, dark curls bouncing with every angry movement. You can only catch snippets of his impassioned rant, but you’ve gathered enough to know that he does not suffer fools gladly. 

Steve stands awkwardly beside the man, wincing on occasion at his booming voice. The scene is not entirely inviting, but you have no choice but to approach when Steve’s gaze catches yours. His face lights up in recognition, and he waves his hand to beckon you near. As you approach, Steve steps forward and briefly pats your upper back in greeting.

“Glad to see you made it! I want to introduce you to our band manager, Murray Bauman.” Steve motions you over with a warm smile until another shrill taunt from the man in question has him flinching away. “But let’s just give him a minute, shall we?” You agree politely and turn with Steve to observe Murray closing out his phone conversation. 

“I don’t care how busy you are, get it done TODAY!” Murray’s barking demand echoes throughout the warehouse, and you stare as he rips the phone from his ear and takes out his frustrations by repeatedly smashing the end call button. He lets out an annoyed breath before pushing his wireframe glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

“Fair warning, he can be… bold.” Steve whispers this warning for your ears only. Just another hothead for the collection, you snort to yourself. You deal with Eddie Munson on a daily basis. How much worse could Murray Bauman be? Steve walks ahead of you to serve as the bridge during introductions. Before Steve can offer an explanation, Murray’s annoyed face takes in your approach with suspicion. 

“Who are you? Harrington, why are you bringing this person to bother me?” Murray interrogates you immediately. He regards you skeptically, assessing whether you are worth his time or attention. 

“Murray, this is the assistant I was telling you about,” Steve explains, offering your name as he beckons you forward. “You know, the one who is currently working with Eddie.”

“You mean the one you forced me to hire?” 

Steve casts a furtive glance your way before his gaze whips back to Murray, the stare holding weight as he replies, “She’s lasted four months, Murray.”

Murray looks back flatly as Steve tries to impress some knowledge upon him with a combination of wide hazel eyes and bushy brows. Behind his wireframe glasses, Murray squints. “Four months?” He replies skeptically, and Steve nods slowly.

“Four months,” he enunciates slowly, and you watch the men communicate through shifting facial expressions: Steve’s eyes implore Murray to be civil, while Murray appears exasperated by the prospect of niceties. Eventually, Murray lets out a groan before forcing his face into a perfunctory smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Murray offers, insincerity lacing his every word. His dark eyes cut to Steve as if to ask - happy now? All at once, his mask crumbles and he returns to his brash self. “Do me a favor, yeah? Keep Munson in line. I’d prefer to not clean up any more of his messes.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” you reply. “It’s very nice to mee–”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Murray sounds appalled, disgust written all over his face. His question makes you stutter to a stop. You look down at your outfit and see nothing untoward - white blouse, black cardigan, plaid pleated skirt, dark tights, and chunky heels. It’s simple and professional. It’s safe. Or so you thought. Confused, you look back up to see that Murray isn’t making eye contact with you. Instead, he’s glaring at something or someone behind you. That’s when you register the sound of heavy boots thudding your way. You turn to see who has inspired such a visceral reaction from Murray, but instinctively you know who you’ll find. 

Eddie.  

He strides toward you with Erica by his side. She looks proud of her work, and you can’t blame her. Eddie looks… well, he looks hot. To put it bluntly. Erica has given Eddie a monochrome look that’s enhanced by different textures and accessories. His black suit is striking with its satin lapels and tailored fit. The suit jacket is unbuttoned, revealing the pièce de résistance - a mesh top that leaves little to the imagination.

“You look ridiculous! Where’s the rest of your shirt?” Murray’s question is directed at Eddie, but his scowl is aimed straight at Erica. Any other person would have withered under the intensity of his glower, but Erica seems emboldened by it. 

“Where’s the rest of your hair?!” Erica counters without a moment's hesitation, arms crossed in defiance. “Leave the dressing to the experts. Seriously, Murray. You look like a sad, middle-aged hack going through a divorce.”

“Oh, spare me, Sinclair.” 

Erica and Murray’s jibes muddle with Steve’s pleas to stop, eventually fading into background noise as you observe the man standing before you. 

You have to hand it to Erica - it’s a daring look. The mesh hugs Eddie’s torso in a way that flatters his lithe frame and provides just enough of a glimpse of his tattoos to captivate any onlooker. His pale skin is heavily decorated in ink, and you can’t help but try deciphering what you’re seeing through the mesh. Eddie’s collection of tattoos seems to pay homage to his love of music and fantasy. On his left side, you spy an unusual string instrument with the word bard etched underneath. Just below that, you see artwork of a dagger with a blade made of uniquely shaped dice. By his right ribcage, Eddie has a tattoo of a mighty dragon with wings poised for flight. The dragon’s claws seemingly tear into the supple skin of Eddie’s toned abdomen. You follow the dragon’s scales down, down, down until its tail disappears beneath Eddie’s suit trousers - along with a little patch of sparse hair below his navel. 

I wonder where that tattoo ends. The thought jolts you back to reality. This is your client— your very married client— whose wife has been nothing but kind to you. The guilt and shame overwhelm you. 

You become very aware that you’re still ogling Eddie’s body, and your eyes race upwards to find a more appropriate location to settle. Unfortunately, your retreat to safety is foiled by the glimmer of metal you spot by Eddie’s nipples. You feel flustered by the sudden warmth blossoming within you. Eddie Munson has his nipples pierced. You had been too distracted by his tapestry of tattoos to notice them at first, but now you’ll never be able to forget that the piercings exist. Great going, you think to yourself, you try to avoid staring at your client's happy trail only to stare at his nipple piercings instead. Well done, very professional. 

To your horror, Eddie has caught you staring. He sports a look of faux disappointment with his plump lips pushed into a pout. His tattooed hand points to his face, and he teases, “Tsk, tsk, little Bee. My eyes are up here.”

Your mind races to find a suitable excuse for your staring, or better yet, a way to deny it happened in the first place. Eddie is looking at you like he’s a spider that has caught you in his web, and you break eye contact to save some face. It ends up being the wrong decision because your mortification only deepens when you realize that Murray and Steve have witnessed Eddie’s accusation. Erica has long since departed after her verbal sparring match with Murray. Without her there to act as the target for his irritation, Murray is now laser-focused on you and Eddie. “Hmm… that’s interesting,” he observes, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. 

“What’s interesting?” Steve asks.

“Keep up, Harrington,” Murray offers no explanation and instead dodges Steve’s question with a dismissive wave of his hand. Steve places his hands on his hips looking utterly bewildered. He goes to speak again, but Murray beats him to the punch. “So, Munson… I hear that your assistant has lasted four months working with you. Is that right?”

Murray’s inquiry has an instant effect on Eddie’s body language. His playful pouting has dissipated, and his stance now appears guarded. He crosses his arms over his chest— over the distracting nipple piercings, thank god— as he eyes his band manager cautiously. “... why do you ask?” 

“Oh, no reason at all. Just curious,” Murray replies nonchalantly. “You must be getting along.” You don’t know Murray well at all. However, you do know Eddie well enough to take his weariness as a signal that things could soon become uncomfortable. 

“I haven’t scared her off, yet. If that’s what you mean,” Eddie scoffs. “But don’t worry, I’m still working on it.” It’s a classic Eddie move -  making a joke of something to avoid showing any hint of being rattled. He throws a coquettish grin in your direction, which does not go unnoticed by Murray. Steve looks uneasy, as if this conversation will upset whatever balance you’ve struck with Eddie. 

“I sure hope she isn’t stroking your ego too much.” Murray’s tone is blasé, but his implication is clear. “And you better not be giving her a mouthful.” Steve can no longer stand idly by now that he has finally caught onto what Murray found so intriguing. He swoops in to intervene by physically placing himself between Eddie and Murray. 

“Well this has been fantastic,” Steve forces a laugh out and runs a shaky hand through his brown locks. “Murray, let’s continue that chat about merch, yeah?” He is practically vibrating with nervous energy as he tries encouraging Murray to move. 

Allowing himself to be led away, Murray offers a farewell over his shoulder, “Good luck, kid. If you need anything, anything at all, do not contact me. Bother Harrington instead.” At the mention of his name, Steve turns briefly to mouth I’m sorry as the pair exit. 

Mind spinning off kilter from everything that occurred in the last few minutes, you turn yourself back toward Eddie for a sense of stability. Since when is Eddie something constant in your life? You find a very tense-looking man. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight as he glares at the spot once occupied by Murray. The moment ends quickly as if he can feel your eyes on him. Eddie annoyingly seems to have gained a sixth sense for knowing when you’re staring. His crossed arms fall along with the seriousness of his expression, hands tucking into his front pockets. The action only causes his pants to inch lower and, for a split second, your eyes are instinctively drawn to the patch of skin now on show. 

My eyes are up here.

The echo in your brain rings out and has your glance jumping back up in horror. Eddie watches every movement and his lips pull between his teeth again, the same face he made this morning when he was trying not to laugh. All you can offer in defense is rolling your shoulders back to look taller and making your gaze sharper, daring him to say something. He lifts his hands in surrender, his lips popping out into a self-satisfied smile as he turns on his heel and saunters back toward the set, whistling all the while. You begrudgingly follow after him.

Eddie’s pace is unhurried as he drags his feet in a clear display of apathy. You spot the rest of the band gathered around a petite woman speaking animatedly and pointing to various spots on the set. She’s captivating with her high cheekbones, loose brunette waves, and eyes like the ocean. Those eyes narrow upon seeing Eddie’s dawdling. 

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” she chides. “We’ve been waiting on you. Hurry it up.”

“Hello to you, too, Wheeler. I didn’t realize you were so excited to see me. I’d hate to disappoint a fan,” Eddie teases with a roguish grin wide across his face. Much to your surprise, he picks up his pace and joins the others in listening to Nancy— whose first name you learn indirectly, thanks to Eddie’s habit of calling everyone by their last names— detail the aim of today’s photoshoot. She explains that the media team will be experimenting with several looks in order to use the photos for both album promotion and touring purposes. 

Eddie turns to you as Nancy begins guiding the others to their spots on set. “Enjoy the show. You sure seemed to earlier.” He winks and turns on his heel to join the others.

Deny! Deflect! Do something!

“I was only admiring Erica’s work! It had nothing to do with you.”  You can see Eddie’s shoulders shaking with laughter, and you know he’s not convinced. To be fair, you haven’t convinced yourself either. It sounds weak even to your ears, like a last-ditch effort to save your dignity. Feeling defeated, you slump over to the chairs lining the wall where you can watch the photoshoot concealed behind the photography equipment. 

Two hours pass and the band is still preoccupied with taking pictures. You watch as they’re pushed and pulled into different poses and settings. The process feels overall repetitive, but Nancy does her best to keep energy levels high. She directs the photographers to get solo shots, which leads to hilarious chaos as the band hypes each other up behind the camera. “Yeah, Harry! Rock out with your Cox out!”  

Despite the momentary amusement, you find yourself mostly bored watching from the sidelines. You’re both surprised and grateful when you see a familiar face enter the set. Robin peers around at the flurry of activity before making her way over to you. 

“Finally some good company,” you breathe out in relief. Robin is delightful to be around, and you mean it when you share your appreciation for her presence. She gives you a sympathetic look before taking a seat beside you.  

“These things can take forever,” she commiserates. “But Nancy will keep them on track. Don’t worry. They’re lucky to have her. She’s brilliant.” Her husky voice sounds especially warm with adoration.  

Just as Robin said, Nancy is brilliant in her precise and methodical approach. She directs the crew in adjusting the lights and backdrops with ease. Her critical eye allows her to observe each shot and offer valuable posing guidance. It’s impressive to watch someone be so in her element. 

You and Robin sit together and make small talk until there’s a break for a set and wardrobe change. Robin excuses herself and makes her way over to Nancy. You notice Nancy’s focused demeanor melt into one of warmth upon Robin's approach, and the sight of their friendly affection for one another brings a smile to your face. Quite honestly, it makes you miss your friends; you’ve been so busy since starting this job that you haven’t found much time to see them.

Eddie walks past the pair on his way to meet Erica, briefling nodding at his wife in acknowledgement. He stops abruptly and looks around at the crowded set before swiveling back to face them.  

“Hey Wheeler, did Robin tell you she’s getting new headshots done for her upcoming play?” he asks. “Do you mind giving her some pointers while we break?”

Nancy brightens at the suggestion, “That’s a great idea. I’d be happy to help!”

“Why don’t you two go somewhere private? I don’t want all these people leering at my sexy wife when she’s posing.” Eddie winks at Robin, who whispers a quiet ‘thank you’ before leaving with Nancy. You’re touched by what you’ve just witnessed. Eddie is actually a supportive and loving husband. The longing hits you unexpectedly. When will it be my turn? Soulmate, where are you?

It’s exhausting to pine for someone you haven’t met yet. You have all of this love to give without a person to receive it and reciprocate. It feels aimless, like being adrift in the dark ocean with no light to guide you home. You’re too lost in your yearning to notice that Eddie has returned and is standing beside your chair.

“Everything okay, Bee?” The question physically jolts you from surprise. You wait for the inevitable teasing from Eddie about catching you off guard. Instead, you look up to find Eddie eyeing you closely. Whatever he sees in you in that moment must cause him concern. His brow is furrowed, and there’s an unexpected tenderness in his gaze. 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I got distracted by my thoughts.” 

“Well, that’s no good. What did I tell you this morning about having more fun?” Eddie hold his hand out for you to take, and he gently coaxes you to stand. His calloused hands feel rough against your gentleness, but you find it comforting. Once upright, he drops your hand and offers out his arm out as a replacement. “Come on, I’ve got just the idea to break you out of your shell.” 

The two of you walk side by side comfortably, and Eddie guides you to where the band and Nancy have reconvened. The guys are looking up at one of the warehouse walls in deep observation. You squint your eyes, searching for something on the wall that might be drawing their attention. Having no success, you look back to the band and realize they’re each holding something. Are those spray paint cans? Your ears perk up at the sound of rattling as Gareth shakes the can he’s holding. Yeah, definitely spray paint. You send a quizzical look Eddie’s way.

“Murray thought we needed some more edgy photos. He suggested we graffiti the wall for the next set,” he explains. “Wheeler was all worried about it, but… Murray knows best.” He mutters the last part bitterly, shaking his head with distaste. “He might actually be right about this, though.” Eddie steps forward, breaking your linked arms, and snags two spray paint cans from the ground. He holds one out to you, his face alight with mischief. 

You look around self consciously, noting that Steve and Murray are both within view. You fidget nervously and contemplate whether you can let your hair down while on the job. No one else appears to be partaking; only the band members have been given spray paint. “Are you sure about this? I think it’s just meant for you all.” 

Eddie throws his head back with an exaggerated groan. “Come on! Live a little.” He snaps out of his dramatics when he hears the sound of hissing fill the air from the spray paint cans in use. Gareth, Jeff, and Harry have already begun doodling on the wall without him. “See?! We’re missing out on the fun because you’re overthinking.” 

He extends the can out to you once more, gently nudging you to partake. He grins widely when you take the simple black paint from him reluctantly. You can do this. Show him you’re not always so uptight. 

You slowly approach the wall and think about what to paint. You need to show him that you can have fun and keep up with his jokes. The idea comes to you easily, and you get to work on your masterpiece. It’s a simple piece that only takes a few minutes for you to prepare. . 

Eddie is intently focused on drawing a large, crimson devil’s face, and you need to wave to get his attention. When his eyes meet yours, you point to your painting and await his reaction. Previously blank, the wall now sports the image of a humble bumblebee. The bee has two basic stripes, fluttering wings, and most importantly - a stinger. Eddie’s warning from this morning is fresh on your mind. If you get too aggressive, you’ll lose your stinger for good.

Your artistic choice has the intended effect, and Eddie lets out a hearty laugh. He smiles at you, and those brown eyes crinkle at the corners with joy. He looks proud, and it stirs something unexpected inside of you. You find that you like pleasing him.  

  “Atta girl.”

You suppress a shiver that the hum of his voice conjures despite the flippancy of his words.

That photoshoot, though chaotic in and of itself, somehow ended up becoming the calm before the storm for you. A demarcation point beyond which your days became filled with the relentless pursuit of planning a multi-month tour for a moderately famous industrial metal band. Days that had previously been spent ushering Eddie around to meetings with some semblance of timeliness and bringing him snacks when he gets cranky are now consumed by filling a thickening manilla envelope with neat documents, each marked with your precise handwriting as you plan and record each aspect of the trip logistics: contacting venues as per Steve’s direction, managing their hospitality riders, tracking expenses and budgeting for food and accommodations, as well as other minutiae that, frankly, has begun to make that vein throbbing in your neck a near constant companion by the end of the workday. The hours feel long, longer than they do when you’re trying to wrangle Eddie; though the days aren’t physically taxing as you spend them holed up at a desk fitted snugly into the closet you’d reorganized, they are mentally exhausting as those dates, dollar amounts, and contact names begin to tangle up in your head. You spill them out onto your trusty desk calendar, collecting them there as you stretch the strands and detangle them in order to begin weaving together Corroded Coffin’s first tour. It’s a feat you take no small measure of pride in.

Thankfully, during the weeks you spent taming this beast of a task, Eddie and the guys had been occupied almost entirely with rendering the final mix of their album. They’d worked closely with Argyle in refining the balance and levels of instruments and ambient sounds that would create the dirty industrial feel they were seeking with this upcoming release. You’d popped out of your stuffy little closet occasionally to check on them, though they didn’t seem to need much beyond being fed. Eddie, in particular, seemed quite consumed by a desire to see the vision brought to life, and was as serious and engaged as you’d ever seen him with a chair pulled up next to Argyle. That’s where you’d almost always see him when you emerged— long fingers idly twisting chunky rings, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed while he listened carefully and assisted in tweaking such small changes that you hardly could tell the difference with your unpracticed ear. He had a beeper to page you, but through your months of working with him, you’d begun to anticipate what he needs to sustain him daily in this routine— a hot to-go cup of black coffee first thing in the morning; at least half a box of cigarettes in the pocket of his leather jacket, on call for a smoke break; a salty snack around his lull time of four in the afternoon, which you rotate to keep him from getting bored; and next-to-no interruptions except a quick meeting of your gazes a few times a day in case it reminds him to ask you for something. 

And now, finally, as late August adorns the New York streets with haze rising from the asphalt and paints sidewalks with the frantic bustle of summer tourists, your strands of dates and locations and prices and contact names have now been woven together to form a complete tapestry: Accommodations for Corroded Coffin’s ‘95-’96 Album Tour. All the knotted muscles in your shoulders, the bloodshot eyes, the late nights and early mornings had been worth it to get to this point— the point at which the final picture of what exactly that tour would entail has been tied off into neat and tidy knots of thorough efficiency. You stretch your arms above your head and your spine pops with relief; despite the fatigue you feel fuzzing between your eyebrows, you push back your chair almost cheerily and pull the headphones from your ears, prepared pop from the closet and join the men whose tour you’ve just planned.

When you emerge, you expect to see them all in some approximation of the same position as usual— Argyle and Eddie sat in front of the mixing board, Harry hovering close behind, and Gareth and Jeff either mucking about in the studio or sprawled on the couches in the corner where they call out their contributions. Instead, you’re surprised by the presence of an unexpected figure, who acts as the nexus point around which the rest of the band hovers. He’s got his hands stuffed under his armpits and his hip jutted out, one loafer tapping against the floor, though behind his wire-rimmed spectacles he looks less irritated than the last time you’d seen him. I suppose having the tour booked and the album finished would put any band manager in a decent mood, you think, eager to join the throng of smiling men who gather around him.

“What’s on the menu? Anything good? ” Gareth is asking as you walk up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is free food not good enough for you? You eat Smarties in Yoohoo as breakfast cereal. Get a grip,” Murray snipes, and laughter rumbles through the group.

“Oh!” All eyes turn to you at your little sound of surprise. “What promo event are you discussing? Did Steve plan something? I don’t remember seeing it on my weekly agenda notes from him.”

There is a beat of uncharacteristic silence from everyone before Jeff speaks— not quite tripping over himself, but with an extra edge of enthusiasm you don’t typically hear in his voice. “No, no,” he assures you quickly. “You didn’t miss anything. It’s a celebration for finishing the album, not a promo event. Just a get together Murray planned for us tomorrow.” He lifts his brows, eyes warm and sincere, if not a little too wide. “You gonna be there?”

That familiar feeling in your chest— that subtle deflating that sinks into your stomach, reminding you of cafeteria tables lacking in saved space and friends reminiscing over shared experiences you hadn’t even been aware of— weighs you down inside as you look into Jeff’s kind face. It stings, the knowledge that you hadn’t quite been forgotten or excluded, but only just— only because you’d emerged from your makeshift office and wandered into the conversation at just the right moment. Had you not, you would have been none the wiser, and it makes Jeff’s question— ‘You gonna be there?’ — feel awkwardly like you’ve invited yourself.

Still, you choose to save face. “Oh, gotcha!” you say, turning to Murray. “Where is it?” 

The neutrality in Murray’s expression in place of his typical sardonic scowl almost makes you feel worse. “My place. You been to the Upper West Side?” You nod. “You can show up anytime after seven. I’ll have Harrington shoot you the address, kid.”

You brace yourself against this second blow— being called ‘kid’ as if you really are just Eddie’s babysitter, as if you hadn’t just single-handedly coordinated an entire tour’s-worth of hotels and restaurants and activities— and smile. “Thank you,” you say, avoiding the dark brown eyes of one curly-haired menace.

Because if there’s pity there, too— pity like the kind you felt in Jeff’s too-wide smile or Murray’s soft nod— you think you might just burst into hot, utterly humiliating tears.

On Friday night, it takes some time for you to dress and even longer for you to resolve to actually attend the celebration party. That last-minute invite has rocked your sense of self, manifesting most clearly in the lack of clarity regarding your outfit. Clothes are strewn across your typically-orderly room like a cyclone of indecision has torn through it, and what you’ve chosen feels barely adequate: silver jewelry, simple mary janes, and a black silk blouse that flows like water against your skin, tucked loosely into the waistband of your bootcut blue jeans. You’d settled on the blouse chiefly because of the color, as if with some subconscious desire to blend in with the men you work with so that maybe next time they won’t forget about you.

After a good nights rest unencumbered by that looming task still hanging over your head— since you’d finally completed it, to your relief— and some consideration, you’d reasoned that the reason for your late invitation was probably not malicious. And when you’d checked your email to see that, not even twenty minutes after your conversation with Murray had Steve emailed and sent you details and the address, it essentially confirmed it. Sure, it certainly still stung knowing that you hadn’t been thought of from the get-go, but you chalked it up to your newness and the fact that you’d been cloistered in your ‘office’ so often lately.

You’d concluded the mistake was likely innocent, and as you stand outside the front door to Murray’s apartment hesitating to knock, you find yourself desperately hoping you’re right, and that you haven’t made a mistake by coming after all. This job is already so different from any you’d had before— nowhere else had you spent so much time intimately intertwined with the details of your employer’s life outside of a professional context. Spending time at Eddie’s apartment to wash his dishes, coordinate his meals, take him to his appointments, fetch him the things he needs… look after him… it all feels more domestic than professional, though in this role, really, those things are one in the same. It blurs the lines and leaves you strangely yearning for inclusion, leaves you feeling more vulnerable, as you finally press your index to the doorbell, than you’d honestly prefer.

A flash of panic hits you as you hear the approach of footsteps beyond the door. You prepare yourself for the sight of Murray’s face half-twitched into a reluctantly-polite smile as the rest of the men stare at you from their seats, drinks dangling from their hands as their eyes turn quickly from you and back to one another.

But when the door swings open, you’re instead greeted with the sight of Gareth’s poofy brown bangs and pink cheeks as he smiles so widely at the sight of you you’re sure his face must ache from it. “She made it!” he exclaims into your face, breath puffing loose and acrid with alcohol as he hooks an arm around your shoulder to pull you inside amidst a rousing chorus of elongated ‘ay’s from the rest of the band.

Your apprehension dissolves like seafoam as he pulls you eagerly inside. 

The interior of Murray’s apartment feels as though you’ve walked into a time capsule. You aren’t sure whether the mid-century modern theme is because Murray is partial to the style or because he hasn’t bothered updating the furnishings since the seventies, but judging by his half-unbuttoned ‘party’ shirt striped with deep brown and cream— displaying no little amount of bushy chest hair within which a gold chain is nestled— you figure it’s probably the latter. You look around with interest at the furnishings, intrigued by the design’s ability to feel both high end and also warm, quite a contrast from the modern crispness many favor nowadays. Gareth doesn’t give you much time to sight-see as he leads you towards the party’s epicenter in the living room, though you do notice that the walls are a bold burnt orange, accented by geometric wallpaper and bookshelves filled with vintage books and knick-knacks likely gathered on Murray’s travels. As you pad over the shag carpet in your mary janes, your gaze is drawn to the men crowded on the low-slung sofa around a sleek, glass-top coffee table. The air is hazy with smoke, which wafts from a cigar resting in a crystal ashtray near Murray’s elbow, and the record-player in the corner is crackling with jazz— Miles Davis, if your memory serves you correctly. 

All-in-all, it’s nothing what you expected Corroded Coffin’s album-completion party to look like, down to the way they all perk as Gareth leaves you to hover near the side of the couch while he plops back down in his spot on the floor. It’s all the familiar faces you would expect, and no one else. Murray, Steve and Argyle sit on low-profile armchairs pulled up beside the coffee table where cards and poker chips clearly indicate they’re in the middle of a game; Jeff and Gareth are seated together on the floor, and they lift their drink glasses to you when your eyes pass over them; and finally, Harry and Eddie are on the couch, knees spread wide and comfortable as they slouch, though they straighten at your approach. The mens’ greetings become a cacophony of friendly voices you can’t possibly discern as they overlap happily, and you accept them with somewhat shy nods but a pleased smile. Harry immediately shifts over towards the couch’s arm, and when he notices, Eddie does the same, narrowing his knees and shuffling over to the opposite side to make room for you.

It’s a clear invitation, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest as you step carefully over Harry’s shoes to sink onto the low velvet couch between them. 

“Did you find the place okay?” Steve asks, and you meet his hazel eyes as you reply,

“Yes, thanks. Actually, my aunt lives—” You find a cup suddenly thrust into your fingers, and you close them hastily around textured glass, glancing down at the amber liquid inside. “What is this?”

“Whiskey, my dude,” Argyle replies, settling back into his chair with a lopsided grin. “Bottoms up.”

You stare at it for a moment skeptically, already balking from the burn in your throat. But, like sharks in the water, they sense your hesitation; as if with one mind, the guys lean forward to goad you with some light ribbing, flashing brows, and wide grins. All except Murray, that is, who seems more impatient to get back to the poker game as he grouses and sighs impatiently. 

In the end, it’s Eddie’s elbow in your side and his brown eyes catching yours that do it— his gestures are loose with alcohol, and yet more gentle than you typically see him. “C’mon, little Bee.” He smiles, and something catches in your throat as it brightens his flushed face. “Time to get buzzed.”

Your head tosses back of its own accord as you laugh, tickled by the pun; when you look at him again, Eddie looks inordinately pleased with himself. “All right,” you concede; the guys cheer as Murray shakes his head. And though it burns just as much as you knew it would, when you clink that glass down against the coffee table, coughing slightly as Harry claps you jovially on the back, all you feel is warm. Warmth in your belly, warmth against your sides where Harry and Eddie sit beside you, warmth in your cheeks as you settle back against the cushions and look around at the friendly faces that surround you. 

Now that you’ve been christened with your first drink, the group turns back to the game of poker your arrival had interrupted. You watch with interest as they take up their hands again, hiding your giggle behind your hand as Gareth dramatically flops backward in a sprawl on the floor when he loses to Jeff, who rakes the pile of chips in the center gleefully and dramatically into his corner of the table. “I put thirty dollars on that hand; come on, man,” Gareth whines, but Jeff pays him no mind nor offers any mercy.

“D’you know how to play?” Eddie asks you, and you shake your head. 

“We can teach you,” Harry offers. 

“Oh, I’m fine watching—” You begin to protest but it’s cut off almost as quickly with a sharp movement from Eddie, who snatches a handful of chips from his pile into his broad fist, heedless of the way some bounce to the shaggy carpet below. You’d felt warm in your belly, at your sides, and in your cheeks, but more than anything else, you feel that warmth in your heart as Eddie presses some of his poker chips into your open palm.

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to play,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just have some fun.”

You smile at him, a gentle curve of your lips to match the way he pats your wrist before lurching forward to pick up his fallen chips and receive his next hand. 

Throughout the games of poker you play, you find yourself both having the fun Eddie had instructed you to and simultaneously watching him, marveling at the way the haze and jazz and laughs and velvet couch have… softened him, almost. He's clearly drunk— more than a little glassy-eyed, with flushed cheeks and loose, heedless swinging of his wild curls and his limbs as he celebrates victories and laments losses— but it’s accompanied by more easy smiles and cackling laughs than you’ve heard from him in the last few months combined. He’s full of life tonight, but without as much biting edge. And you can’t help but think that to see him like this, so relaxed, so happy…

It’s nice. Nice in a way that makes that feeling bloom again— the one you’d been feeling more often since the photoshoot. You shake it quickly away.

His joy fuels the others, you notice. You suppose it makes sense; Eddie’s boisterousness and overwhelming energy tends to dictate the tides despite others’ attempts to direct situations otherwise. And as the night wares on, that easy looseness eventually devolves to become a bit more wild. Of course, it doesn’t take much for some of the others to follow suit.

Somewhere between the umpteenth hand of poker and your third round of drinks, Argyle wanders into Murray’s kitchen and helps himself to the bottle of champagne chilling in an icebucket, most likely prepared by Steve— you can’t see Murray bothering with that. Steve perks up when he comes back over, rubbing his hands on his trousers and rising as he reaches to take it from Argyle. 

“Thanks, Arg,” he says, but his gratitude ends up being a little hasty. Because rather than passing the bottle into his waiting hand, Argyle instead begins to shake it with a jerky flail of his arm, forcing Steve to retract his fingers, who huffs affrontedly. “I was gonna say something,” he protests, and while the exasperation is easy to read there, it’s overshadowed as Eddie leaps suddenly off the couch, crouching slightly, face alight with mischief as he circles Argyle on the rug. Once Eddie’s up, everyone follows suit— Jeff and Gareth scramble to join him, and you and Harry follow close behind, your hands clasping your elbows as you eye the proceedings with cautious amusement.

“Yeah, yeah, Steve, we all know what you’re gonna say,” Eddie drawls, but the wide smile on his face takes the edge off the sarcasm. “‘What an incredible accomplishment, we’ve worked so hard, the culmination of many months of effort—’ blah, blah, fuckin’ blah.” Eddie cackles as he flings his arm out to smack Steve companionably in the stomach, making his PR manager stumble slightly due to the accidental force behind the gesture. “Allow me.” 

Eddie flourishes and bows dramatically, his wild curls splaying around his shoulders as he jerks his head up to address the group— his face is flushed, pink rather than pale, with a vein popping on his forehead, and you can’t help but shake your head in reluctant, wry amusement as he declares, “Fuck bitches, get money, make metal, and raise fucking hell, boys!”

And with that— without any forewarning, really, besides a slanted smirk— Argyle pops the cork from the champagne bottle, spraying Eddie directly in the face with it.

You don’t know why you wouldn’t have expected it, but you stiffen with a little jerk as Murray roars, “Fuckin’— dammit, Argyle, not on the goddamn rug—!”

His ire is quickly overtaken by joy that fills the room as Jeff and Gareth jump towards the spray, mouths open wide in wait; ever obliging, Argyle coats their faces, too, directing most of the alcohol into their mouths but playfully directing it toward you and Harry too. You squeal and giggle as fizzy drops coat you lightly, turning into Harry’s broad shoulder for protection as the spray gradually weakens until it’s nothing but a dribble dropping to the shag.

In the ensuing silence, Steve looks at Murray sympathetically. “I’ll bill him for the carpet cleaning,” he promises, wringing his hands until Murray’s face calms from apoplectic to merely deeply aggravated.

You’re briefly worried he may pop an aneurysm until Argyle— the only one of you still bone dry— distracts everyone by pulling something casually from his pocket. “Oh, brochachos. Almost forgot. I got this advance copy of the album finished last night.”

The boys explode in a flurry of potent outrage and glee. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us sooner?!” Jeff shouts, and you’re taken aback to see the most even-keeled member of Corroded Coffin shake his producer by the shoulders. 

“Relax, dude,” Argyle drawls. “S’not fully mastered yet, but it’s close enough.”

And when the needle scratches to a halt on the record player, replacing smooth, dulcet jazz with the rhythmic drum beat of what you know is the boys’ favorite song on the album: ‘Closer.’

It also happens to be one of the best tracks to dance to, and the boys take advantage of that, though their movements— mostly just flailing limbs as they jump and headbang— are really just some crude approximation of dancing. Yet that doesn’t detract from the glee of the moment as, at some point you get pulled in, too, finding yourself in the middle of it all— laughing and swinging your head and shouting along with them. “I wanna fuck you like an animal!” you scream, chest effusive with bubbling joy as Eddie doubles over in wild, joyful laughter at the crudeness of the lyrics shouted in your alcohol-hoarsened voice. You find yourself swung by hands, twirled under arms, spinning and sing-shouting until your throat goes scratchy and your head a little fuzzy from all the activity.

As the song ends, Eddie steadies you with a hand on your shoulder, and you smile up at him appreciatively but are surprised when he doesn’t remove his hand. Instead, he tips his head, jerking it toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, and you see his lips move but barely hear his words underneath the booming of the next track, which echoes so loudly it nearly rattles the knick-knacks on Murray’s shelves. 

You trail after your employer as he leads you to the kitchen, sloppily filling an empty glass with water from the sink and handing it to you without any explanation. The intuitiveness of the gesture surprises you, as does the way he hovers nearby while you take tiny sips to soothe your parched throat. 

Eddie leans a hip against the counter, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his dark jeans and looking you over appraisingly. It’s the first time you’ve really gazed at him all night, and as he appraises you, you don’t feel that instinctual need to hide, the impulse dulled by the warmth buzzing in your veins. Instead, you just appraise him back, eyes trailing over the silver of his handcuff belt buckle, the chain at his hip, the soft, faded black of his band t-shirt, your eyes lingering where he’s clearly torn the sleeves off, evident by dangling threads that tickle the alabaster of his pale biceps. His curls are frizzier than before, still damp and sticking to his neck from the champagne, and his plush lips are pinker than they typically are— shiny and wet as he licks across them with a swipe of his tongue. 

You feel a distinct stirring deep in your belly and wrench your gaze from his mouth to his eyes, face heating as you anticipate a smirk and a crude remark, or perhaps a pointed comment about your wandering gaze. Yet Eddie’s face is calm, almost a little hesitant as he opens his mouth to speak— seemingly entirely consumed by what he wants to say. “So, you know we’re going on tour,” he says matter-of-factly, and you can’t help but snort at the ridiculousness of it.

“I think I’ve gathered that. I mean, I’ve only been working out your accommodations for said tour for the past few weeks now,” you retort with a little smirk, and his lips curl in a lopsided grin at your sass. You anticipate a rebuttal, but Eddie continues without comment.

“Well, I know it might come as a shock that I’d be admitting this, but, ah…” He scratches the corner of his lips with one dark-painted fingernail, mouth stretched wide before he continues abruptly, “things have been running a little smoother since you came around. ‘Specially once you got the hang of washing my silky drawers right.”

Your growing pleasure at the praise flattens along with your expression at that final comment, though it eases when he smiles at you, crooked but wide, as eager as you’ve ever seen his smile be. “So,” he says with an air of dramatic finality, “how’s about you take that laundry service on the road?”

In what is almost more to goad him than in genuine disgust, you wrinkle your nose, and your chest warms again when he chuckles huskily, knocking you with his elbow lightly again. "What I'm try’na say is... you wanna come on tour with us?" 

When you think back to the way this party began for you— with a split second of awkward silence and a hastily extended invitation, clearly late-to-come— you hadn’t anticipated the way it would end up. In that moment at the studio, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed in so readily, sprayed with champagne, twirled underneath their arms, and cared for with poker chips and glasses of water. You hadn’t thought you’d be here, standing with Eddie Munson in his manager’s kitchen, being invited by him personally to go on tour with the band. 

It’s confirmation that you do have a place amongst them, and it’s also exactly why you took this job in the first place— the opportunity to explore beyond the limits of your current world.

"Yes,” you reply, and you can’t help it when your voice comes out honey sweet. “I'd really like that." 

"Well, good,” Eddie huffs good-humoredly, “‘cause you kinda have to whether you like it or not. But I'm glad I don't have to twist your arm after all." 

You nod, and something small— small and tenuous, trickling like briny water— flows between you and Eddie as you gaze at one another. "Well... thank you," you say, your voice soft and almost shy as you look up at him.

Eddie blinks, looking a little taken aback by the gratefulness in your expression. Quickly, his eyes jump from yours to track around the room as he says distractedly, "Sure, little Bee— Hey, Murray!” His hoarse voice rises in a shout as he skirts around you, trailing out of the kitchen as he calls wolfishy, “Where's your top shelf shit? I wanna get fuckin' blasted tonight." 

You watch him lope off toward the living room again without sparing you another glance. Quickly, you drain your water glass, leaving it in the sink and wandering back into the fray until you find yourself elbow to elbow with Steve. 

“So—” Your eyes find hazel as Steve regards you with a friendly, knowing smile. “You ready for that travel I promised you?”

Another wild cackle— one that, after tonight, threatens to haunt you in your sleep— draws both of your gazes. For a moment, you and Steve watch as Eddie sneaks up behind an unsuspecting Gareth, grappling him around the neck and tugging him into a headlock as the other man sputters and kicks at him. All at once, they seem to you much younger than their years, and it makes you consider the question.

Are you ready for the travel Steve promised you— travel where wrangling these unruly rockstars, and one in particular, is about to become even more of your daily existence?

You find, as Eddie shoves Gareth into Jeff and licks across his bottom teeth with a manic grin when the two recover and face him, readying themselves to retaliate, that you have no damn idea whether you’re ready or not.

Dear Soulmate…

The early morning of the first day on tour, your feet carry you around the familiar walls of your apartment, taking in the comforting sights you’ve woken up to for the past year. Angela watches from the kitchen island, eyes full of unshed tears, an unspoken awareness settling over the room. Your life has changed since becoming Eddie’s assistant. It’s a reality you’ve accepted for some weeks now, but it feels real now—more than it ever has before. Because now you’ll be traveling on tour with the band, with him, moving across state lines you’ve never roamed. It’s a world of endless opportunity ahead, new sights to see, places to explore. It dawns on you that your home in New York City will be a far and distant memory for the next months you’ll be following Corroded Coffin around the country.

I’m leaving on tour with Eddie and the band today. Isn’t that crazy? I’ve never been this far from home – traveling was just never something I had time to do. I was always so focused on school, on trying to make my parents proud, on trying to be perfect. And now, I’ll be traveling with a metal band across the country! I never thought this is where I’d end up, but I’m trying to learn to embrace the unexpected (it’s so scary though!). I definitely didn’t expect Eddie to be the one inviting me. Although, he acted like he really had no choice in the matter, it’s still strange. 

Angela helps roll your multiple suitcases out into the main living area, mouth a wobbly line as you push them over onto their side and make sure you have everything you need one final time. Heels and other shoes, boots and sneakers in one duffel bag, each one a proper pair, freshly wiped down for any imperfection or defects. Another bag holds all your toiletries, makeup products, and hair tools should you ever need them. You unzip your suitcases next, peering in at various tights, dark skirts, dark colored sweaters, dark wash jeans for your off days. 

Eddie is… well, we’re still working on our relationship. I think most of the time he feels like I’m annoying him on purpose, but I’m really just trying to do my job. He’s not used to being on a schedule, which is a little wild to me because that’s all I’ve ever known. And maybe that’s what makes him push me away so much. His wife says I need to push back a bit, but I’m worried about keeping my job… I think I’ve grown to like working for him.  

Angela walks you down to the street, helping roll one of your bags down and onto the pavement. Cars and taxis speed by in a kaleidoscope of color, but your eyes latch solely on the rolled down window of the car sitting on the curb’s edge. 

            Eddie’s thre with a cigarette held loosely between his fingers, those dark sunglasses of his shrouding his eyes, tattooed arm on display in the bright sun of the morning. An inky tapestry of intricate detail, etched with countless stories and meanings he’ll never divulge. In the front is Hopper, his usual bored demeanor in place as he opens the driver's side door and walks around to join you and your roommate. The back trunk of the vehicle pops open with a small beep, your heart hammering away as the heftier man helps hoist your things into the back and latches the car back into place. 

“Ready?” Eddie calls from the car. 

You’re on the clock, sure, but you still remind yourself to quench the desire to raise your middle finger in a vulgar gesture, annoyance writhing in your gut. Instead, you focus your tangle of nerves on the girl standing before you on the street, with her shiny blonde hair and mournful expression on her face. She takes a slow step forward, arms coming to curl around your shoulders. There’s a suddenness of the realization you won’t see her until you return to New York for the holiday season. For the last year you’ve woken to the comfort of the four walls of your bedroom, the warmth of your apartment, and your friendship with Angela. 

“Go crush it,” she says, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, head close to your ear. “Take all the pictures. Try and enjoy yourself. New York will be here when you get back. I’ll be expecting as many phone calls as possible, and postcards of all the places you travel to! I want to hear about it all.”

He’s challenging, and yeah he calls me Bee (which I am STILL certain is short for Bitch despite his reassurances otherwise) but the work genuinely feels rewarding. Also, I am really enjoying getting to know the other guys in the band. They’re not friends, no, but they’re kind enough. And who knows? Maybe Eddie will come around. We don’t need to be friends, but I would like it if one day we could become colleagues, at the very least.

Eddie regards you with little interest, still unchanging in his distaste for any time before 12pm, as you clamber into the back of the car with him. He does not shift whatsoever to accommodate your presence, only haphazardly flicks his cigarette onto the concrete below and dips his head at Angela. The blushing blonde raises her hand in a nervous wave, an uneasy smile crawling across her features as he glances along her frame, telling her to have a nice rest of her day. It’s almost comical, though no laughter bubbles up from you, the easy kindness he shows her way; meanwhile, he regards you most days as though you’re no more than a pest when he’s not relentlessly flirting with you. Hot and cold, dependent on his mood on any given day. A bee to be swatted away. You suppose it’s understandable—knowing your mere presence is a reminder of the mistakes he’s made in the public eye. Huffing audibly in your mild upset, your fingers lift to wiggle in the air to wave goodbye to her as Hopper slides the tinted windows up to keep the air conditioned temperature within the vehicle, obscuring her from view. 

I wonder about what you’re doing a lot these days. It’s summertime, the season of endless possibilities. Are you traveling? Maybe you’re on a beach somewhere tropical. Maybe you’re celebrating some good news. Or, maybe you’ve taken up a new hobby. Angela and I tried hot yoga last week (never again), so I suggest you stay away from that one. To be honest, and maybe it sounds silly, I just think about you a lot. With everything changing, it seems like knowing you’re out there is one thing I can rely on. Even if I haven’t met you yet. 

Your fingers drop and curl around your notebook tucked within your pocketbook for safekeeping, trailing along the pages littered with words meant for the one person in the universe who will understand you better than anyone. It brings you comfort as Hopper peels away from the road and into the bustle of New York City traffic. 

Outside, taxis speed in and out of lanes, regardless of bodies surging forward in intersections, heedless in pursuit of their destinations. The car jerks and thumps over numerous manholes and metal grates around street corners, Hopper’s fingers reaching across the center console to raise the volume on the radio. 

One of Corroded Coffin’s songs is playing through the elaborate speaker system. There’s a spark of pride that springs to life within you. It’s not one of the newer, to be released singles—no; but there’s a sense of excitement for them, knowing how hard they’ve worked to get where they are, especially because you’ve witnessed the effort they put into their craft first hand. 

Eddie seems unphased by his own voice on the radio — as if it’s a normal occurrence for him, and you suppose it is. While you’re still adjusting to your new life following alongside a public figure, he’s had some time to become acclimated. He’s experienced sold out concerts, screaming fans singing along to his songs, crowds surging forward to try and get closer to Corroded Coffin. He’s been on the receiving end of good and bad press that paints him in a caricature of himself; one that’s larger than life and not entirely accurate. 

And you’re once again reminded you’re here with him because you’re his assistant when his thigh accidentally brushes yours as the car jolts over a particularly large bump, skin burning at the point of contact, seated beside him in the quiet space around you, watching as the city blurs behind your eyes. 

“Remind me of what you have planned for the day,” he drawls, and you’re grateful his stare is presently focused on looking out his window and not on your face. He doesn’t capture the deep inhale, nor does he catch the slight gathering of tears on your lashes that you swat away with the pads of your fingers, brought upon by the suddenness of your change in scenery and leaving Angela. 

It's as easy as breathing after that. With his cold, quiet words a distraction from the sadness swirling in your gut, you swiftly breeze through the mental list you woke with. You remind him you’ll arrive on schedule at six, where you’ll get on the tour bus around seven after having a meeting and breakfast with Murray and the rest of the band. After that it’s a two and a half hour drive into Philly. It gives you all enough time to get situated once in the city and for the band to relax a bit to get into the proper headspace before getting ready for their soundcheck in preparation for the first concert scheduled later in the evening. 

You tamper down and try to hide the thrill of excitement that buzzes in your veins at the prospect of seeing the guys all perform together. It’s been one thing watching them in the studio for the months they’ve been working on the album, and another all together to see the culmination of all their hard work come to fruition. However, it also brings up a new bout of anxieties over what exactly will be required of you while on the road. Thus far you’ve run errands and kept Eddie on schedule for meetings, interviews, photoshoots and other appearances. Following him across state lines and watching him on the stage, however, seems like a new, daunting task you’re hoping to tackle head on. 

“Ever been to the exotic Philadelphia?” Your head jerks as the words break through the silence, those dark eyebrows of his furrowing in confusion when your mouth opens and closes, no words falling freely from your lips. “I’ll take that as a no.”

You swallow thickly, pushing aside the indignation that burns and builds at his words. His inked fingers reach up to grasp the sunglasses perched on his nose, sliding them down slowly to fold them away beside his thigh. You’re no stranger to Eddie’s features at this point. Those amber eyes of his, emotive and magnetic, immediately capture your attention. You regard him carefully, just as he is you, his gaze trailing your features in a slow perusal. When you finally speak, it’s a soft utterance of, “I haven’t really ventured too far out of New York.” 

He chuckles gleefully, mouth drawn upward enough where your eyes catch on the dimple in his cheek. He’d be prettier, you think, if he scowled less. Like this he’s vibrant and bright, and appears much younger than his twenty nine years. For a moment you wonder what he was like before all the fame, before the party lifestyle, before the allure of the industry sunk its greedy teeth into him and spat him right back out. His head shifts toward the streets, and your eyes drop down to your lap, fingers toying with a frayed edge on your pocketbook. You hear him then, voice a husk of, “Looks like it’s time for my little worker bee to finally leave the hive.”

My first stop is Philadelphia. I’ll definitely be sure to take a bunch of pictures to share with you someday! I’d like to try and draw a bit too while I'm gone, but who knows. I haven’t really had much time for that lately with the new job. If I create anything worth keeping, I’ll definitely save it so I can show it to you. 

You offer him an easy smile, returning your gaze to the world outside the vehicle, exhaling deeply when Hopper pulls up into a parking garage. He mutters briefly that he needs to go check on the tour bus and leaves the two of you to your own devices. You can hear the echoes of voices closer to the tour bus, whoops and calls from the other band members reach your ears through the softly parted window as they catch sight of Eddie’s vehicle. Vaguely, you even catch the utterance of your name in the midst, teasing in nature, urging the two of you outside. 

Before you can even say a word, Eddie’s opening his passenger side door and getting out of the car, leaving you behind with your things. Exhaling deeply, you move to open your own side and nearly fall out when the man in question tugs the door open and extends a hand in your direction. There’s a brief clash of stares while your eyes drift from his to his palm, uncertain as to what he’s doing. 

Unamused, Eddie huffs out, reluctantly explaining, “So you don’t bust your ass like you did your first day working for me.” His eyes drop to your largely inconvenient heels. You’d only worn them because you weren’t sure what one would wear before heading off on a concert tour. Noting your apprehension, he continues, “Bee, I’m not going to pull my hand away at the last second. I can be a gentleman, you know?”

You snort, wrinkling your nose. “I didn’t doubt it.” It’s not the fullness of truth, but you suppose for your client, it’s better to abstain from telling him that most days he is quite determinately, or at least it seems that way, driving you to the brink of hysteria. It’s probably also best to not remind him how not very long ago, before you hired him another maid you insisted he keep this time, he would make you clean his brownstone top to bottom. A task that also included tending to his clothing and highly suspect underwear on more than one occasion. 

Deciding to appease him, you envelop his palm within your own and allow him to help you down onto the concrete below. Your feet wobble a bit from the drop, but he’s there with a gentle hand at your bicep to steady you, before the moment fizzles and he pulls away all together. You walk side by side, though not together, to join the rest of the band where they stand in an excited huddle around the tour bus. 

Even the vehicle itself is larger than you anticipated. It looms above you, imposing and impressive, signifying the success the group has seen in the time they’ve been in the media spotlight. You have little opportunity to think about it, however, because the boys greet you with warm welcomes and hellos, trading their normal handshakes they’ve given you for hugs. A recent development, brought about merely by spending as much time with them over the months as you have. Jeff in particular lingers a little longer just as Murray calls the band into a circle for a meeting, muttering a “Happy you’re here,” before rejoining with the rest of his band mates. 

You’re not left alone long in that parking garage, luckily enough. Steve’s there to urge you off to the side when he pulls up in his car. He’s a little worse for wear, acknowledging his lateness with a wave to the guys and a pleading look shot your way. He requests you follow him, putting yourself out of earshot from the rest of the men. For a brief moment, you worry you’ve done something to muddle your position. Stomach dropping at the thought you might have unintentionally said the wrong thing to Eddie, a vendor — maybe even Robin, but that fear is quelled immediately when Steve clears his throat, his hand coming to cup around the back of his neck, kneading the muscle beneath his fingertips. 

“Look, you’re doing great. I’ve told you more times than I can count on two hands how grateful I am you’re here and everything, but I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. He’s — ”

Your mouth opens briefly to ask what his meaning is behind the clear warning, just as Eddie appears out of the blue and claps Steve on the shoulder, chuckling brightly as he asks, “Ready to go, Bee?” He looks to you imploringly, and you haltingly meet his stare before shifting back to Steve’s kind features. He tips his head, dismissing you, and you join at Eddie’s side, following him in the direction of the vehicle. Murray shoots Eddie a stern look as the two of you walk along by, your eyes darting to the Corroded Coffin logo stretched across the entirety of the exterior. “Here is your home for the next few months.” 

You’re uncertain as to what you might expect. You’ve never been on a tour bus before. The closest thing you can attribute it to is a coach bus for a school field trip back in your early education days. What greets you as Eddie turns back to extend a hand once more and assist you in climbing up onto the first step is greater than anything your mind might have conjured. 

He’s not kidding by his assessment that the bus will quite literally be your home for the duration of the tour. At the head of the impressive vehicle belies Hopper’s station, full of buttons and displays you’ve never seen before, and a dashboard with a hanging Corroded Coffin logo dangling from his rear view mirror. The burly man raises his hand in a wave as you and Eddie pass, heading into the lounge area that follows immediately. Your eyes are drawn to dark red couches, like that of a red wine, with black pillows strewn about. Nestled in front of the couch is a table pressed against the corner wall, new magazines displaying photos of the band and a headline that details the upcoming tour. 

Deeper into the vehicle is the adjoining kitchen, all in the same color scheme of dark black furniture, with red and silver accented bits. Eddie shows you around the space, opening the fridge for emphasis, showing you how to use the different amenities, before moving on down to point out the bathroom. Lastly, you’re brought into the bedrooms. Or rather, one spacious room lined with bunk beds on either side of the bus. 

“Normally I like being on top, but when it comes to sleeping I prefer the bottom." Eddie says suggestively, gesturing to the bed on his right. Your head shifts his way, taking in the little alcove he’ll be sleeping in for the night. He waves his hand to your left, smirking. “That’ll be yours. In case of an emergency.”

“In case of an emergency,” you repeat slowly, placing your pocketbook down on your assigned bed as you settle down beside it, positioned specifically across from Eddie’s in the event he requires you for anything. You quickly reach inside and jot down a few sentences in the unfinished letter, affixing a bright floral sticker to one of the corners. 

I have to go. We’re about to leave, but I just wanted to let you know what I’m up to. I’ll talk to you soon. Wouldn’t it be fun if we met in Philly?

As you shut your notebook, you realize you never heard the rest of Steve’s harrowing warning. I need you to know that the Eddie you’ve seen thus far is nothing like Eddie on tour. Your eyes narrow in piqued curiosity as you take in Eddie, that now familiar lanky form of his flopping down against his own mattress. He nods his head in your direction and you wave back numbly. 

You hear it then. That soft howling in the distance, a creeping sense of something looming with no name to place on it. 

You offer him a soft smile, and he throws a pillow over his head, settling down to nap.

Steve’s warning is suddenly very far away from your mind. 

[gabessquishytum]

I’ll be honest I read that last pregnant mobster dream post as being about both dream and hob being pregnant.

So…yes dream is a pregnant mobster and hob is his favorite local pub owner who is…uh…also heavily pregnant.

They’re helping each other out! There are lots of hormones to deal with and both need foot massages and it makes Hob happy to have someone else going through his pregnancy with him.

Hob calls dream when he feels his baby kick! Dream buys two of everything—one diaper bag for himself, one for hob.

And dream knows it isn’t rational but he’s so glad hob is single now because even though it’s clearly hypocritical, as Dream is also pregnant, he can’t stand the idea that hob might have someone else in his and baby robin’s lives!

They are his and orpheus’s now and no one else’s.

We love a simultaneous pregnancy!!! Hell yeah, imagine the adorable contrasts between them. Hob is in big t-shirts and stretchy maternity leggings, meanwhile Dream is still trying to squeeze into his crisp, professional suits. He's a disaster waiting to happen, and Hob definitely has to lend him a hoodie on at least one occasion when his shirt can't handle the strain any longer.

With two sets of hormones swinging all over the place, the bickering between these two is legendary. Seeing them snipping at each other, you'd think they can't stand to be in the same room. Of course that's not the case (but if Dream eats his snacks again, Hob will not be holding back his temper). If they're not affectionately arguing, then they're absolutely so obviously in love. Everyone can see it, apart from them. All the soft looks and the tenderness and the longing. Hob is constantly checking up on Dream, touching the side of his belly with a smile that's full of adoration. If anything, Dream is even more obvious in his affections for Hob. He practically acts as though they're already in a relationship, and no one has ever treated Hob with such care and dedication before.

Unfortunately they're both stupid, and convinced that it's better for everything to remain strictly platonic.

After their two sons are born, life is very frantic. Dream has moved in to Hob’s flat (he spent one night alone with newly born Orpheus and simply couldn't do it again, and who can blame him!), the babies are practically twins with only 10 days between them. It's all milk and nappies and attempting to snatch a moment of sleep. Somewhere along the line, they start sharing Hob’s bed for the few hours between feeds. Cuddling up together for comfort just feels natural. Hob cries for the first time because his body is saggy and soft and he thinks he might never go back to how he was. Dream wipes his tears and calls him beautiful, even more beautiful now that he's carried and delivered a wonderful new life. One night Dream confesses that he's terrified for the future, for Orpheus, terrified that he's going die on the job and leave his baby. Hob holds him the whole time and promises firmly that Orpheus will always be safe with him.

One day Hob kisses Dream good morning (he's sleep deprived, still practically dreaming), and Dream kisses him back. Its as simple as that, apparently. Both of them are grinning as they go about the day - too exhausted for any kind of sex, but very much looking forward to soft kisses and cuddles when the opportunity arises.

Robyn and Orpheus are lucky. One of their dads owns an Inn, with an amazing kitchen full of nice food and nice people. Their other dad has a big box full of guns and rolls of cash and other interesting things that they're not allowed to touch. Hob’s definitely the one going to "parents come and talk about what their jobs are" day at school. But Dream is the one picking the boys up in a range rover flanked by 6 body guards. Their dads are also very VERY in love. Even if it took them both a hot minute to work it out!

[moljh]

No Secrets

Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You take Eddie with you to Victoria’s Secret Fluff, flirting, mentions of sex, teasing Unedited - just a quick one I put together

Eddie wanted to disappear. He wanted to die. He wanted to curl up into the darkness never to be seen again.

These were the thoughts running through Eddie's mind as he stood frozen within the depths of hell that is Victoria's Secret. He didn't know why he was even here, why you had decided to bring him of all people, surely Nancy or Robin would've been better candidates.

Eddie had endured high school as the outcast and the freak, but somehow he had never felt this out of place and judged until now. You couldn't have been more than a foot away from him, but he still felt so strange.

There were bras and other lacey pieces of underwear lining the shelves and wracks around the entire store, there was no where he could look without feeling like some sort of pervert. So he decided to keep a very strong focus on the laces of his shoes.

"Eddie, hey" you said, touching his arm, clearly startling him slightly "sorry... You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, what would make you say that?" he chuckled nervously

"You can go wait outside if you'd prefer?" you offered him

Just as he was about to leap on the offer, he noticed the expression on your face and tried to put on a pretend smile.

"No, no, I'm happy to stay with you" Eddie said smiling, causing you to mirror him and smile to spread across your face as well, though yours was much more genuine than his

You continued throughout the store, collecting a few miscellaneous items and then headed to the changing rooms.

Eddie awkwardly stood outside of your changing room as you tried on a couple of things. Though in reality it was only minutes, for the leather clad boy it felt like an eternity and counting the scuff marks on his boots could only entertain him for so long.  

"Eddie," your gentle voice suddenly said and Eddie spun around to come face to face with the curtain between you two "can I get your opinion on something?"

"Umm..." he said uncertainly, starting to question his expertise in women's fashion "sure..."

Your arm quickly darted out from behind the curtain and pulled the boy into the confined place with you. Once Eddie had gained his footing and expertly avoided going head first into the floor length mirror, he properly got to look at you.

"Holy shit!" he said without thinking

"Eddie!" you whisper yelled back at him

"sorry..." he muttered, mesmerised by what stood before him

"Well, what do you think then?"

"I was thinking why you wanted my input about women's clothes but I don't think this has enough fabric to be called that" he chuckled proudly

You gave him a flirtatious smile and took a step closer to your boyfriend "are you saying you don't like it?" you innocently asked

"Would never dream of saying such a thing" he replied, words as sweet as yours had been

Moving closer, you looked up at his sweetly and very slowly began dropping to your knees. You could see that Eddie was excited by your move, but you smirked at him at you simply picked your shirt back up off the ground and stood back up.

Turning around you once again, slowly and tortuously bent down to pick up another article of clothing. You enjoyed showing off like this, knew what thoughts would be running wild in Eddie's head.

Suddenly you felt him move behind you, the cold metal buttons of his jacket touching the bare skin on your back.

Pressing you against the wall of the small space, you felt his breath against the back of your neck "Though I might have to punish you for teasing me like this" he whispered.

Eddie didn't notice some of the looks he got from other guys as they walked back through the mall, as he was carrying your bags. His mind was entirely focussed on what he had witnessed moments prior, amazed that he had managed to convince someone so incredible to give him a chance.

Getting to the van, you jumped into the passenger seat and waited for Eddie to start the engine. As you both drove along the Hawkins streets, you came across a red light and stopped. Leaning over carefully, you moved one hand around Eddie's thigh and gave it a soft squeeze.

"I was thinking I might need to try on those things again when we get home, just so I'm one hundred percent sure they fit right"

Eddie's eyes widened slightly at your comment and a sly grin appeared on his face. You swore you had never driven faster than in that moment, you were just lucky no cops had been around, because a hefty fine would've definitely been a mood killer.

Needless to say they certainly didn't say on for long when you got back.

[love-toxin]

Fruity four opening Christmas presents together! Steve is 100% dad with trash bag for wrapping paper who grabs it immediately. Nancy’s taking notes so everyone knows who to write thank you notes to for what, Eddie loves unwrapping gifts (he might have done some that weren’t his too, oops🤷🏻‍♀️) and Robin’s just excited to give her gift to Angelface

oohoo.......holiday cheer, you say.....merry crimis! 🎄

(cws: fruity four, f!angelface, christmas festivities, gift-giving, fluff, some big gift surprises <3)

For the past six months of your relationship, you've agreed on one solid rule for the holidays--no extravagant spending for Christmas. You might be settled in a nice house (courtesy of Steve's parents as a graduation gift) and all have fairly stable jobs, especially since Nancy's got her promotion at the newspaper office and Eddie's officially an apprentice mechanic, but it's less about the money and more about the intention. You don't want to spoil each other to an excess, and you all can agree that the most precious thing you can have over the holidays is quality time together. So that should be the main focus, which is what you all promised and nodded your heads at.

But that was before the holiday decor was up, before you got to have your family and friend dinners at the Wheeler's and the Hopper-Byers' and at your own house, and before it really set in that this is your first Christmas as partners. Plus, it's the first Christmas after your last run-in with the horrors of Vecna and the Upside Down, so to say that you're feeling even more thankful for what you have than usual is quite the understatement.

It was also before you got to experience Steve's almost Santa-esque Christmas spirit, coming out on December 1st in your pajamas to find that the ruckus that had woken you up was your boyfriend up on a ladder, stringing coloured lights along the roof and sides of the house in nothing but his jeans and a zipped-up jacket--not even gloves to speak of, which is how you later found yourself making him a cup of tea to warm his trembling hands while he happily chattered on about the decorations he was gonna put out on the lawn. And no matter how much Eddie tried to slither out of it, Steve practically dragged him out in the snow to help plug everything in and make sure all the lights were working.

And in the days that have followed, you've had the holiday spirit build up inside you so much that you, you.....may have gone a little overboard. You've stretched that promise you all made until it's eventually broken by the third trip you make to the mall in a week, but how can you help yourself? You're constantly surrounded by beautiful, good-natured, kind-hearted people who have shown you absolutely unconditional love, how could you resist the chance to spoil them like you know they deserve yet never act like they do? Plus, there's something you've been keeping secret from them for awhile, something you're pretty nervous to give them--it took a long while to get it together, and you weren't sure if it would go as planned when you mapped it out, but all you can do is hope they'll like the risk you took....or at least, one of them will.

So you feel a bit antsy when you wake up on Christmas morning, eyes opened for mere seconds before Eddie's running into your room and jumping on top of both you and Robin, kissing you and shaking you awake cause it's Christmas! He's like a little kid in his excitement, it's just impossible for you to even be a little annoyed as you let him pull you up out of bed and into a hug. Robin isn't safe either, though she's got an arm over her face to block out the light she's still prodded at by your boyfriend, who eventually picks her right up out of bed and carries her out into the hall to duck into the master bedroom and dump her on a freshly-awakened Steve and Nancy. They're still rubbing the sleep from their eyes when they get their unexpected gift at their feet, and with you close on his heels you can all relent with a chuckle and decide that there's no reason not to start your gifts now.

While you're also excited, of course, you have to resist the urge to bite your nails out of anxiety as they get out of bed and Nancy pulls on her robe, Robin finally being jostled enough that her eyes are wide open and she's fallen right in with Eddie's jubilance--and the two of them usher you along as they hurry to the stairs and stop there, waiting for you three to catch up even though you feel a little like your heart's gonna explode. What if they don't even end up liking your gifts, and you mess it all up by spending way too much and getting them too many? And what if they don't like that gift? You don't even start moving until Steve pats you on the bum, ducking in for a kiss on the cheek as he moves past you and orders the other two to slow down, and don't go into the living room until everyone's there! He's surprisingly uptight about it, but the grin that's splashed across his face as you all migrate down the steps betrays something you can't quite pinpoint--except that he knows something that you all don't.

You're subjected to only a few more "C'mon!"s and "Hurry up!"s by the two grown children standing at the bottom of the stairs before you join them, and Steve makes a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm towards the living room through the archway--and when you all step inside, you can't quite believe what's waiting for you there, that was most certainly not there when you all went to bed last night.

Sure, the hoard of presents under the tree had been pretty sizeable before, but now there's quite the collection of mismatched boxes with all kinds of wrapping paper, from ones that were wrapped professionally in fancy paper to ones that are bound pretty messily with tape and edges sticking out everywhere. Yeah, you had definitely snuck down during the night to tuck away some extra presents you had hiding in your closet, so that they wouldn't be able to tell how many you'd bought--but you didn't put this many for sure, and not in all the varied packaging that they've come in. You've got a strong inkling that maybe you weren't the only one to have done so last night, and only now do the bags under Steve's eyes and his unusual giddiness make sense.

But that's not what stops you all dead in your tracks. What renders you silent is what's sitting on a stand right in front of the presents and the tree that's bursting with ornaments--a long, shiny red guitar with a glossy finish, strings sleek and new with black accents to compliment it. And you can't help but notice the way the slim body of the instrument has two upturned peaks at the top, framing the neck in such a way that it so resembles those iconic horns that Eddie's always doodling or throwing up on his head for a jab. It's perfect, it's the perfect guitar and it's exactly what Eddie would like, and it looks quite familiar, too.....and you know it when you look over to see him absolutely speechless, slack-jawed in awe as he and the guitar trade stares like they were meant for each other. It's for Eddie.

"Wow, looks like Santa really went for it this year. Guess you've been good, Munson." Steve is the only one able to breach the quiet that's fallen over all of you, sliding an arm around Eddie's shoulders rather sweetly while you and the girls share a look, grinning from ear to ear and giggling beside him as you watch your beloved motormouth go absolutely silent.

"How.....how did you...?"

"Santa knows all your wishes. I might have given him a tip or two, though." With a wink, Steve dips his head to peck Eddie on the cheek, and the frizzy curls framing his face go flying as he turns to look at your boyfriend.

"Steve, this....is the best day of my life. This--you--oh, for fuck's sakes," You're taken aback by the near moan that Eddie pushes into Steve's mouth, sucking on his lower lip like a vampire before pulling off with a pop and hurrying over to touch his gift. Steve, meanwhile, is left with a rosy bottom lip and wide eyes while he watches him geek out, only snapping back to attention when you and Nancy grab each of his arms, and move him forward to sit him back on the sofa that faces the tree. After Eddie's slung the guitar over his neck and fired off a few chords with childlike glee, hopping up and down and getting a little headbanging in, he manages to peel it off with a flushed and happy face and moves it on the stand to the side, so you can get at the rest of the presents underneath. Nancy joins Steve on the couch, Robin sits on the floor by the armchair, Eddie's cross-legged between them to complete the circle, and you take your position as promised--the designated gift-distributor, kneeling next to the tree.

With your spirits even higher than normal (although the rest of you are definitely worried your gifts won't be able to top that first one) you finally get to the looming pile of presents. Nancy picks up her pen, and scribbles out a list on the notepad she keeps on the side table when she gets the chance, although you manage to push a few gifts into her lap and remind her to relax! This is your family time, and you're especially insistent on everyone leaving their worries and stress aside for the day. Although you definitely feel like a hypocrite for the way your heart thuds against your ribcage as you make your way through them, nervously eyeing the spot near the back where the wall is, knowing that your biggest gift is hiding amongst that last pile.

Until the time comes, however, you stick your attention where it needs to be--on your lovers, all of whom seem to be filled with the kind of shameless joy that you hope everyone feels on such a lovely day. The only one that's really fidgeting is Robin, although that's pretty normal for her to play with the strings on her hoodie--and it's almost overshadowed by Eddie's excitedly flapping hands at the wrists when he's watching everyone open his gifts, and the sharp, short rocks of his head that he does when his hands are busy. Steve, on the other hand, has already made the brief trip to the kitchen to grab a garbage bag by the second present, and has it open by his feet for you all to crush your wrapping up and toss inside.

After a few small, feeler gifts to start off--some new polos for Steve, an organizational binder for Nancy, new headphones for Robin's walkman, blank cassettes for Eddie, socks and books you've been wanting--then comes the first of what you haven't realized will be quite a few more heartwarming presents. You still haven't made a crazy amount of progress through the pile, Steve having finally caved and admitting that he may have been keeping some presents hidden for the rest of them to put out the night before, including himself, obviously. And you breathe a sigh of relief when he says it and you can all share a laugh, one that's much more memorable with the knowledge that you all couldn't resist spoiling each other. At least it wasn't just you, you think to yourself as you pull the next gift out and scan over the tag.

"Oh! For me, from....Nancy and Eddie?" You look between the two, you curiosity piqued when they share their own look and lean forward while you tear it open, taking great care to toss the bright-red wrapping into the trash when Steve holds it open for you. All you can tell is that it feels pretty bookish, but it's heavier than usual--and when you turn the big, rectangular object over in your hands, your expression falls in shock and awe at what you see. The pretty, leather-coloured hardcover is more the style of a three-ring binder, and on the front, there's nothing but a few small white letters painted out that simply read "Angelface". Whatever you think you're gonna find when you gingerly open the book is swept away instantly, because by the first page you can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

"It's a scrapbook," Eddie clarifies, already huddling up to your side to sit next to you as your shaky fingers hold the plastic-bound page, while your other hand hovers in front of your open mouth. "You always get so excited about having pictures, but since we can't really hang any up....Nance came up with the idea of a scrapbook. She did most of the work, I just doodled some stuff and helped dig around everyone's storage." He speaks so meekly, shyly, almost, even though you can barely believe you're looking at something they both put so much love and time into as you flip through the pages.

There must be at least dozens of pages they've made up, each one a piece of thick, high-quality paper sealed in plastic holders that are destined to stand the test of time. And each one is stacked with photos, arranged neatly and glued to each side of the papers via Nancy's obvious handiwork--they vary from recently-processed ones to ones with frayed edges and signs of age to polaroids, but what really hits you is that they're of you, all of you. There's photos of you from recently, group photos of all five of you in the snow, on dates, at your Christmas dinners, and around the house, but there's also photos of you all by yourselves or with one or a few of the others. Silly photos, sweet photos--there's plenty you remember taking but never got to see, like the ones Steve took of you in the passenger's seat on your road trip, or one Robin got of you stretching as you sit up in bed, the sun's hazy orange glow cast over your skin through the window that gives it an ethereal feeling. They've even dug up baby pictures and childhood photos to make a section for it, a sudden bout of laughter cancelling out the tears spilling down your cheeks, as you press your finger to a photo of two-year-old Steve in a suit and tie.

"Oh my god..." You whisper in awe, your space now crowded with all four of them to take a look over your shoulders--you moon over the pictures of ten-year-old Robin with her trumpet and her band uniform, of Eddie's middle school buzzcut and missing-tooth smile as he stands by his uncle Wayne, and when you get to a few well-loved photos of Nancy with Barb, you can't help the "Oh, Nancy..." and the fresh wave of tears that comes over you at how special it is. You're so overcome with emotions you can't describe that you almost miss the fact that there's notes accompanying almost every page--little paragraphs and funny remarks and stories behind each photo, all written in Eddie's unusually careful hand, that you'll have time to pore over when you're not crying your eyes out.

"Oh, baby, it's okay! Aww.." Eddie pulls his arm round your shoulders and kisses your temple, while Robin hikes her sleeves over her hands and dries your tears with them, the four of them with pierced hearts and sweet, sympathetic smiles as they soothe you.

"...I know we can't show our love like other couples, and...and we can't even hang up pictures in our own home," Eddie mumbles through kisses placed on your wet cheek, his hand running through your hair. "But we can have this. Maybe we'll even pass it down to our kids, show them how their crusty old folks fell in love, eh?" A smile finally works it's way across your lips and stays there, your fingers hovering over a particular photo of a young Nancy holding her newly-born sister, Holly, before you close the book with a "Yeah.." and one last kiss on the lips.

"Alright, no more tears for the rest of the day." Steve announces proudly as they all disperse back to where they were sitting, though all of you know by the little sniffle he tries to hide--he was closer than anybody to shedding a tear, but you keep your grins quiet and keep moving on to the other gifts.

"Next is..." You drag your arm across your nose, smiling with a hiccup as you try to brush away how touched you are, just until the day is done. "....uh, this just says 'to Marty, from Doc'..."

"Oh," Steve pipes up, suddenly looking a little pink. "That, uh, that's for Robin. From me."

With a tilt of your head, you stretch to hand the mid-sized box to your equally-puzzled girlfriend across the floor, and it isn't until she's almost completely opened it that her head snaps up and an "Ohhh!" of realization comes out of her. "Oh, my god, you're cheesy. It's a reference--the first movie we watched together at Starcourt." She laughs nearly to the point of doubling over when it really hits her, and you're granted quite the adorable moment of Steve getting embarrassed as he's teased relentlessly, eventually pouting and stammering out that he just thought it was funny, that it's cute--and you can't disagree, especially since Robin gasps and almost bowls him over with a hug when she cracks open a fresh pair of sneakers, the exact fit and colour she's got already but clearly a much higher-quality brand. "I love you, dingus. You're way too generous."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." He huffs out, but the grin he's got and the way he clings to her hug says so much more than he's willing to give away. From there, things cool off from crying and gasping but the mood is still plenty lighthearted--you manage to get through most of the presents with the aid of one more trash bag and a relatively easy pace, with the added help of interjections from each of you when you want to spread the receivers out more. Before long, there's only a few left, and you each have a respective pile of gifts beside you filled with all manner and size of things. Judas Priest tank tops and romance novels and board games aplenty. One that's being used already is strung delicately around Nancy's wrist; a beautiful bracelet inlaid with diamonds, one that Steve had hunched down to put around her with a careful touch, before kissing her so sweetly her tears managed to abate. He's really gone above and beyond this year--you haven't forgotten the gifts he got the kids as well, the two or three he had gotten Dustin alone, and how he had ones to leave at Hopper's cabin in case El and Will didn't come back from California in time for Christmas. He'd even gotten gifts for Nancy's parents, Holly, Robin's mom, uncle Wayne, and your family....and not once, in the whole time the holidays have been in full swing, has he ever expected anything back. He had ducked into the Wheeler's bathroom to cry his eyes out when Dustin had given him a hand radio, one he'd tweaked to have a two-way channel with a radius that spans over all Hawkins--so that, if they want to talk or if either of them ever gets in trouble, they can call each other no matter where they are. You'll never forget how quickly he put himself back together and came out with a smile, though, refusing to put any attention on himself as he stepped out to keep having a good time with everyone.

So it's time. It feels like time, even though you're nervously playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, almost breaking out into a cold sweat as the last few presents dwindle until there's just one left. The one all the way back, right in the corner, so nobody would even notice it until it's time.

"Oh, honey?" Just as you're about to duck under the tree and reach for it, Robin gets your attention, a giddy grin accompanying a flushed face and burning-red ears. "There's, uh....there's one more in the tree, can you grab it? It's kinda up high."

Without correcting her, you nod happily and grunt as you get to your feet, turning towards the tree to get on your tiptoes to search for it. You certainly hadn't noticed anything in the branches when you'd been down here last night, but you weren't exactly focused on the tree--you'd been more attentive to whether there were any doors opening or footsteps as you silently placed your extra presents down. Just as you're about to ask over your shoulder for some guidance, your ears catch the sound of a gasp, one that sounds like Nancy's. On instinct, you turn round on your heel to look--but your eyes scan over Steve and Nancy's shocked and awe-twinged expressions before they land on what the three of them are seeing.

By your hip, Robin's looking up at you with a gaze so sweet it would make you melt.....and between her fingers sits a ring, the golden band glimmering under the twinkling light, just shy of the crystal that's set inside it. Somehow, it's only when you notice that she's perched on one knee that it all clicks for you, and your hands shoot to your mouth to cover how widely it's gaping.

"Robbie?"

"I, uh....wow, I don't know how to do this." She stutters out, suddenly devoid of the immense confidence it took to get down on her knee in the first place. But nothing's going to stop her from trying to get those words out, you can see it by the way her brow furrows and she takes a deep inhale. "You....are.....m-my love, you're everything to me." She sighs, turning her eyes down and away from you to collect herself before she starts right back, determination clear in her eyes.

"I didn't ask permission to do this. I'm just doing it. I love you. I want you to be my wife, a-and...I want us to be together forever. I wanna laugh with you, I wanna make you happy, and if we have to bleed, I want us to do it together." Robin tears her eyes away to cast her gaze over the other three, each of them with hopeful, happy expressions on their faces--Steve encourages her, mouths the words "Go on!", and her eyes crinkle with a brighter smile, the confidence returning as she looks back up at you. "And I don't care if we can't get married in a church, or if people always wonder why we're all so close, I just....I love you. I love you! If I could marry all of us together, I would. But....will you settle with being my wife? Just....for us?"

"Y...Yes, yes! Oh my god, yes! Robbie, I-" You can't even bring yourself to bother finishing whatever it was you were going to babble out, not when she's jumping up to meet you, pushing her lips up against yours and practically hiking you up off your feet in an embrace that feels tighter than ever. The other three make a show of clapping and Eddie wolf whistles just to make your faces burn brighter, as Robin tears herself away from the breathtaking kiss just long enough to slide the ring on to your finger, her eyes glued to the way it settles there on your hand perfectly.

Wife. That word hasn't had the same meaning for you as it has everyone else, everyone you grew up with who always dreamed of having a nice husband in a nice house and being a pretty wife with cute babies. You'd never dreamed of the same big, white wedding or the man that would fit the role of any romance movie protagonist--your dreams have always been different, weird, and you've always figured they were just that. Dreams. But when Robin kisses you again and your other partners hurry up to share the joy in a whirlwind of alternating hugs, you can feel that jubilant swirl of emotions inside you that have your eyes leaking with tears again.

"Well, I'm not gonna be nearly as well-spoken as Buckley," Eddie suddenly grins, swiping a box out from behind the armchair that none of you had noticed until now, too distracted by the tree and the presents underneath it. Upon closer examination as it sits in his hands, it's not even wrapped, just looks a bit like a shoebox with a closed, brown top. "But I had the same idea. Least we all get rings now, right?"

With a flourish, your boyfriend pulls up the flap to show off the contents--and the four of you are left speechless by what lies inside, Robin letting out a shocked laugh at how similar their thinking seems to be.

Laid out on a soft, clean blue cloth, are four more rings. Each one is different, however--the bands are all made up of entwining coils of silver, much resembling the twisting, celtic-knot-esque patterns that Eddie's excitedly shown off to you in Tolkien's books. But the crystals set in each one are the same, glittery and almost pure white like the gems of Lasgalen, cut and bound into the bands firmly so they won't ever come loose. If he didn't proudly exclaim that they're all his own handiwork, you wouldn't believe he hadn't spent an exhorbitant amount of money getting them custom-made....but they're too Eddie to be something bought from a store, and he's clearly happy to be met with a group of slack jaws and teary eyes as he passes them around. The small, dainty one with elegant designs goes to Nancy, the thicker one with wider coils is Steve's, the one with intertwining silver and gold accents is for Robin, and yours....it has such sweet simplicity that it's just awe-inspiring, it's perfect, and it's even got the tiniest symbols of leaves that surround the crystal; like the leaves of Lórien.

"Eddie, you made these?" Nancy finally speaks up, holding her own hand as she looks down on the ring like it's some priceless, royal artifact.

"Sure did, sweetheart. Can't let Harrington have all the fun dolling you up, can I?" He chuckles, and the box nearly hits the ground when Nancy grabs hold of his cheeks and bends him down to kiss her, the gem on her hand and the ones on her wrist shimmering off the Christmas lights still twinkling around the room. But there's one ring left to bestow, and when the two of them break away with flushed faces, Eddie plucks it off the cloth and meets your eyes with his own, hazily giddy ones.

"How about I wear yours, angel? More romantic that way, dontcha think?" He asks, and when you nod with a smile that could rival the sun, he happily slides it on to his own finger and finds that it fits just splendidly. All five of you hold out your hands on instinct to compare your new jewelry, the four matching rings somehow accentuating yours even more with the silver bands complimenting your entirely gold one. And it hits you all at once--engaged. You're engaged not just to one, not just at all, but to all four of the people you couldn't love more if you had the choice to pick anyone in the world. It's not traditional, but it doesn't matter, because it's yours to share for the rest of your lives.

"....I'm just gonna assume those are all yes's, right?" Eddie finally laughs, breaking the stunned silence into a hubbub of chatter and "of course!"s as you take turns thanking him with lips, hands, and tongue. Steve returns the kiss he got earlier by tenfold, his hands firmly on Eddie's hips as he swallows any other cheeky comments--but just as everyone is cooling down and enjoying that one, last high of gift-giving, you manage to find the courage to push out the words you've been waiting to say.

"So....um, actually, there's....there's one more gift." You admit, the gentle squeeze of the band on your finger allowing you a little more boldness as you look between their satisfied faces.

"Oh, god, don't tell me you got someone a car. We already broke our rule within, like, ten seconds!" Your boyfriend dramatically cries out, before your new fiancée pipes right back at him with her arm around your waist.

"Says you, mister tiffany diamonds and luxury guitars." Steve sticks out his tongue and flaps his fingers together like a fake mouth, before pinching Robin's offending cheek and getting a playful swat on the hand.

Being used to their antics, you just nervously bite your bottom lip, and turn to kneel down and reach back under the tree to close your fingers around the box. It shakes a little when you pull it out and sit back on your knees, though that's probably because your hands won't stop trembling. Just do it. It's gonna be okay. They're gonna love it.

"It's....it's for everyone, but...." You get up slowly and move towards Steve, standing in front of him meekly with your knees practically glued to each other. Without another word of explanation, you wait as they all move to crowd the couch, Robin huddled up by Nancy's side while Eddie perches on the arm next to Steve. And when they do, you feel your heart stall as you place the little box in Steve's open hands, and your stomach drops to your feet when he carefully takes the top off.

The silence kills you, so quiet that not even their breathing interrupts it--but Steve's eyes widening with nothing but shock cuts you deeper, and suddenly the ring on your finger feels too tight, like it's suffocating you.

"Are you serious?" He breathes, finally looking up at you.....but you can't tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling, and suddenly the place you're standing is the last place you want to be, an eerily quiet "Y-Yeah" escaping you with a tremor in your voice. Please don't be mad at me. Please, God.

"Steve? What is it?" You hadn't even realized that the other's vision had been obscured by Steve's hands, not until Eddie shatters that terrifying quiet and leans over for a look. But now, Steve isn't looking anywhere else but you, a glossy sheen filling his sweet, brown eyes.

"You're pregnant?"

Nancy claps a hand over her mouth, Robin's eyes nearly bug out of her head, and Eddie sits there staring like he's still deciphering the words and the little pink test sitting in the lap of your lover. You've got no idea what to do, what to say, and you feel tears start to well up in your own eyes--maybe this was all a mistake, maybe this was too much and you just crossed a line you can't ever step back over.

"Th-This is why you were sick? You're having a baby?" Your hands practically glued together, you nod without looking his way. That mysterious illness that had been pervading your mornings and afternoons had resulted in quite the concern from your partners, but even when they'd asked you to take a test, you'd managed to hide those positive results and convince them they were all negative. Hoping that it would make this moment all the more special, which....seems a little naïve now that it's happening and it's too late to back out.

"Yeah, we....we're having a baby. It....Steve, it's yours."

"I'm gonna be a dad?"

As much as he usually tries, he can't hide the tears this time, and still worried about gauging his reaction wrongly, you stammer out your explanation like you're trying to disarm a bomb.

"Y-Yeah, I planned it out....I t-tracked my cycle, and....that's why I asked Steve to take me to California. I mean, I don't know for sure, but-"

"Oh, honey," Eddie's hands suddenly hit his forehead, and he drags them down his face in a way that frightens you even more. "Is that why you asked me what you asked me?"

The girls look over at him for clarification, still not entirely sure that what's happening right now is really happening, and it's not just some elaborate prank. And while Steve's still digesting the news with teary eyes, Eddie explains.

"Angel's fuckin' clever--or I'm just an idiot--but she asked me, if we have kids, if I cared who got to be the dad first. I just said it didn't matter to me, but....I hoped Steve would get to do it first."

There's no need to say more after that. Steve's finally on his feet, sliding the box aside carefully to let Nancy grab it and hold the test up closer so she and Robin can take a look--and in one step he essentially sweeps you right off your feet, strong biceps clinging to you and his face buried in your neck as you squeal and graze your socked toes across the carpet. It isn't even until your skin warms and prickles with goosebumps that you realize he's planting kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, smiling into your skin and mumbling around mouthfuls of you.

"My baby, my baby--you've got my baby inside you, god, I can't believe I'm a dad-" Like a man that just won the lottery, he lets out a cry of pure, unbridled joy that was just bubbling up inside him so strongly he couldn't keep it down. And once he puts you back down on your feet, he drops to his knees in front of you, nuzzling his face into your belly with his arms tight around your hips, kissing and nosing at the imperceptible bump that you know will be growing even larger pretty soon. "How far along are we? When do I get to meet them?" He asks you with starry eyes, and your heart just melts at the sight of him so excited--it's a sense of relief that you can't even explain, you just have to let your own tears flow out of joy.

"The...the doctor said six weeks, just about. So we should be due in-"

"August?! We're having an August baby!" Steve cheers, though you're sure now that he'd have the same reaction to any month--he just couldn't be happier, jumping back up to his feet for another kiss before you notice the other reactions you've got waiting for you. While Eddie is pawing away his own tears to try and keep it together and Robin looks like she's so happy she's shaking, Nancy looks almost pained at the news, and it sends your heart plummeting from that glorious high all the way down into the dirt at once, her name falling off your lips with worry lacing each syllable. Her eyes shift to meet yours, big, blue oceans that tug at your heartstrings until her lips quirk up into an unbelievably pretty smile.

"You're gonna be a mom," She preens, tucking her hair out of her face as she gets up and squeezes past Steve to go in for a hug, holding you like a teddy bear but not tight enough to hurt her baby. "We're gonna have to decorate, and buy baby clothes, and....we're gonna be parents. The best parents."

As soon as she says that, it seems to light something in Robin and Eddie that has them finally moving off the couch. They hurry in and crowd around each side of you, smothering your happy tears with affection and cuddles and hands on your belly, cooing at both you and the baby growing inside you that they just can't wait to meet. It seems almost silly now, how much you had fretted and worried about breaking the news to them. How you had wasted away precious hours of sleep because you were laying beside them, watching them breathe softly with their heads on their pillow, and wondering if you had made a huge mistake by guessing this would be something they wanted. Many nights you'd warmed yourself against Steve's bare chest, throat rumbling with gentle snores and pleased hums at the feeling of your body cozied up in his arms, scratching your fingers lightly through his chest hair as you thought about the moment he would find out. If he would be happy.

You can see it now in his face, and in the other's faces, too. He's happy. They're all so happy.

"Well....I guess we need two more savings jars. Baby jar and wedding jar." Nancy finally breaks the silence as you're finally let go, cradled instead in Eddie's arms as he kisses the crown of her head with a smile and a pair of misty eyes. He's still in disbelief, but there's no coming around needed. You can see in his faraway look that he's already running through baby names in his head.

"Wedding?" Robin pipes up, looking between all of you as she tries to put the pieces of the puzzle together. But they know, they can already sense it, even though your girlfriend-turned-fiancée is still a little too delirious to believe it.

"....Yeah? You asked angel to marry you first, did you not?" Nancy replies with a grin, and pats the arm Eddie has around her. "So we need to have a wedding. Backyard should be fine, right?"

"Are you sure?" She looks between Nancy to you, eyes glimmery and hopeful. She clearly had expected some pushback from everyone else with her decision, especially considering she hadn't asked or confided with any of them before she went ahead and popped the question. You've got no idea, but in reality she didn't figure she'd actually have the courage to ask it, which is part of the reason why she didn't say anything. But regardless, you answer the question for her with a brief, but loving kiss.

"I'm gonna be your wife, Robin Buckley. You think I'd pass up on a wedding to the love of my life?" This time, you could swear she's really gonna faint. Her cheeks run hot all of a sudden, her smile quirking up slowly until it's bright and toothy, and she bounces on the balls of her feet before dipping in for a long, sweet peck. "Besides, I've got an album to put all the pictures in, now. We'll invite our friends, the kids-"

"Wait, really?"

"Robbie, I think they're already gonna be asking questions when they see me with a bump. Unwed, no boyfriend, living with my "friends"--and they love us. They'll be thrilled." You try to reassure her, because really, you want so badly to have a ceremony with your loved ones. Even if they won't know the true extent of the love you all share, and even if it's not official by any stretch of legality, it's something you've always dreamt of and if you have the chance, you want to make it a reality. Suddenly, Eddie turns on a dime and points at Steve, who snaps out of his delirious happiness when your boyfriend opens his mouth.

"We'll convince Dustin the baby's Robin's! Get that little butthead to drive himself crazy trying to figure out if it's true--bet you twenty he'll believe it." He declares with a smirk, the mischievous gears already turning in his wicked little head. Honestly, sometimes he's more of a kid than the kids are--but you love him for it, and by Steve's response, you know for a fact that Eddie's not the only one.

"You're a dingus.....and you're on. That kid needs a good kick in the head." He grabs Eddie's hand for a shake before the metalhead can spit in it first, and he relents, although Nancy just rolls her eyes and slips out of his hold as they solidify their silly little schemes.

"Anyways," She pipes up, drawing everyone's attention back to the matriarch of the household. "I think it's about time for breakfast. You're eating for two, now, mh?" Nancy delicately brushes her hand over your belly, moving past you to kiss your cheek before she heads towards the kitchen, with Steve following close behind to offer an extra set of hands. And with a little time before then, you, Robin, and Eddie all get to work on clearing up the living room and bringing everyone's present piles to their bedrooms, with the two of them eager to cut in and take anything they even remotely perceive as "heavy" from your arms to haul it around for you. They're honestly almost too excited to pamper you, their precious, pregnant angel, but even at their mother henning you just have to let go of a laugh and offer some kisses and hugs for their devotion. It's a fair trade, after all--you give them a baby, and they give you the whole world as you see it. So maybe, next Christmas, you won't worry so much about going a little over the top for your husbands, wives, and the parents of your most anticipated little addition to the family.

[judasofsuburbia]

another snippet from my spicy six zombie apocolypse au! this is from ronance's chapter. tw: mild sexual content.

“Nancy Karen Wheeler,” Eddie starts.

“That’s not my middle name,” Nancy says.

“If you don’t take that with us, I’m gonna tell Robin that you don’t love her.”

Nancy rolls her eyes and shoves Eddie away. She keeps looking around for the kiddos to appear behind them but they’re all doing their own thing on the first floor of this house. Significantly beat up house with broken windows, various animal markings, and peeling walls. A typical house that they run into. They’re not staying here tonight, just ransacking it for goods. But this “good” was not on Nancy’s list of things to take. 

“It’ll take up too much room in my bag,” Nancy mumbles. Eddie's admiring an erotic painting that hung lopsided on the wall. Eddie blows a raspberry and gives her a pointed look. 

“Then ditch it after you have yourselves a night,” Eddie says with a teasing grin. 

“We don’t even know if it’s sanitary,” Nancy argues. 

“It’s literally still in the package,” Eddie exclaims, picking it up off the dusty mattress. He waves it in her face while Nancy scrunches her nose. 

“Don’t those…go bad or something after a while?” 

Eddie looks like he’s seconds away from bursting into full belly laughter. “Is Nancy Karen‒”

“Eddie, Christ, that’s not my middle name. What a bad middle name.”

“Fine, is Nancy Jacqueline Wheeler‒”

“Jacqueline?”

“Your parents seem like Kennedy people.”

“They’re republican.”

“Damn, that bites,” Eddie retorts. “What point was I trying to make?”

Nancy cracks a smile then. “I don’t know. Your undiagnosed ADHD is an enigma to us all.”

“Could be ADD,” Eddie argues pointlessly. He looks down at his hands and his eyes light up again. “Ah, yes! Nancy Elizabeth Wheeler was about to ask me if a dildo can expire.”

Nancy hits his arm and shushes him. “Shut the hell up!”

“No, no it’s cute,” Eddie says. “It’s really cute that you’re coming to Big Gay Eddie for help‒”

“I’m not coming to you for help,” Nancy seethes. 

“It might be too far to help you get into the leather straps but maybe if we did it over your clothes… or if Steve was there‒”

“I’m going to actually murder you,” Nancy spits. 

“What? He’s seen it all before!” Eddie says as he gestures to Nancy’s body. 

Nancy huffs and goes to leave the room. She reaches the door before she turns around and says, “You put that thing down, Edward Johnny Munson.”

“Johnny?"

“Johnny Cash,” Nancy says in her best southern drawl. 

Eddie narrows his eyes and then gave her a sad smile. “You talked to Wayne too much.”

Nancy returns the sad smile and says, “He was a great guy to talk to.”

Eddie nods fondly. They’re not sure where Wayne is. When the Lurkers took over, they were still in the Upside Down fighting Vecna. They saw no bodies when they came back but Eddie found a sticky note on the fridge that said, “I’ll find you one day, son”.

He keeps it in his wallet (which is pretty obsolete now but everyone has little things they carry that make them feel like people). Eddie doesn’t talk about it much but Nancy thinks Wayne is out there. He might have been old but he was ready to fight that whole town if it meant Eddie was okay. Some measly zombies are not going to stand in his way. 

The house, minus the strap-on, is actually good loot. There were tampons, bags of beans and rice, reusable water bottles, half-empty shampoo and conditioner bottles, and some unscented soap which is great for cleaning gear.

The group moves forward into the night and sets up camp in a barn. It’s Nancy, Steve, and Lucas’s turn to make dinner so Lucas starts a fire while Nancy and Steve set up the pots and pans. 

Nancy reaches into her backpack to dig around for a wooden spoon when she pulls out an unfamiliar box. She squeaks and Steve glances up from his bag. His eyes go wide as Nancy hurriedly shoves the box back into her bag. Nancy shoots him a glare and Steve holds his hands up in defense. 

“I didn’t see whatever you didn’t want me to see,” Steve says.

“Your boyfriend is dead fucking meat,” Nancy seethes.

“He usually is.”

“Little shit,” Nancy grumbles, violently shoving the box further into her bag. 

“Woah, woah, hey, don’t damage the goods,” Steve jokes. 

“I’m not,” Nancy stops herself to huff. “I’m not gonna…use it.”

“I don’t care if you do or don’t. I don’t even know how sanitary it is.”

“That’s what I said!”

“How, if you don’t mind me asking, did my boyfriend put that in there? Where the hell did you even get it?”

Nancy sighs loudly. “It was in the bedroom of the house. The one with the painting‒”

Steve whistles and nods. “Yeah, that was nice.”

Nancy scoffs and waves an exasperated hand. “Eddie found it and oh so graciously offered it to me and told me if I didn’t take it that I didn’t love Robin anymore.”

Steve sputters a laugh and shakes his head. Lucas comes back over and Nancy hurriedly hides her bag behind the back of the log she’s sitting on. 

“What’s so funny?” Lucas asks. 

“Nothing,” The two say. 

Lucas frowns. “I hate when you guys do that.”

“Do what?” Nancy asks. 

“Make jokes that you won’t tell us. We’re all adults here.”

“That is simply not true,” Steve says.

“Okay maybe not Erica but I’m nearly 18! What’s the goddamn joke?” Lucas whines. 

“It’s personal,” Nancy says sternly through gritted teeth.

Lucas looks at Steve and tilts his head. “Well?”

Steve deliberates for a moment while Nancy shoots daggers at him. Eventually, he shakes his head and says, “Yeah, we’re not having that talk today. Maybe some other time, sport.”

Lucas groans and gestures behind him. “Fire’s ready. You can take your little jokes over there.”

Nancy slaps his thigh as she stands and Steve ruffles his afro. Lucas shoves them both away and grumpily takes a seat on the log they were on. Nancy and Steve snicker to themselves but don’t bring up the box for the rest of the night.

Nancy tries to think of a way to get rid of it. But can't help also thinking about that unscented soap...

[perceivedregret]

pt 8! fic can also be found on ao3, user is the same over there. part 1 of Extended Hours can be found here.

the points don't matter, but that doesn't mean that you can't score

Robin was laid back on one of the lounge chairs beside Steve’s pool where she presented the impressive bag of weed that she had stashed in the bell of her trumpet with a triumphant smile. Or, she at least tried to present it but she was struggling to get the baggie dislodged from inside the horn.

“Buckley, where the hell did you even get this and why do you have so much?” Steve asks as he catches the bundle she was finally able to toss over to him where he sat by the edge of the pool. He inspected what's inside, impressed and taking a moment to wonder who sells intricate starter kits like this as he pulls out the contents to start rolling joints. When he gets a freshly rolled one together he presents it to Robin, beckoning for her to take a seat next to him.

Robin crouches beside him, lips parted and waiting expectantly. "I won't reveal my sources, but I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough," she mumbles around the rolled paper between her lips. She follows his lead and rolls the cuff of her jeans up to around her knees before sinking her legs into the cool water as Steve finishes rolling up a second one.

It wasn't until they were shrouded in clouds of smoke that it clicked what fumar meant. It had caught him off guard initially, considering it was Robin’s idea, but after she explained that she didn’t want the first time she got high (which was honestly traumatizing) to be the only time she got high, it kinda made sense. She was quick to catch on, only keeling over in a coughing fit the first couple times she tried to take a hit before she got the hang of it.

For the first hour it was just the two of them as they waited for Nancy to arrive. Something about having to make a stop at Melvald's to get batteries for Mike’s walkie talkie. “ If that shithead interrupts another one of my calls, I swear– .”

Steve had found the boombox that had been lost in the garage for who knows how long earlier that morning and so the two decided to test it out with the few cassettes Robin brought.

They were dancing together in his sun room with the sliding door that led to the pool wide open, the cool breeze carrying out their blaring music and slowly dissipating their exhaled smoke into the evening air. Robin danced around Steve, belting along to the songs in clear Spanish. Steve had no idea what they were saying but it didn’t matter because all he needed was a good beat and each song that came on kept them moving.

They were both lost in a hazy dance, the music so loud that they didn’t hear the front door they had left unlocked for Nancy creak open or click shut. Robin was the first to notice the two that stood by the archway that led back into the living room. The sight sent her into a fit of giggles as she doubled over and fell to the floor. Steve, oblivious, went to pick her up, feeding off her bubbly energy and laughing along with her. He had Robin only half up when that familiar wave of apples and mahogany hit him and she suddenly went tumbling back down, her fit of giggles turned into outright cackling.

Steve spun towards the scent, eyes landing on Eddie who was leaning against the archway and barely registering Nancy who was making her way over to Robin. Eddie was smiling down at Robin who was still collapsed on the floor before shifting his attention to Steve.

When Nancy neared the two she leaned up on her tiptoes, the weight of her hands pulling Steve's shoulder down so she could speak over the music without having to yell. "You keep your mouth hanging open any longer and you're going to catch a fly." She gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze before she tries to help Robin up from the floor who, instead of taking the help, yanks on Nancy's offered arm so that she ends up also sprawled on the floor with her.

Steve didn't move except to shut his mouth, the fog in his head and Eddie’s sudden appearance leaving him slow to react. The usual , except now he's kinda high so he now has something to blame it on. It isn't until he gets a small kick behind his knee when he makes his way over to the man waiting.

“Munson, wha– not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?" Steve barely has to shout, getting himself near enough so his voice can be heard as he steps closer towards him.

"I don’t mean to crash your little shindig but, to be entirely fair, Bobby did call me up last night inviting me over. Wanted to know if I had these for you and the little shitbirds." He presents two cassettes in the small space that’s left between them. "Honestly, you guys are lucky I was able to find these two, our Other section isn't all that impressive.”

"Of course she did," Steve mutters as he reaches out for them but Eddie retracts them away from Steve’s reaching hand, the usual glint in his eyes.

"Nuh-uh, first things first, pretty boy–”

“ Pretty boy? "

“Mhm, how's the stash?" Eddie reaches up towards Steve's face, fingers catching on the joint behind his ear. He screws his mouth into an unimpressed line as he inspects Steve's work. "Dude, all that primo weed I went through the effort of getting for you and you skimped out? The hell is this?" He gestures at the admittedly thin joint between his fingers.

In Steve's defense he didn't want to risk Robin accidently overdoing it on her first go around, and he says so. He cast an accusatory finger into Eddie's chest. "Yeah yeah yeah, forget the limp joint, Munson. It was you who sold Robin this stash?" Steve pulls away, turning with his hands on his hips just in time to watch his favorite headache spin Nancy out and back into her arms with the music.

Before he can say anything a finger hooks into one of his belt loops and tugs, forcing Steve to spin in place and oh – okay, and now there's barely any space between the two. They've moved a bit into the hallway, out of sight and it's sending alarm bells off in Steve's head.

Steve audibly swallows at the way Eddie's tongue peaks out to wet his lips, those eyes boring directly into Steve’s as he slips the cassettes into Steve's rear jean’s pocket before he gets a hold of another loop. Steve tries to focus on anything but the pressure of Eddie’s wrists settling on his hips.

"I can't stay too long, answer me Harrington," Eddie murmurs, leaning back into the wall, fingers still on his belt loops which forces Steve to move with him. He throws a hand out to brace himself, now standing between Eddie's legs and he's panicking because all he wants to do is press forward, the fog in his head making it hard to remember why he probably shouldn't.

The thing is, Steve can be pretty handsy and overly affectionate as it is when he’s sober. He didn't smoke all that much but it was enough to make him feel warm all over, heat growing low in his gut at Eddie's proximity. His lips are buzzing and the temptation to take another step so he can slot his thigh between Eddie's, to chase what he knows would feel really good–

Stop .

"I’m sorry, what was your question?” 

Eddie reaches into Steve's shirt pocket for the lighter that’s peaking out, his knuckles trailing up Steve’s chest before giving him a light knock on the jaw. "Sheesh, you really are a lightweight, huh? Here I was thinkin' I'd get to finally see the King and all his – sorry, just Steve and all his former glory."

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn't pull away, instead straightening up and crowding in closer. "Ah ha ha, first off it's got nothing to do with the weed. Alright, and you don't exactly live up to your Freak status either, Munson. I guess we're both not living up to our bullshit high school expectations." 

"You just haven't seen me in my element, Harrington. 'sides, if it isn't the weed then what is it?" Eddie hums as he lights up the rolled up paper, taking a shy huff before blowing the smoke into Steve's face.

"Charming." When the clouds clear Steve tries to give him his most annoyed stare down, the one Robin dubbed bitchfest no.4 , except…

Except when he's finally able to to refocus Eddie has that all too familiar smirk on his face that makes Steve's chest tighten, his heart skipping a beat. This stupid smirk, the one that's holding back secrets, a laugh, or some dorky aside referencing something Steve has no idea what it's about.

Steve's free hand that isn't braced on the wall suddenly feels heavy and those ants start up again. He fights the urge to take Eddie's face, or to reach out and get a hold of that hair, or to lean forward and remove that line of his mouth with the press of his own lips, or to finally figure out what it would feel like to get a taste of his tongue in his mouth, or or or–

Steve forces his gaze away from his lips and is back to drowning in those eyes when finally he sees it. Eddie's eyes are doing their usual survey of face, except this time he catches them drift once to Steve's lips before darting back to some spot above his head, bottom lip pulled in to bite back on.

Oh ?

“You know what? I’ll take your refusal to give me a clear answer as a positive. And I suppose I’ll let this sad excuse for a joint slide… you lightweight .” He takes another small inhale, before putting it out against an already ash stained patch on his vest, placing the joint gingerly back behind Steve’s ear, fingers finding their loops again. Steve then feels it, the light touch of Eddie’s calloused thumb that had made its way under his red henley making soft sweeps against the skin of his hip.

Oh.

“Can you stay?” Steve says, voice low. His hand is moving before his brain can process what he's trying to do. He doesn’t know if it’s the weed that’s making him so bold, or if it's just the fact that it all finally clicked for him in this moment, but he allows the temptation to touch to take over as he somehow further invades Eddie’s space, smoothing down the collar of his vest, hand settling on the side of his neck. 

Eddie straightens with a sharp intake of breath, his hands now at Steve's waist. A strand of Eddie’s hair falls over Steve's knuckles. Instead of ignoring the urge like he has every time before he allows himself to do what he's been yearning to do and tucks that strand back behind his ear and takes Eddie's face in one hand, other hand reaching past his battle vest to take his tattered shirt in his fist.

Eddie feels good, warm. Steve's thumb sweeps across Eddie's cheek once, twice. He doesn't know who leaned into who first but he doesn't realize how close they've gravitated towards each other until he feels his knee actually knock against Eddie’s, the heat off of the other man’s body begging to seep into him and nestle in deep. Eddie’s grip on his waist pulls him impossibly closer as their eyes slip shut and Steve leans in.

Close, they're so close.

The sound of a car horn blares loudly from the front of the house and Eddie snaps back, head thudding lightly against the wall. Steve winces, his hand going to hold the back of Eddie's head instinctively but Eddie reaches up to stop his hands. He blinks away rapidly with a rough shake of his head.

“Shit. Shit shit shit, Harrington, I would love– love to stay, but…" He pushes away, grip tight at Steve's waist to provide distance before he moves and encircles Steve's wrists, hitting a pressure point that causes him to let go before disappearing entirely, dropping low and side-stepping out of the circle of Steve's arms.

Steve stares at the wall where Eddie's head just was, dazed for only a moment before a chuckle escapes him. He drops his arms and follows Eddie's retreating form. "It's Wednesday."

Eddie spins so quickly he almost loses his balance, his hair threatening to slip entirely out of the green scrunchie that holds it back with the movement. His face sinks apologetically as he rebalances.

"I was only supposed to drop these off. I have Red waiting for me in the van. She's super psyched to have to sit through a Hellfire se–" another sounding off of the horn, this time going for a solid 5 seconds, followed by a rapid succession of honks. Eddie winces, front door creaking open. "Annnnnd I don't think leaving her in the van this whole time is helping her mood. But! Bobby mentioned that you're having a party Saturday? I'll be there."

"Party, what–" Steve blinks, confused, but he nods and goes along with it. "Uhh yeah, the party. Yes, this Saturday, the party I'm throwing, right, mhmm…”

"I work the rest of the week but surprisingly have this weekend off. So, just… wait for me. You can call me later tonight if you miss me too much." Eddie winks, doesn't idle for a response as he makes his way out the front door.

Wait. Maybe (will most definitely) even call him. Steve can do that.

He slowly makes his way back to the two who are now dancing to Robin's Madonna track. He claps his hands together loudly to get their attention but Robin only gives him a proud smile. She flips him the bird, kissing said finger and blowing him a kiss with the finger pressed to her lips.

"Robs, you've gotta stop inviting– she's not even listening to me," Steve drops the finger he had pointed accusingly in Robin's direction, instead opting to relight the joint. He takes a long pull, moving back towards the sliding glass door to exhale the smoke. He turns his head to shout over his shoulder. "Nance, did you know anything about Saturday?"

“Yeah, she said you’re having a party.” She says it matter-of-factly, the smile on her face melting into a confused frown as she looks between the two. “Robin, you said– wait,” Nancy stops, moves over to the boombox to lower the volume until it’s barely buzzing in the background, “Robs, seriously?”

"Nance, it was to preserve our sanity, I can't take Steve's pathetic pining–"

"Fuck off, Buckley, I'm am not pathetically pining –"

"– pathetically! Pining anymore. Were you paying attention to those two not even two minutes ago? Me, moi, yo, yo hice eso. I really tried to convince the guy to hang out with us tonight but that dude takes that Hellfire shit seriously. Steve's pool wasn't enough to convince him! So, as a backup plan we're having a party Saturday and I've already invited the perfect group of people to come out– well not out out, I mean out to the party. Anyways, Operation Get Steve a Boyfriend is still in motion. Holy shit, now that I'm thinking about it, who knew Hawkins was the home of so many queers? Okay, maybe not that many, but like, folks who aren't judgy fuckwads to those of us that are." She takes Nancy's face and kisses her nose, pulling her into a hug, muttering something in her hair that makes Nancy laugh.

"You both suck, by the way," Steve mumbles, finishing off the joint before throwing it out behind him.

"What? What did I do?" Nancy looks genuinely offended and Steve can't help but chuckle at it, his annoyance dissipating.

"You're guilty by proxy. Relationship status makes you joint culprits or whatever."

"Whatever, you're welcome, dingus. Oh, and before I forget– I told Munson you'd pay him for the stash this weekend," Robin sing-songs, twirling over to the boombox to raise the volume again.

“Buckley, you meddling–”

—----------------

It’s Saturday night and Steve is looking down from the bearings of the second floor into his empty living room. He feels more than he hears the stomping of feet that race up the stairs behind him. He turns and leans back, elbows resting on the railings as Robin settles in beside him.

“I thought you said it was only going to be a handful of people," he exclaims, rocking his shoulder into her as she settles in beside him. "I called Jonathan to see if he and Argyle were bringing some Palm Tree and then he listed off, like, seven names I have no idea who they are that he invited to come out. Don't even get me started on Munson's group."

Robin reaches outs and takes one of his hands in both of hers, face scrunched in apology.

“In my defense, I told those two to only invite a few fellow lame dorks, ones we can trust to be…" She gestures between the two of them, eyes narrowing as she communicates what doesn't need to be said out loud. “ Chill . How was I supposed to know they knew so many?”

"Mhm, where's Nancy?"

"Downstairs making the punch."

"Oh, perfect," he mumbles. He raises his enclosed hand up to lick the back of one of Robin's hands, earning him a not unkind brushing back of his hair. He pulls her in for a sideways hug and they start making their way back downstairs right as the front door swings open.

Argyle's voice is heard before he's seen, the pack of folks in front of him obscuring him. "My man, I heard there was a party!" Jonathan holds up a case of beers as he crosses the threshold, eyes already red. There's a girl with black, well, everything clinging onto his back, legs wrapped around his waist who Steve immediately recognizes as Eden, Suzie's sister. That's new .

"Wait!" Robin scrambles forward to pick up the pumpkin shaped trick-or-treat basket by the handle, holding it out in front of her and barring the rest from entering. "Keys! Keys in the bowl if you're planning to partake in anything tonight. No arguments, no exceptions."

Everyone shrugs with a nod, those with keys dropping them into the pail as they walk past. Argyle shuffles forward once his path is cleared to deposit his with a wide smile.

"Robby, I got some Delights for you to try out. I heard you're in the market to try some stuff and, man , this new strain." Argyle starts laughing, head thrown back and arms brought up in front of him like Frankenstein. He swings his legs out in front of him with each step, hair swaying behind him as he makes his way inside and closes the door with his heel. He straightens up with a giggle as he pulls out a joint from his shirt pocket and bows, presenting it palm opened up for Robin to take.

Robin and Steve share a look as the rolled up paper finds its home behind her ear. Someone starts the music almost immediately, so they shrug and turn to follow suit. It's one of Robin's mixtapes they'd left behind from last time, so when Salsa starts blaring through the speakers Argyle yips and starts dancing with himself, arm up holding some invisible hand and his other arm at his chest before everyone else joins in.

"Man, when did my gringitos start listening to my people's music? Venga venga, baile conmigo!"

"Pues, yo, por siempre. ¿Pero los demás? Con tiempo vas a ver– I'm the best thing that's ever happened to that dingus," Robin chimes, handing over the bucket of keys to Steve before she takes Argyle's hands and starts dancing with him. She laughs as he takes her in his beckoning arms, high off of his energy alone.

Steve watches them for a while, happy to see his house full of fun again. He makes his way to the kitchen to get some punch where he finds Nancy rummaging through his fridge. She grabs a bag of oranges and jumps when she finds Steve behind her, hand going to her chest.

"Jeez, put a bell on, would you," she chuckles, taking a few oranges out to wash in the sink before cutting them into fourths. She squeezes a few into the punch and cuts up a few orange slices to toss into the bowl. She ladles a cup for Steve and herself. He takes a sip and the shiver that he can’t suppress makes Nancy laugh. “I figured after the last time I’d just go ahead and go with the usual but… too much?”

Steve waves her off, taking another sip. “Nah, it’s just right Wheeler. Got everyone's keys, gonna take it upstairs in a bit.” He settles next to her and the two just stand together in silence, watching the others dancing in the living room. Steve doesn’t know what makes him say it but the words are out before he can stop them. “Have you heard from Barb?”

Hurt flashes across her face, but only for a second. She smiles up at him wistfully. “Wisconsin is treating her well enough. She’s coming down to visit for winter break so… I’ll get to see her then.” Nancy smiles up at him and she wraps an arm around his middle, tugging him forward so they can start their way upstairs and he can hide the pail in his bathroom. “Stop looking at me like that, you’re the one who brought her up. She’s fine .”

“I know, I know, I don’t– I don’t even know why I…” Steve stops them in their tracks and puts a hand to his face because he knows why. Rough swipe, small shake of his head and Steve places a kiss on the top of her head, her lavender and honey shampoo enveloping his senses as he mutters into her hair, “That’s good to hear though," and they make their way upstairs together. 

He hasn’t thrown a party like this since that night. The night Barb got into that terrible accident leaving his party. She was t-boned by a drunk driver leaving some other party within town that night and was in the hospital for a little over a month. She had been unconscious for the first four nights but a nurse recognized her the following day of her accident and was able to call the Hollands to inform them.

After the hospital she was bed bound at home with a broken femur, sprained and fractured wrists and ankles, a concussion, temporary loss of hearing in her left ear that eventually developed into low-frequency tinnitus, and too many broken ribs to count for a little over two months following her release.

Nancy had been ridden in guilt, blaming herself for dragging her out to a party she didn’t want to go to, for pressuring her to drink a little to loosen up. For then encouraging her to leave because she was “ not having fun anyways, so just… go home .”

She was there to visit her and drop off her school work almost every day she could. She agonized over it for months and months and Steve tried to help her forgive herself (and by proxy eventually himself) but they just couldn’t move past it together, having their own ways to cope with the guilt.

Barb didn’t blame either of them, much to their constant disbelief but one thing was for certain– her parents sure did. They didn’t outright say it, to be clear, but the coldness that radiated off of them whenever Nancy would visit, oftentimes accompanied with Steve, was impossible to ignore. It was palpable, thick in the air that more often than not Nancy had to excuse herself because she thought she would genuinely end up choking and dying from it.

When Barb was healthy enough to move her parent’s packed up their life and left Hawkins. They told anyone who asked why that it was to escape for “new scenery, to be closer to family” but Nancy couldn’t shake the thought that it was because of her, because of what she did to their daughter– all because she wanted to impress some boy .

Nancy tried to make up for it by being there for everyone when she could, even if it’s at the expense of her own health and mentals. She eventually came to forgive herself (if only minutely) after many sent letters and shared phone calls. Yet there are some days when that space in her heart that misses the company of her best friend by her side everyday that aches and she often wonders what could have been if she had just been a friend to Barb that one night….

She hasn't shared any of this with Robin, isn't sure if it's already been a topic of conversation between the girl and her best friend since they became acquaintanced soon after the breakup and accident. She doesn't think so, doesn't know if she'll ever share that story and all its details with Robin but she hopes one day she can tell her about the good times she shared with her old best friend Barb without feeling the brisk air of guilt that threatened to choke her lungs.

Meeting Robin has helped in its own ways and she’s grateful for having her to help her recenter, to remind her that she can’t take care of anyone if she doesn’t take care or be a friend to herself first.

Robin reminds Nancy that she's still allowed to have fun.

As for Steve, the guilt also still eats him up most days. Not only because it was his party Barb left that night but because he wasn’t able to be there for Nancy the way she needed him. He hated himself for not being able to comfort her the way she wanted, for the way that the air shifted into something unbearable when he would say the wrong things. 

They walk back down stairs in silence. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and they stop just before joining the others. As he stands here in silence, just holding her and being in her space, he thinks he might have figured it out a bit.

Better late than never?

Nancy gives him one final squeeze before pulling away, standing directly in front of him as she raises her cup in cheers. "To friends?"

"To friends." Steve taps his cup to her's and they drink. He holds his free hand out to her, eyebrows quirked up in question as he tips his head towards the living room. She takes his hand with a smirk, knocking back the rest of her drink before they make their way over to join the rest and start to dance.

Another fifteen, twenty minutes pass before the front door opens again but the folks who wander through are more friends of Jon and Argyle. The increasing number of bodies and smoke makes the living room warm up to a moderately intolerable degree that soon half the party decides to make their way outside and they start jumping into the pool in varying degrees of undress.

Nancy had been reluctant to get in the water with the rest at first, something about her hair and a perm her mom wanted to put in later that week but after some coaxing… she still refused. Steve and Robin shared a look, having an entire conversation within the span of a second before giving a resolute nod. They undressed down to the bathing suits they wore underneath and cannonballed into the pool, close enough to get Nancy and her clothes wet.

Nancy gasps, looking down at her damp clothes. She seems to count to five before she fixes her gaze onto Robin and Steve in the pool, cheeks warming to a soft blush, annoyance clear across her face.

"Oops?" Robin tries to suppress her laugh but fails when Nancy pulls her soaked shirt away from her body to wring it out, droplets cascading to the floor. "Aw come on Nance. Unwind with us– with me. We deserve it! The water's niiiiice." She leans back with her arms spread and starts to float, but not before she kicks at the water in Nancy's direction.

Nancy yelps as the water pelts towards her, taking steps back far too late. She flicks her wrists to throw off some of the water and sets her jaw, lips upturned in an annoyed but determined smirk. She steps on the heels of her shoes, arms crossing in front of her to pull her blouse off in one fluid motion. She then bends her knees behind herself one at a time to slip her shoes off before chucking them towards the house. The belt and her long skirt goes next, which gets the same treatment as the rest of her clothes before she dives expertly into the pool and beelines it straight towards Robin.

Robin who's now screaming profanities in French as she tries to swim away.

"Careful Robin, she bites," Jonathan supplies from the other end of the pool in one of the lounge chairs, Eden seated in the empty space between his legs. She laughs, leaning back into Jonathan’s chest for a moment before rocking forward to continue braiding back Argyle’s hair who's at the end of the same seat assembling joints in his lap. 

"That she does," Steve mutters, eyes narrowing on the trio. He mentally shakes away the questions he has about that before he actually shakes his hair out, laughing at the other two as he makes his way over to the edge of the pool. Nancy jumps onto Robin's back and Robin's shrieks go in and out, periodically sinking into the water in attempts to escape. Soon Nancy settles on her back like a backpack and Robin laughs as Nancy sets a love bite on the crook of her neck.

Steve rolled his eyes endearingly, now out of the pool and sat on the edge. He's about to get up and start the hunt to find as many towels as he can when the music inside the house suddenly cuts out and a few loud hey ’s sound off.

Everyone who's outside stops moving, seems to stop breathing as they whip their heads towards the house. The new found silence is deafening, the water sloshing around being the only indication that the world was still turning and that time did not in fact stop ticking.

Steve’s heart rate kicks up, because– no, it can’t be. They weren’t supposed to be home for another four days, at least . He puts his hands up and motions for everyone to keep calm, scanning the confused faces that are all asking the same question; did the party just get busted?

Nancy and Robin are making their way towards the edge of the pool and Steve slowly rises, moving to investigate when a shriek comes from inside and they scramble quickly into motion. He’s past the threshold, water spreading all over the floor when he hears laughter coming from the living room. He narrowly avoids face planting while he rounds the corner of the sunroom, hands braced out to catch himself as he stumbles upon the disruption.

“What the fuck is going on in here, is everyone–”

"Shhhh! Trust me trust me, I’ve got this all under control. I’m here to save everyone’s ears and put on some good music. Stevie, I’m begging you to listen to anything else that hasn’t been on the top charts at least once.”

Another ear splitting scream. “Jeff, Gareth– put me down ! Alana, please save me! Oh my god, where’s Vic when I need her! Ah!”

Steve doesn’t know who to watch.

Eddie, who’s bent over in the tightest pair of jeans he thinks he’s ever seen. He seems to be working on swapping out the cassettes from the player and as he adjusts his stance, the sleeveless tee that's desperately trying to stay on his frame starts to ride up along his back. Oh, holy shit, is that new tattoo? And his hair– it's half up, a large green clip holding back the uncontrollable curls. Steve wants to tangle his fingers through them.

Or, maybe–

Should he be watching out for Chrissy, who’s either laughing or crying where she sits on the shoulders of the two boys who seem to have her stable enough on their shoulders. The third member, Alana, has tears in her eyes as she stands behind them with her palms up spotting Chrissy.

Okay she’s laughing, she’s definitely laughing and she’s in safe hands. Back to watching Eddie–

“Steve what’s going– oof ,” Steve trips forward as Robin stumbles into him with Nancy close behind, reaching out instinctually to grab a hold of Robin’s arm before she goes tumbling down. She wrestles her arm out of his grasp when she notices the new group of people in the living room. “Wait, Munson? What are you– hey! This is your first and only warning… Step away from the deck, put my mixtape back in, and no one will get hurt.”

Eddie freezes at that, the cassette at his fingertips only a hair away from being inserted into the player. He straightens up, disappointment planted clear across his face. “Bobby, I can tolerate a lot. I can look past Madonna – barely! But really … The Beach Boys?” He slips the cassette into the deck.

“Steve asked for one song on the mixtape and I had to compromise! Also, that one isn’t all that bad. It doesn’t go with the vibe I was going for, I’ll give you that…” 

Steve starts at that, arms crossing defensively over his chest that suddenly feels way too bare. “What’s wrong with Surfin' U.S.A?!” Nancy giggles from somewhere behind him, muttering something about letting the group outside know the coast was clear before disappearing.

Eddie’s hand goes up to his chest to grab at the fabric over his heart, face crumpling in faux pain as he falls hard onto his knees. “Harrington I don’t know how much more disappointment I can take,” he wheezes dramatically, hand outstretched to Chrissy who’s being paraded to the kitchen still on the boys' shoulders. “Chris, why are all you preps the same? When will I be free of the Worst Top 40 and boy bands?” He collapses face first into the floor, hair awry.

Robin snorts. “Steve’s questionable music choices aside, aren’t all your little metal bands boy bands themselves?” Eddie honest to god growls from his spot on the floor just as Steve turns on her and gives her his bitchfest no.6 . She puts her hands up and waves an invisible white flag just as Nancy returns with their clothes. She takes a hold of Nancy’s arm and drags her towards the kitchen, fighting back a fit of giggles. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true! We’ll welcome in Munson’s group, dorkus. I think you can handle getting some towels and… that.”

Steve slowly approaches Eddie who hasn’t moved. He clears his throat loudly, stopping just in front of him. Eddie still doesn’t move but only to raise a single finger. 

“Harrington, be a dear and hit play.”

Quick roll of his eyes and Steve shuffles over to the player and hits the bright red arrow. A deep sigh escapes Eddie as he finally rolls over, stray hairs caught against his cheek as he stares up at Steve, lips a tight line as the song starts playing. Enthusiastic squeals come from both the kitchen and outside as that unmistakable electric guitar trill intro to Kiss starts playing and Steve balks, eyes wide on the man on the floor.

Chrissy starts to strut into the living room, walking backwards and swaying with each step along with the beat as she drags Alana and the girls into the living room, the Hellfire boys stopping just at the edge of the living room. Some folks from outside pop their heads in, approaching slowly from the sunroom before Chrissy motions for them to join.

Eddie sighs with an outstretched hand that Steve takes without hesitation. He pulls him up easily and tries to ignore the way Eddie eyes are trailing up his body with the movement. When Eddie’s eyes finally reach Steve’s face he scoffs at the smug purse of his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that, Harrington. Everyone loves Prince , for one, alright. And, just like you and Bobby, I also have to compromise with the songs that end up on my mixtapes.”  Eddie pushes lightly against Steve’s chest but doesn’t pull away, instead letting his fingers trail lightly down his torso and stops just above his navel.

Steve can (and will) blame the shiver and the hiss that escapes him on the fact that he’s half naked and wet. Eddie’s smile is dangerous and the glint in his eyes makes Steve’s chest ache, his fingers itching to touch, to grab. Eddie’s gaze stops just at Steve’s lips for a moment and it’s enough to let temptation pull. Steve moves to take the other man’s face but before he can Eddie is suddenly yanked away and his hand is reaching for nothing but open air.

“Towels! Towels, a mop, and a shirt ,” Chrissy yells, the smile on her lips teasing.

Steve can’t help but laugh as Eddie tries to move back towards him. “Chris, what are you–”

“Nope!” Chrissy grabs Eddie’s arm and shoves him into the circle of bodies singing and dancing along with the music. “Nah, you meddling with my love life means that I get to meddle with yours. Sorry Steve, it’s the law.”

“I- What meddling , I was trying to help you! I didn't know I read it so wrong!” Eddie tries to shimmy his way out of the group of bodies but Robin is right behind him, taking his hand and forcing him into step with her lead. She spins him out dramatically and looks over to where Chrissy and Steve are standing.

“Cunningham that ruins my plans for my best friend, I’ll have you know.” She pulls on Eddie’s arm and he spins into her arms. Eddie’s face is confused and Robin can’t help but take his chin between her thumb and pointer, moving his face side to side so she can place a peck on each cheek before straightening up, Eddie putty in her hands. “But alas, I must abide by the code. Steve, towels.” She playfully shoves Eddie farther away from Steve and into the dancing crowd.

Chrissy bobs her head once, turning to Steve to take his chin in between her thumb and knuckle like Robin had with Eddie but without a kiss to each cheek, instead just forcing his gaze down towards her. “Towels, mop, and a shirt. Thank you Steven!” She skips around the circle of everyone dancing to grab a hold of Gareth and Jeff and pulls them into the circle as well.

Steve hides his laugh behind his hands as he moves to do as he’s told.

It’s okay, Chrissy can play her games a little while longer. He’s got all night for Eddie.

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8

[sfwregressionfanfictions]

Storming in Hawkins (Steve Harrington X Little! Reader)

Request: hi!! i’d like to request a CG!Steve Harrington x gn!little!reader fic where there’s a big storm and the reader is scared of thunderstorms and steve comforts them. i hope you’re having a good day!!

Wc: 920

Warning: Storms, bigspace for a little, honestly not my best work. If you don't like, don't read.

The TV in Family Videos had been playing the news all day, it was rather boring if you asked anyone paying attention in the shop. Luckily, both Steve and Robin were fixated on fixing a cassette tape that was rather ratty and nested, however, the pair was going to fix it for the redhead that left it with them. 

“You dingus! Stop pulling it!” Robin said as she was still untwisting the tape.

“No. I have to pull it through here! So you can untwist it!” Steve grumbled back. 

“I need to fix this before you do that!” Steve was not paying attention to her this time, “Harrington, are you even paying attention?”

“Shut up for a second.” Steve dropped the cassette, moving towards the TV and the remote on the counter. 

“Don’t tell me what-” The TV cut her off, volume turned up 50%.

“There is now a severe thunderstorm warning in Hawkin, and surrounding towns and counties. This storm is believed to begin in an hour or two, if you are outside, seek shelter! If you are at home, do not leave under any circumstances. Stay safe Hawkins.”

“Holy Shhhh-” 

“Steve, we should lock up early…” Robin said, beginning to pace.

“Get your stuff, hit the lights. I’m gonna put your bike in my trunk, then we can lock up and leave. Keith can deal with it.” Steve said, moving to throw the cassette at Robin. She ran to the back, grabbing her bag and chucking the cassette into it. Steve grabbed a few movies and walked outside to his car. 

Locking up was quick, driving to drop off Robin was fast, and the drive to the house he and (Y/N) shared took no time. The clouds moved quickly though covering the blue sky, making it grey and dreary. The weather in Hawkins was always weird, even after the gate to the upside-down was closed. Steve threw the door open to the home, “Baby I’m back early!”

“Stevie!!!”, They came barrelling towards steve in the entryway, body flung to hugging and clinging onto him, “Why are you here so early?”

“Closed early due to the coming storm, couldn’t leave my little baby here alone,” Steve mumbled against their hair, carrying them to the living room after closing and locking the door.

“There is a storm?” The stress filled (Y/N)’s voice, storms always caused stress after the mind flayer and the storms it caused. 

“It’s all gonna be okay, I brought some movies to distract us. We can make a little fort, have some fries and nuggies, and maybe you can color. Everything will be all good.” Steve said, petting their head. 

Once placed down, (Y/N) went running to get blankets, stuffies and pillows. Steve normally would yell for them to slow down, but he didn’t as they were obviously already stressed. Steve pulled out the sofa bed, and put a sheet on it. Then the oven was preheating and the food was placed in it. 

“Veggies…” Steve muttered realizing they have nothing healthy with their meal. Luckily after looking over the fridge, he found a bag of baby carrots. He cut them into smaller pieces.

“D- Stevie, I need help setting up the fort…” (Y/N) was obviously on the edge of slipping, they were fidgety and staring at the pillows and blankets unsure what to do.

“How about I make it? While you look through those tapes and figure out what we should watch?” Steve smiled, as she ran to the small pile of films and plopped down on the floor. 

Soon enough the fort was built, the film was built (it was the care bears movie), and it has begun lightly raining. (Y/N)’s stuffies sat comfortably in the fort. Soon, dinner was ready.

“Baby, eat your carrots first, okay?” Steve was only met with a hum. The rain was picking up and the wind was rather loud. Luckily the movie was able to block out some of the noise.

The night was going smoothly for the first hour of dinner and movie until the storm got truly terrible and the thunder started. The first crack of thunder caused a squeal of fear to rise from (Y/N), who kept shrinking into themself. When Steve looked at them from where he was switching tapes, he noticed the tears beginning to stream down his little baby’s face. 

“Dadaaaaa!”

With that one word, (Y/N) was in his arms in an instance. Steve rocked them lightly back and forth, shushing their cries, “Baby, where is your paci?”

A mumble replied, it was unintelligible through their sobs. Steve rushed to the one in the kitchen that had just been washed. Steve held it up quickly to baby's mouth, and it was accepted without a fight.

“That’s it, baby, let me make it all better,” Steve said moving back towards the coach to lay down and cuddle the fear away. (Y/N) had not stopped shaking still, whimpering and whining. “Baby have I ever let you get hurt? Even by scary storms?”

“No dada” Barely a whimper.

“And I never will, you are so safe, baby. That storm better hope I don’t get my hands on it!” Steve said, jokingly starting to fight the sky above them.

“Luv dada,” Suddenly much calmer and also much more sleepy.

“I love you too, my little baby,” Steve kissed their forehead and cheeks and nose until they were a giggly mess. “Now sleep, I will keep you safe.”

[royalty-unknown]

Hewwo!

I love love love your works and have read every fic you have made regarding ST. 🥰

I don't really have any specific requests just reader x Daddy! Eddie and fluff

Or reader x Daddy! Or Uncle! Steve

Maybe a thunderstorm scares them and they need emergency cuddles

Or they play hide and go peek and they fall asleep and they search looking for them.

Honestly anything you write regarding ST I will read...

Lastly just wanna say that the skin to skin scene in one of your recent fics was amazing and made me feel so safe and cared for and I love it so much and would love if you added it in again sometime.

Okay. Thanks for being such a good writer and a nice person.

🤗🤗🤗🤗

Cg!Eddie Munson x Cg!Steve Harrington x little!reader Requested by: Anonymous 

Thunderstorms and Skin to skin

WARNINGS!!: Nothing <3 ABSOLUTELY FLUFFIER THAN A BUNNYS TAIL!

Awwww thank you so muchhhh! I really love when I get feedback it makes my heart flutter every time <3 This one I will do thunderstorms! Thank you for everythings and thank you for giving me this request love! 

You and Eddie were at Steve's job, There had been a very bad storm warning so Steve’s boos called and said him and robin can leave at 2:00 pm where he would naturally get off at 6:00pm (I don’t actually know so I just made it the time I would naturally get off) It was 1:30 pm and there was already dark clouds threatening to roar at any second. Steve and Robin were helping their last few customers while Eddie was playing with you in the back room. About 1:55 is when everyone was gone and you could see the small droplets of rain on the store glass and Steve's car. “Ok love’s time to go” Steve said helping Eddie pack you up while Robin shut down the store. 

Once you were packed up you said your goodbyes to auntie Robin and her parents came to pick her up. You and Eddie got into the car while Steve locked up then got into the car driving home, And by the time you three got home it was pouring so steve made sure to get out first and run to the door opening it for you both. Then Eddie helped you out with your bag and you both ran into the house all of you being soaked and laughing. It was warm because the heat was on in Steve's gigantic house. Y/n’s h/c (Hair colored) Hair was messy and tangled (For my black girl audience tangled or knotted are the words) “Oh no! Looks like we have a messy (Or Tangled, knotty, It depends on your hair type <3 ) hair little one don’t we” Steve said “Come on let’s get you a nice warm cozy bath and let's help you comb out this hair of yours why don’t we” Eddie said gently grabbing your hand and walking to the tub.

He made you a nice warm bath as steve got your onesie (The ones that strap in between your legs) lotion (I use cocoa butter), Bonnet or scarf (If you use one <3), A diaper (If you use one<3) And anything else you may need for your night routine. He then got you your f/c (favorite color) towel and eddie a white towel and went into the bathroom, He set the towels in the clean counter and waited for eddie to be finished. He would gently put conditioner in your hair making sure to get it everywhere and slowly parted it into 6 with a hair comb and slowly and gently started combing at the bottoms and worked his way up so as to not hurt you while you were playing with the toys. Once he was finished with all six with you only whimpering once when his finger slipped and it got tangled in your hair accidentally pulling it. He apologized and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Once he was done he washed you up and picked you up carrying you to steve who already had your towel open. 

He gently placed you in his arms and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he wrapped you in your towel and took you to the room while Eddie took is shower. Steve lotioned you and put your pull-up on then he parted your hair putting them in night time braids (with the hairstuf that you use for your hair) and wrapped it up. He laid you on the bed putting the guards up so you don't fall off and then he went to the kitchen to get your milk, after 5 mins he came back putting the guards down and he laid down putting you on top of him for skin to skin. Both him and Eddie get 30 mins skin to skin time with their little. Once Eddie was out of the shower and got dressed in gray sweatpants and no shirt he gently picked you up off of Steve who was dozing off. 

And once he felt his little one being lifted off his lap he automatically put his arms around your waist as a reflex but once he saw that it was Eddie he let him take you. Him getting up and going to take a shower while Eddie sat on the bed and fed you your bottle while still doing skin to skin, rocking you slowly as you were now asleep. Eddie waited for Steve and once he was done and dressed in the same thing as Eddie but black sweatpants they laid you down and sandwiched you. Both now give you skin to skin. “Good night little dove~ Good night stevie” Eddie said smiling “Good night Ed’s good night little one I love you both” Steve said drifting off to sleep as you both said “love chu daddies twank two gwood night”  You said as eddie reached over and put your paci in your mouth and kissed your paci “Love you both too~” Eddie said going to sleep. 

<3 

Word Count: 1010

Hi my Little doves! Please let me know about your thoughts and opinions but in a respectful manner. Again thank you so much for this request hopefully it met what you were looking for if not please let me know! Because I totally forgot that this was supposed to be comfort for a thunderstorm too But I was busy being caught up and in love with the skin to skin sorry! This request was very fun to write and I do hope to receive more from you and others and I will hope to improve as I go and continue writing stories! But anyways hope you're drinking 1-4 water bottles/cups of water and eating at least 1-2 meals a day! Until the next one my fellow Victims~

Your Friendly Neighborhood,

      ☢Killer Bunny☢

[yoditorian]

cross my heart

eddie/gn!reader

look it’s less than 12 hours until we get vol2 and i’ve convinced myself that this idiot isn’t going to make it - so i wrote a little baby fix it in case something horrible happens (this can absolutely be read in conjunction with crush, but works as a stand alone too)

main masterlist // series masterlist

word count: 2k // warnings: language, injuries, blood, overuse of italics, as a general rule for my work 18+ pls no babies

“You thought now was a good time to ask?”

“Well, we might die.” 

“And that train of thought led you to asking me out for ice cream?”

Eddie’s fluttering his eyelashes at you as though you’re not standing in some parallel dimension, ready and waiting to keep a hundred hungry bat things preoccupied long enough for your friends to slip through the gate at the lake. Live bait. Because that’s always gone so well.

“Back me up here, Dust.” You turn to the boy in the vain hope of finding some semblance of reason, praying to anything and everything that he’ll spurt some words of wisdom that might leave room for you to dodge Eddie’s question entirely, but it’s no use. 

Dustin reluctantly raises his head from the tangle of cables by the amps and shakes his head with a grimace,“

I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

You glance back at Eddie over your shoulder as Dustin’s plugging the last of the power cables into position, only to find him still looking at you. Eyebrows raised, hands out at his sides, that expectant little smile on his face. Damn it - now you’re fighting to keep your own face straight.

Another life, maybe.

Robin’s voice over the walkie saves you from making a fool of yourself even further, though you stumble a little in your haste to grab it from Dustin’s abandoned backpack.

“We’re in position, whenever you’re ready.”

“Roger that. Eyes on the skies, people” You drop the walkie back into the bag and reach out to wrap your hand around the neck of Eddie’s guitar, it’d be fun if you weren’t all about to risk your lives, “Showtime.”

You take the end of the final cable from Dustin’s outstretched hand, plugging the jack into the guitar, and carry it over to Eddie. Honestly, you’re surprised he let you even look directly at it, let alone pick the thing up. You could have sworn you heard him muttering something to it when he first brought it up.

“Hey,” He puts one hand gently over your own on the neck of the guitar, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just - if there was ever a time to shoot my shot, I guess it’s now, right?”

And this time you can’t help but smile, because he’s not exactly wrong. 

“Save the world and I’ll think about it, Munson.” You wink when he releases your hand, sliding the strap over his head and running his fingers over the strings as you scoop up the makeshift spear by his feet to take your position at the head of the trailer. Dustin stands at the opposite end, the both of you ready to swing at any bats that come too close for comfort.

It’s like they know. Dark spots silhouetted in the far distance against the glowing red storm, rising up one by one between flashes of lightning. Growing closer with every note Eddie plays. You risk a glance over your shoulder, just for a second, to watch him throw his head back as his fingers fly over the fretboard. And he was the one who said he was a runner, claimed he’s not the hero type. Bullshit. It takes effort to pull your eyes away, to refocus your attention on the approaching creatures. Adrenaline thrums in your veins, you’re ready.

And then they’re swarming. Swirling around you like a cloud, a hurricane. All gnashing teeth and whipping tails and beating wings, you’re lost to it. You lose sight of the boys, of the edge of the roof, of your own hand in front of your face. Any light that might have filtered through from the distant storm is blocked by the descending creatures. The sound of Eddie’s playing is drowned out by the screeching in your ears, so loud you’re sure it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

Their teeth tear at your clothes and skin as you lash out at them with the spear, the accompanying squeals of pain as the spiked tip sinks into flesh is frequent enough that for a moment you think you’re winning. You think you might actually make it out of this almost whole. 

Until a tail wraps itself around your ankles, and you’re down. You feel the back of your head split open on the tile of the flat roof as the bat pulls your feet out from under you, drags you to the edge until there’s nothing to catch you. Suspended in the air for one long moment, and then you’re falling. Crashing to the ground in a heap of blood and bruises. 

They pull up as one, hundreds, thousands of them, just as quickly as they arrived. Writhing and angry and baying for blood, hurtling back towards the gate at Lover’s Lake, leaving you disoriented. Ears ringing, you can only hope the others had enough time to make it through.

Someone, somewhere, calls your name. It’s weak, but it’s there, though peeling yourself off of the ground enough to look for the source has every inch of your body screaming. You just about manage to lock your elbows, wedge your shoulders in place enough to sit up as the gravel bites into the palms of your hands. But looking around, there’s no one there. You lost sight of the boys in the swarm and the fear that they were carried off sits low and cold in the pit of your stomach. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. It’s just you now. 

No - someone is definitely shouting for you.

The bones of your neck creak as you lift your head enough to find the trailer, straining to see something when a head of curly hair appears on the roof. 

Dustin.

He doesn’t look too worse for wear, barring a cut on his forehead. Thank fuck. He’s sliding the ladder off of the roof and back down over the side of the house the moment he sees you, clambering down faster than you’ve ever seen him move to tackle you into a hug. The cuts sting as he squeezes you, and you’re not sure if it’s blood or tears that are wetting his shoulder, but you don’t have the energy to care. You can buy him a new hoodie if he wants.

“Eddie?” You croak as Dustin finally loosens his grip. 

“He’s not moving.”

And your blood runs cold.

People have died before. Every time another monster from the Upside Down rears its ugly head, people die. But you knew something felt different about this time. Nothing has ever reached through before, not without having a link already. The demogorgans’ main concern always seemed to be food, the Mind Flayer was after Will and Eleven, but Vecna? It’s different this time, there’s been a tiny voice in the back of your head since Chrissy died - you knew this one wasn’t going to go the way you wanted. You’ve never been so disappointed in being right.

Now it’s just you, Dustin, and the barely concealed fear in his eyes. Time to be the grown up.

“Alright, help me up.” 

And he does, bless him. He hoists you up from the ground and takes most of your weight on his shoulders as you both shuffle around the trailer, towards where Eddie lays. Your eyes are squeezed shut against the throbbing pain in your head, content enough to let Dustin guide you, until you kick a rock that twangs discordantly. You crack them open to find Eddie’s guitar at your feet, utterly destroyed. 

But there he is, only a few feet away, curled on his side with his back to you.

Dustin helps you limp over, lowers you to your knees behind Eddie’s head, and deposits himself on his other side. 

Every inch of skin you can see is littered with bite marks, his clothes slashed by claws and tails and teeth. There’s a whole chunk taken out of his shoulder, steadily seeping his blood into the dirt beneath him. You’re kneeling in a puddle of it.

“Eddie?” You’re gentle as you shift him onto his back, laying his head on your knees. There’s a deep gash in his forehead, the hair at his temple caked in blood, and he’s cold and pale and - and you can’t let him die. You’re not losing him like this.

Though, you’re not sure when he became yours to lose.

“Well I must be dead if I’m seeing an angel.”

The fact he’s alive outweighs the horrendous pickup line, you have to give him that at least.

“Nobody’s dying today, Munson,” You’re firm, certain, as you ignore your screaming injuries to tug your jacket off and ball it up against the gaping chunk missing from his shoulder, “How are you supposed to kiss me after our ice cream date if you’re dead?”

“You’d let me kiss you? You’re full of surprises.”

“You gotta live first, okay?”

He swipes a thumb over the teeth marks in your cheek, smearing the drying blood over your jaw. Dazed, but mesmerised by the trail his touch leaves on your skin. 

“Sure thing, beautiful. Cross my heart.”

And then his eyes slip shut and he’s gone, slumped in your lap, chest barely rising with laboured breaths.

“We have to get back through before the gates close!” Dustin’s doing the math in his head, you can see it. There’s no way the both of you can lift him through the mini gate in the trailer’s roof, and you won’t make it to the lake before it closes. Your only hope is that the others made it through, that they’re waiting in the trailer on the other side.

You take one long look at Eddie’s closed eyes, the very real chance that they’ll stay that way if you don’t get a move on and do something.

“Help me with him.”

It’s five long, long days before he opens them again.

Slowly, but they do. He looks worse under the stark hospital lights. Pale and clammy, bruised and bandaged and squinting against the strip lights overhead. You’re still there, in the chair that you planted by his bedside the moment they let you in. The chair you parked your ass in and flat out refused to leave until he woke up. The boys have been a steady stream in and out of the other chair, sitting by the window, any time they could get in. Robin’s been a regular, bringing you snacks and sitting in your place when you had to pee. It’s safe to say Eddie Munson has been well and truly adopted into this dysfunctional little family of yours.

You fluff the pillows, help him sit up, and pour him a glass of water.

His eyes widen as Callaghan passes the window into the hall, but you’re there with a gentle hand in his hair and that same soft smile you turned on his way back in the boathouse at the start of all this. 

“Me and the others have already given our statements about the bear attack. So much for our Spring Break camping trip, right? You came out with the worst of it, so it’s okay if you can’t remember anything. They’ll understand.” 

“Bear attack?” He sounds awful. Hoarse and scratchy, but alive. There’s not a lot more you could ask for.

“Mhm, big one.”

He takes a sip of the water, uncharacteristically quiet, and you can’t help but smile at him. The self proclaimed coward, who risked his life for a group of kids from his D and D group and their assortment of mismatched attachments. Who stared demon bats from a parallel dimension in the face and laughed. Who saved the life of every one of your friends. It takes you a minute to realise he’s watching you watch him. You’re so caught up in your own thoughts, you almost miss his next words.

“Marry me.”

Oh, this boy. This boy is trouble. This boy is beautiful, wide eyed, heartbreaking trouble.

“You promised me an ice cream date, remember?”

“Okay, but what are you doing after?”

You can’t help your laughter, can’t help the little tear that escapes the corner of your eye as it finally sinks in that he’s okay. He’s alive. 

“Can’t say no to a guy in a hospital bed. I get pity points.” There it is. That smile. The very same one he gave you on the roof of his trailer, guitar in hand, ready to be the hero. 

“We’ll see, hotshot.”

taglist (add yourself to my stranger things taglist here):

@bee-dameron​ @generalfoolish​ @levylovegood​ @chicorogers​​

[artxyra]

Damian Acting Like A Teenager? Impossible.

When Damian entered the halls of Gotham Academy, the first thing he notices was the change in the dark atmosphere. It felt oddly kinder and more lighthearted. Everywhere he turns, there are whispers focus around the new girl. At first, he didn’t care about the gossip, well, that was until he met her.

It was an unusual encounter, something that he would look down on.

It was the passing period, and she was running down the halls in a hurry as he was walking to his next class, one that he didn’t particularly care for; they bump into each other, causing a standstill in the halls. Everyone wondered how the dark prince would react to their newly dubbed princess of sunshine. They expected a yelling match, which, of course, occurred, but what they didn’t expect was an eventual best of the worst of alliance ever made.

Several months passed since the two had met and several weeks since the blooming of Damian and Marinette’s friendship, and not a single student could say that there weren’t surprised.

The moment Marinette had broken down any (and all) walls that the boy had placed, she was able to make the stoic teen become his age. It started small with a joke here and there; then it progressed into card games followed by video games. To this day, Damian swears that he’ll beat her at a shooting game at one point, to which Marinette would respond with a laugh and an over-the-shoulder wink. The young Wayne swears that he has never blush a day in his life, but the photographic proof on Marinette’s phone says otherwise.

The school soon became accustomed to being Daminette’s playground. At first, the teachers were opposed to the idea, but after seeing how slightly more open Damian has become, they slowly agreed to the concept of allowing the duo to have less strict rules. That and they didn't want to be sued by the Wayne family.

Which now brings us to this moment: Marinette swings on a swing set while Damian practices his form with a katana; don’t ask how he managed to get it past security-- cause there is no answer.

“You know, maybe we should do something wild?” Marinette thinks aloud, looking up to the sky with a mischief smirk on her lips.

Damian doesn’t turn to her; he only sets the blade down to his side. “What mayhem do you have in mind?”

Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

Let’s assume that whatever Marinette had in mind would rule the yearbooks for years to come.

~☾★☽~

Since his partnership with Marinette, Damian has been hiding his characteristic change at home. Surprisingly, it was simple. A few death threats here and there, maybe sneaking out moments every so often. No one at the Wayne cared enough to pay any attention to it. It only then became a shock when Damian left for school along the lines of being late. Alfred had offered to take him to school to which Damian declined and got onto his “normal” motorcycle and speeds off.

“Does anyone else seem to think that Damian is acting strange?” Dick asks, pipping his head down from the ceiling. He’s on the chandelier again. Poor Alfred, maybe Dick should dust the chandelier for him as an apology.

Tim walks in with a large, filled to the brim, coffee mug in hand, “Which one?” He absently wonders, taking a long sip. The dark circles and bags around his eyes explain it all.

“I do concur with Master Richard; the young master has been acting somewhat strange for quite some time now.” Alfred appears out of nowhere, thus starting an array of concerns.

It wasn’t long before Jason came in shouting demands with the head of the household trailing behind him. Alfred reprimands Jason for the yelling as he hands Bruce a cup of coffee.

Not caring enough about the conversation and looking like a madman, Jason shouts, “Look, I can’t explain it, but we’re going to need Demon Spawn for something huge.”

“Uh, why would we need Baby Bird?” Dick asks, dropping onto the floor and twisting his body. “Not that I don’t mind getting Damian involved.”

“Look, there’s no time to explain,” Jason facepalms and begins to push everyone towards the door despite the lack of proper wear they have on.

After several protests and one change of clothes, the Wayne household now stands in front of the gates of Gotham Academy.

“Is it me, or does this place look less you know Gotham-y and full of life?” Tim ponders, narrowing his eyes, as he takes a long sip from a to-go coffee cup with Red Robin’s emblem.

“No, no, Timmy, I see it too.” Dick whispers as Jason struts past the gates and onto the school’s property like a man on a mission.

Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, let’s go get your brother so Jason can stop being Jason.”

Tim shrugs before passing the gates himself, with Dick following him.

Upon entering the school, they could immediately see that it was either a passing period or free time from the number of students in the halls. Some student dared to pull out their phones while other whispers amongst themselves.

Bruce makes his way to the attendance office, where the attendance assistant, Joyce, resides sitting at the desk.

“Hello Joyce, I’m here to pick up Damian. He has a, uh, dentist appointment this evening.” Bruce speaks, hoping that she wouldn’t catch the lie.

“Well Mr. Wayne, Damian is, uh…” After lingering in her thoughts, Joyce turns to someone besides her. “Do you know where Damian Wayne would be at today?”

“Try the art room.” A feminine voice answers, followed by a series of typing noises.

Joyce turns back to the Wayne family and smiles, “He should be in the art room; it’s down the hall to your right, you should not miss it, as it’s in the only hallway that has a series of artwork posted on the walls. Before you go, please sign here."

Joyce hands Bruce a sign-out sheet, to which the man signs and ushers his wards to search for his youngest.

“They’re so screwed.” The same feminine voice speaks, causing Joyce to break out laughing.

It took a total of four different locations for the men to find the youngest Wayne.

First, they went to the art room like Joyce’s co-worker told them to do.

When they got there, Damian wasn't there, but the teacher did show Bruce a couple of Damian's artworks. Bruce couldn't help but feel proud.

While looking around the room, one of the art students told them they last saw Damian playing Pokémon Go near the gym; he was trying to catch a legendary Pokémon that spawned there.

So, of course, after an awkward eye contact with one another, they walk to the gym. Once again, Damian wasn’t there but a different student in his stead. He tells them that Damian was making ice sculptures out of ice cream at the cafeteria. The student then goes on to explain that Damian had some wicked skills with a knife.

Jason, with wide eyes, practically shouted at the student that he was crazy and that Damian would never, and he means NEVER would do something that stupid. The student shrugs it off like it was an everyday occurrence. It was Dick that had to hold Jason back from thrashing the teen. Bruce then apologizes to the instructor for their disturbance, as Tim walks casually behind Dick carrying Jason.

By the time they got to the cafeteria, it was damn near empty aside from a few students still eating. There were no signs of ice cream or the tools that would go into making an ice sculpture. Tim had to ask a few students to see if Damian was in here at some point in time. One of the workers overheard the question and answered him. Evidently, Damian was there earlier making sculptures out of ice cream before handing it out to students.

When they asked the question that has been slowly driving the four insane, the worker replies with: “Upstairs racing on these old colorful scooter board down the halls."

After three locations and no Damian, Tim wanted nothing more but to have a mental breakdown, and he would have if it wasn’t for Bruce holding him up and taking his coffee away.

So, they quickly found themselves on the second level of the school. There was no sight of Damian Wayne, though there were wheel tracks smudged into the flooring.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason shouts out into the ceiling. Thankfully, there were no students in the halls to hear it. Well, that might have been the case if it wasn’t for a teacher to open their door and shh the male. It took every bone in Jason's body not to show the teacher his middle finger.

After a beat of silence and walking down the hall, they overhear a familiar voice.

“Angel, you are desperately in the wrong here. The bear only wears one color, so it has to the color red.” Jason stops dead in his tracks and turns to railings.

The voice was too good to be true.

Looking over the staircase, they find an alcove, and sitting in it is none other than Damian Wayne himself, but he’s not alone.

“I’m telling you, Wayne. Pooh’s favorite color is yellow.” The female answers before taping her fingers as she makes her points, “He loves honey, which is by default a yellow color. He's never seen with a yellow background, and if yellow didn't clash with his fur, he would definitely be wearing it.”

“I disagree. Winnie the Pooh has been drawn on numerous of occasions with red items, not yellow. Case in point, the red balloon, his shirt." He counters. The conversation continues with banters and statements; whether it was true or false is up to debate.

This was not happening.

Tim.exe has stopped working.

Jason.exe has stopped working.

Jaws dropped, a low groaning sound.

They cannot be witnessing this. The most deadliest of the Wayne’s is currently arguing about Winnie, the motherfucking, Pooh’s favorite color.

Bruce has no words. He's practically in the same stance as his middle children. Dick, on the other hand, pulls out his phone and begins to record what remains of the conversation.

No one dares to move or utter out words. This version of Damian is the apocalypse. Nothing in the world is okay.

Slowly, the four Waynes exit the school; no one saw them leave.

Legend has it that Damian never went home that day despite being excused from his classes. When he had returned home, his family didn't utter a word to him. He was meet with either a profusely blinking, unwanted hug or laughter, as they were still in shock at what they just encountered. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that all hell breaks loose. Damian had introduced the family to Marinette.

----

A retouch version of Request #2

[butwhyduh]

Sex pollen

Tim Drake x reader

Warning: smut. It’s on sex pollen so there is a dub con warning despite the fact that they are willing participants.

Summary: all of the batboys are dusted with Poison Ivy’s sex toxin and think they’ve taken an antidote. It didn’t quite work. This is the story about what happens to Tim.

Beginning Jason Dick Bruce

Tim swung to his bike and drove to the Wayne Enterprise building downtown before realizing that, duh, he was still dressed as Red Robin. He quickly hid behind a building and changed out of most of his stuff. He still wore leather boots and tacticle pants with a hoodie with his shirt, belt, cowl, and cape safely stowed away in a bag he carried on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through his hair before making his way to WE.

The building was almost completely dark. Only maniacs worked at this hour. He was probably going to be home alone.

Tim realized that something was up in the elevator. He pulled at the collar of his hoodie. Was it always this hot? Maybe the antidote took a minute to work. He’d be fine soon.

Tim went up to his office. The paperwork stared at him. A big business meeting to cosponsor a program was in the morning and Tim planned to finish his preparations tonight. He was putting finishing touches on a PowerPoint slide when he noticed his seat was uncomfortable. Has the Red Robin pants always been this tight? He adjusted and went back to work.

Tim’s mind wandered as he worked. The way your skirt clung to your ass that morning. Your ass jiggled as you slammed the copier closed. It got stuck all the time and Tim needed to replaced it soon. You had made coffee for him and added sugar to your own. Tim hadn’t missed the way you looked licking sugar off of your fingers. Fuck, what was he doing? Daydreaming about sex at work? When would that pill kick in?

Tim couldn’t handle it any more and stood up to make coffee. He quietly walked into the kitchen when he saw you pouring a cup. Were you working overnights? You turned to see him and almost dropped your coffee as you jumped.

“Mr Wayne! I didn’t see you there. Do you- do you need anything?” You asked. You held a hand to your chest and panted. Tim couldn’t help but look you over quickly. When did your shirt get that tight?

“Just coffee,” Tim said looking away. You poured him a cup and handed it to him. He could feel his skin burn where you touched him. He walked quickly to his office and locked the door.

He sat at his desk, feeling himself uncomfortably hard in his pants. He palmed himself a few times. Tim made sure that he didn’t hear you in the hall before unzipping his pants. He pulled out his cock and slowly started stroking himself. At first he only thought about how great it felt before he started thinking about you. The curve of your ass. What if he had you bent over your desk, your panties pushed to the side as he fingered you. Tim wondered what sounds you made.

He wasn’t going to last long but that was probably for the best. You could come knocking at any time and he didn’t want to explain that. Tim sighed quietly as his hand moved faster. What would you taste like? He imagined ducking under your skirt as you sat in your chair. Would you moan or whimper? Tim couldn’t help but make a few grunts as his hand moved furiously. He reached over and grabbed a few tissues before quietly cumming on his hand.

“Mr Wayne, can I come in?” You asked turning the knob. The door opened and Tim quickly pushed his seat in under the desk. Okay, he’s fixing that lock ASAP. You must not have seen anything because you just looked mildly confused.

“How,” he husked before clearing his throat. “How can I help you?”

“I just need your signature. I’m glad you’re here tonight. Saves time,” you laughed and he smiled. Tim noticed that his dick hadn’t gone soft yet. “Your bag fell on the floor. Here, I’ll put it in the chair,” you said grabbing the bag with his Red Robin outfit and putting it in the chair by the door. Tim’s legs shook as he watched your ass. Fuck he was hard. You walked over to his desk and handed him the papers. Tim quickly signed them. You smiled at him before grabbing them and walking out.

As you shut the door behind you, you sneezed. Tim could see the outline of your body in the fogged glass as you delicately rubbed your nose before walking back to your desk. He could wait no longer and began furiously masturbating. He pulled his hoodie off quickly and threw it across the room. It was way too fucking hot for that thing. Maybe if he rubbed another one out, this fucking pollen would quit.

Your fingers had grabbed a bag covered in sex pollen and when you sneezed, you had rubbed it into your nose. The delicate mucous membranes can absorb substances quite quickly. You adjusted the collar of your shirt and wondered why it was so warm in the building as you sat at your desk. You looked through the paperwork before noticing a place that he had forgotten to initial. You unbuttoned the highest button on your shirt. It was a little too risqué for the day like this with the topside of your breasts now visible but honestly it was Mr Wayne’s fault for not fixing the AC. You stood and walked back to his office. You didn’t bother knocking but walked in.

You froze. The last thing you expected was to see your extremely hot boss shirtless with his dick in hand, jerking off. He stared up at you without stopping and it was incredibly hot. You’d fantasized about him like this plenty. He was good looking, athletic, smart, funny, and nice. In the privacy of your apartment, you’d thought about him while touching yourself. But nothing compared to this sight.

“Please,” he said roughly and you didn’t know what he meant. “Sex pollen,” he forced out. That makes sense, you thought. He literally can’t stop. And despite the fact that your panties were absolutely flooded at the sight and sound of him, you quickly walked back out the door and shut it behind you. You leaned on the glass, breathing heavy. Quit being a horn dog and leave him alone. That shit sounds awful. You didn’t want anything to do with sex pollen. Poor guy.

You forced yourself to sit at your desk. There was no way you could work now. All you could think of was his abs contracting as his fist moved along his shaft. Little beads of precum on the reddened tip and the way his face moved in pleasure. The little grunts and sighs he made, that you could still hear him making. Fuck.

Tim was really hopeful that this would wash the stuff out of his system because all he could think about was getting up and bending you over your desk and fucking you senseless. His hands gripping your hips as he pushed deeper in your wet pussy. Had you unbuttoned your shirt because he swore he saw more tits than usual. It was less than a minute before he finished again. He barely grabbed the tissues in time to catch it. Okay, please stop now.

You rubbed your thighs together. It was normal to be turned on by seeing erotic images. Especially people that you already wanted to sleep with. But the way your pussy fucking fluttered as you heard what had to be Tim cumming, yeah, you needed to calm down. Poor guy was being tortured. You rubbed your hand on your bare knee before sliding higher to rub your thighs. Fuck. You might have to find a spot for some quiet time of your own soon.

Tim, in a moment of clarity, send a one phrase message to his former butler. “Sex pollen.” It was all he could get out in his haze. He was physically hurting by how hard he was. This must be what the post 4 hour boners felt like in the viagra commercials. He could barely prevent himself from going to you for help.

You couldn’t help but stand up. Your body was on fire. You paced the office but soon the feeling between your legs was a painful throb. You heard a frustrated groan from Tim’s office. His orgasm must not have fixed it. Don’t think about him cumming, you told yourself. Don’t think about him at all. But despite yourself, you walked directly to his office door and opened it again.

Tim’s hand was wrapped around his cock but not moving. He looked up at you like a hungry predator. Your pussy fluttered and your chest heaved. You walked over to him and straddled his thighs. Tim breathed raggedly. You took his cock in your hand and started stroking.

“You don’t,” he panted. “You don’t have to.” He said before fucking whining. You started kissing his neck and collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathed.

His hands found their way to the front of your white button down. He ripped the buttons off in his haste to undress you. Tim’s hands cupped your breasts through the fabric of your delicate bra. He groaned before squeezing.

You started jerking just a bit faster and Tim’s fingers grew more frantic in their need to remove your clothing. He quickly pushed up your skirt to your waist. He threw his head back as you swiped the tip of his dick with your thumb. The side of your delicate lace panties was quickly ripped and pulled down your legs and thrown off to the side. Tim’s fingers cupped your sex.

“Fuck baby, you’re wet as hell,” he whispered and you moaned. You never expected him to talk like that. He started to finger you slowly with one finger. Your hips moved to his slow rhythm.

“More,” you breathed and he slid in a second finger. You threw your head back and moaned. And for a minute you both just touched each other.

“Tim, more,” you said again.

“Another finger,” he asked.

“No you. Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you begged. Tim pulled his fingers away. He quickly picked you up by the waist and brought you down on his dick. You moaned embarrassingly loud. “Yes,” you hissed before starting to ride him. Tim kissed your chest and collarbone before bending to take a nipple in his mouth. You whimpered. His tongue ran across the bud before sucking. You held his head with your hand. You weren’t going to last long and you had no thoughts of his own impending orgasm.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you moaned as you clenched around him. Thank good for birth control as he came as well. His mouth open in a little gasp. You trembled as you came down from your high.

“Feel better baby?” Tim asked with a little too much energy. His hands made circles on your hips and he was still hard. His hips made little circles. He wasn’t done but hadn’t realized that you had been dosed. A true dose. Not a sharing with partner dose. A true dose was much stronger. The partner dose lasted as long as you kept tasting each other. You were just as fucked as he was.

“No. I need you,” you said before starting your hips again. It wasn’t enough for Tim. He lifted you off of him and bent you over his desk. He didn’t care about the papers flying as he slid in. You circled your hips and pushed back into him. Tim’s hips roughly snapped against yours as he found a rhythm. He could feel that you were insanely wet. His fingers reached down to circle your clit. You moaned his name like a chant. Neither of you lasted very long this time either. Tim felt almost a pleasure pain as his 4th orgasm rolled through his body.

He pulled out and prayed that it was enough for him. But as he looked down to see him cum dripping out of your hole, yeah he wasn’t done. He slid a finger in and your thighs closed tighter and you gasped. He sat down and watched lazily as he finger fucked his cum back into your hole. He added a second finger and you started moaning.

“Oh fuck,” you whined as he slowly rubbed against your g spot. Tim’s cock twitched and he knew he needed to be back inside you soon or he’d be in pain but he was going to enjoy this sight. You were absolutely dripping. He’d always had a thing for you from the first day you started working for him. Tim leaned forward to lick at your pussy. It didn’t take long for his hands to be gripping your thighs as his tongue fucked your hole. You had one knee on the table for better access and you were practically seeing stars when you finally came. Tim’s face was shiny and wet as he wiped his lips with his hand. He stood up and held your bent leg with his hand before sliding in again.

There was a knock on the window of all places. Which is weird as fuck being on the 50th floor of a building. A bag was attached to a robot. Tim whined before pulling out to open the window. He grabbed the bag off the robot and it zoomed away.

“What the fuck,” you asked. Tim was palming himself even as he read the note in the bag. You turned to sit on the table before shameless fingered yourself while watching him. He was full on jerking himself as he walked over to you.

“Take one,” he said downing a vial of grey liquid. You look at it in disgust and shook your head.

“Not a chance. Fuck me instead,” you whined. He groaned and grabbed the table. Okay, new approach.

“Open,” he said, and you eagerly opened your mouth and legs. He poured the liquid down your throat and you grimaced. You grabbed his neck and pulled him back in for a kiss. Tim thrusted in and began moving. You were already close and it wasn’t long before you both finished.

Tim grimaced as he pulled out. He felt like he ran a marathon. But thankfully he was finally done. He rested his forehead against yours and you both panted.

“Fuck,” you said. “That was-“

“Yeah,” he agreed before stepping back. Tim slid his pants up and turned away. He was bright red. “Sorry about that. I accidentally infected you with sex pollen.”

“It’s okay,” you said pulling your skirt down. You grabbed some tissues to try and clean between your legs just a little. Had you really done all of that with your boss of all people?

“No it’s not,” Tim said. His voice sounded pained. “There was no way you could have consented and I took advantage of-“

“No you didn’t. You weren’t in your right mind either,” you said and he turned to look at you. Your shirt was open because of broken buttons but everything else was covered. “And we didn’t do anything I didn’t want to anyways,” you said shyly. Tim stared at you and your heart clenched a little.

“All that? No regrets?” He said shocked.

“I mean, no. Not all that. That was a lot and too much. But you get what I mean,” you said.

“Do I?” He said barely over a whisper sitting in his chair. His thighs were on fire.

“You’re really making me go out on a limb, hu? I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. I wanted to fuck you before the pollen. Do you get what I’m saying,” you said to the genius who was also an idiot.

“Wow. I’ve like you too. I just didn’t want to be a creepy predatory boss. You know?” He said rubbing the back of his neck. You tried to stand up but your legs felt like jello so you sat down.

“So this was the less predatory option,” you said with a smile. He frowned.

“I didn’t mean-“

“I know. But I’m okay if you are,” you said putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now is when you ask me on a proper date and we act like that never happened.”

“Agreed. But first I insist that we go home,” he said and you raised a brow at him. “Separate, separate homes. Because I don’t know about you but I need to go to bed.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” you agreed. “I wonder why,” you muttered wryly. He turned beet red.

“I’ll call you a car,” Tim said before doing just that. It was less than 10 minutes later that a car showed up. How much had that cost? You both went downstairs.

“Look, I’m so sorry-“

“Not tonight. We’ll talk in the morning but it’s okay. Don’t feel bad,” you said holding his shoulder. “Just go to bed and enjoy the,” you said before whispering, “post sex glow you have. It’s cute.”

He nodded stiffly. “The uhh, the car is here for you.”

You smiled and waved before leaving. You’d talk to him about it later.

[mischiefandspirits]

Bernard Figures It Out

Was reading through all the comments on @frostbittenbucky's post and all I could think of was that it was Bernard talking to Tim. Then I got to thinking...

"I've connected the two dots."

"You didn't connect shit."

"I've connected them."

Bernard figures out Tim's a superhero... sort of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim fidgetted nervously as he waited on the front porch of his boyfriend’s house. Bernard had sounded so serious when he’d called during Tim’s lunch to ask him to come over after work so they could talk about something.

Which Tim had done, after spending an entire board meeting just going over the past week trying to figure out what he’d done.

The only thing he could think of was that he’d ducked out halfway through their lunch date on Wednesday to give Duke some backup, but Bernard had seemed understanding when Tim explained there was an emergency at GRC Labs. It couldn’t have been a tipping point, either, since Tim had managed to only flake on three other dates over the past few months they’d been dating. Kate had been happy to cover for him as often as she could “out of queer solidarity” when she found out Tim was dating a boy for the first time and Tim had managed to trick Bruce into covering a few actual Wayne Enterprises emergencies for him when they came up.

There had to be a reason Bernard was breaking up with him, though. Had he missed something? He definitely wasn’t forgetting an important day. He was good with days and Tam was even better, so she would have reminded him on the off chance that he had forgotten.

What was he missing?

Bernard was smiling when he opened the door, but there was a nervous energy to it that had Tim’s stomach sinking. “Hey, Tim.”

“Hey.” Tim gave his own nervous smile then slipped inside.

They went into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Tim frowned when Bernard grabbed a manila folder off the coffee table. Crud, had he screwed up enough that Bernard had had to make a list? He knew he was new to dating a guy, but he hadn’t thought he’d done that bad. He’d really been trying, especially with how his and Stephanie’s relationship had fallen apart at the end. “What -”

“Just let me speak, Tim,” Bernard said, waiting for Tim’s nod. “Okay, so you know Clark Kent, right?”

Tim blinked as Bernard opened the folder to show a picture of Clark. It looked like one of the employee pictures from the Planet’s website, with his dorky “I’m just a humble country boy” smile and the golden globe from their roof photoshopped in as the background. “Uh, yeah? I think so. He works for the Daily Planet, right? I think he’s worked at a few of Bruce’s events. Not a lot of outside reporters are willing to come to Gotham.”

“Exactly!” Bernard said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Tim.

“What?”

He pulled out the picture to show the next page was an article titled, “DAILY PLANET REPORTER… BATMAN!?”

A wave of relief washed over Tim and he placed his face in his hands. “Were you up all night on the hero conspiracy boards again?”

“No. I mean, I found this on a board and was up all night thinking about it, but I found it reasonably early.”

“One in the morning isn’t reasonable, Bernard.”

“Says the guy who’s always wide awake when I call to infodump.”

“Touché.” Tim leaned against Bernard and gave him a smile. “So tell me, why is some reporter from Metropolis from all places Batman.”

“First of all, living in Metropolis is the perfect cover. Everyone assumes Batman would live in Gotham, no one would consider he could be from anywhere else. Metropolis is outside the GMA, but close enough that the commute is still possible.”

“But it’s Metropolis.”

“And who would think Gotham’s Dark Knight lives in the sunshine capital? Plus, I hear he disappears a lot on the job. There’s gotta be a reason for it!”

Tim made a note to let Clark know he needs to cut back on the disappearing act some since people are catching on.

“And have you seen the guy? He is swol AF, babe.”

“Please don’t call me babe while you’re talking about how hot another guy is.” Especially Tim’s honorary uncle.

“You know I prefer twinks.”

“BERNARD!”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring Tim’s shout. “The guy is definitely hiding something! Besides, Kent is an investigative reporter. He’s gotta know a lot about cases and the underground and detective work.”

Not as much as he likes people to think, but more than he likes people to know Superman does, Tim mused. “But what about the other vigilantes?”

“Well, Kent has a cousin…” Bernard flipped through a folder and pulled out a picture of Kara. It looked like a screenshot of her interviewing Lena for CatCo. “She’s obviously the latest Batgirl. Look at her hair. And the first Batgirl and the current Batwoman were obviously Lois Lane, the red hair is just a wig. Did you see how she kicked butt at that last event she went to? She’s not as subtle as Kent. That means their son is the latest Robin. He’s exactly the right size.”

Oh, Damian better not hear about this, Tim cackled internally. His youngest brother hated being reminded that Jon was the same height as him despite their two years age difference. Damian definitely took after Talia when it came to body type, no matter what he said.

“And Kent also has a brother.” This time he pulled out a picture of Kon. The clone must have been caught by a reporter out shopping with Ma since he was carrying some paper bags and glaring at whoever was behind the camera. “At least, he’s supposedly Kent’s brother, but he was a teenager when he first showed up with the Kents. A lot of people think he’s actually Kent’s son, that Kent got a girl pregnant when they were teenagers and something happened to the mom so Kent had to take him in. Now the Kents are trying to hide it by saying the two are brothers.”

That was… scarily accurate actually. Especially given Luthor and Clark were close friends at the time that Kon would have theoretically been born.

“And that beef would explain why the younger Kent brother went all crime lord on Gotham for a while before reconnecting with the family.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, Kent Jr.’s got the perfect build for Red Hood.”

Tim bit back a comment on how Kon was shorter than Jason by a good foot. Timothy Drake-Wayne should not know that. Add Jason to the list of people who can’t hear this theory.

“And then there’s this girl,” Bernard picked up a picture of Lois, Jon, and Natasha Irons walking down the street together. “No one’s sure exactly who she is, but she’s been spotted with the Kents a few times. I think the cover story is that she’s Jon’s babysitter.”

“And the actual story?”

“She’s Black Bat, obviously. That’s why she wears a mask that fully covers her face. She doesn’t want to stand out as the only African American Bat.”

“Isn’t Signal also Black?”

“Yeah, but he works in the daytime so he’s already a standout.”

“And who is Signal in this? And what about Nightwing and Red Robin?”

“Well, Nightwing’s just a Blüd who came to Gotham. He doesn’t count.”

Ouch. Sorry, Dick.

“And Red Robin is obviously an older Robin, the one who was Robin when we were kids. Kent wanted to keep him on, and I don’t blame him. As for Signal, he’s got the same backstory as all the other Robins Kent picked up, he just went the Signal route because he didn’t fit the usual Robin mold.”

“Because the female Robin fit the mold,” Tim snorted. Robin Mold, as if he and his brothers were even the same ethnicity. Or even had the same hair color. Jason dyes his hair, Dick’s is brown-black, Tim’s is pure black, and Damian’s is more a dark brown and it’s only getting lighter as he gets older.

“She didn’t, that’s the point. Kent tried to give breaking the Robin mold a chance by letting his cousin have a go at it, but he realized it just didn’t work so she went back to being Spoiler and he got a new Robin.”

Not touching that with a ten-foot pole. “Right, and where does he get the usual Robins? Please tell me you’re not back on the secret government orphanages theory.”

“No, no, no. Kent travels sometimes for his job, right? And a lot of the time he’s going to places that have been hit by disasters or major crimes. So he’ll take in some of the displaced children to train as his robins.”

Tim pressed his face back into his hands.

“You see it, right?”

Honestly, Tim was just wondering how his boyfriend could be so close, and yet so far off. “How would Kent even afford taking care of a bunch of secret -- possibly illegally acquired -- children without anyone noticing?”

“Simple. Bruce Wayne is funding him.”

“Bernard, I love you, but what the heck?” Tim blushed and looked up as he realized what he’d said, but Bernard didn’t seem to notice as he steamrolled ahead.

“It’d also explain how he can afford all the gear and how he’d be able to travel to Gotham or anywhere else Batman goes without anyone noticing. He probably has a secret Batplane or something.”

“Why would Bruce do that?”

“Because Wayne cares about Gotham, everyone knows that, and this way he can make sure someone’s taking care of the city without anyone putting two and two together.”

“And two plus two is?”

Bernard gave him a hard look. “I’m not stupid, Tim. Bruce Wayne is obviously Superman. His face is right there.”

Oh, the others are going to love this! Too bad I can’t tell Damian or Jason. Jason especially would have loved this. “Right. Bruce is Superman.”

“He is. Superman is known for being nice and Bruce Wayne’s basically all that’s keeping the city running at this point. That’s nice as hell.”

Oh my god.

“And Wayne does charity for the victims of cataclysms, doesn't he? I bet he first saves people from them as Superman and then builds them new homes for free.”

Oh my god! Why am I not recording this!?

“And the Wayne’s were rich enough to hide the fact they adopted an alien baby.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “If you’re about to tell me this is why Bruce’s parents got killed, you might want to stop while you’re ahead.”

“It’d make sense. There’re all sorts of unanswered questions about their deaths,” Bernard muttered under his breath, flipping through the folder. He pulled out another picture of Kara. This time she was in full Supergirl attire with a bus held overhead. “So if Wayne is Superman, then that’d mean your ex-girlfriend could be Supergirl. They look a lot alike and it’d explain how she got involved with you all.”

“Bernard, she has a human dad. You know, Cluemaster. The supervillain.”

“Yeah, her dad. But we don’t know anything about her mom!”

“Let me guess…”

Bernard pulled out a picture of Karen. She and Helena were suited up and talking to a group of cops, two goons held over each of Karen’s shoulders. “Her mom could be Power Girl! Some makeup and a wig and she could look just like Crystal Brown! And Damian Wayne is obviously the new Superboy! That’s why his background is such a mystery, right? He had to stay a secret until he could control his alien superpowers. That’s why he’s always so mean. It’s a cover since everyone knows Superboy is super sweet!”

Sure, when he’s not helping Damian pull pranks or using his adorable powers to put the blame on Kon and I. “No, Bernard. Damian and Steph are just very human hellspawn. And Bruce and Crystal are human too. I can’t believe you called me over here just to tell me you think Superman is both Batman’s sugar daddy and my adoptive dad.”

“Well, that’s not exactly why I called you over,” Bernard admitted, the nervous energy coming back. He grabbed Tim’s hands. “Tim -”

Tim’s stomach sank. “You are breaking up with me!”

“What? No! I don’t want to break up!”

“Why are you acting all nervous and serious then!?” Tim asked, pulling his hands away to throw them up in the air.

Bernard shook the folder. “Because I’m trying to tell you I figured out you’re Superboy!”

Tim’s brain blue-screened and his hands slowly dropped. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I know you’re Superboy. The older one, obviously. By the way, you and Damian really need to figure out separate names.”

Forget Jason and Damian, Kon can never find out about this. He’d never let me live it down. “Bernard, you called me a twink five minutes ago. Su-” Shoot, I can not risk getting Kon’s attention! “The older one might not be as big as Superman, but he’s not a twink.”

“Well, yeah, that’s the shapeshifting at work.”

“The what?”

“Obviously you Kryptonians can shapeshift. Why else would you look so much like humans?”

… Why do Kryptonians look so much like humans? Was there some - Wait, no! Break into the Fortress of Solitude for research later! Reassure your boyfriend that you’re not an alien now! “Bernard -”

“And that explains why your step-mom was so hot.”

“Gross.”

“She and your dad were actors hired by Luthor so you could have a normal life! But now Bruce has custody so he adopted you.”

“No.”

“That’s why you and your dad were so weird with each other when I met him.”

“We were weird because he’d just gotten out of a coma not long before to find that his wife was dead so he decided to actually be a dad for once in his life, but overcompensated and became a helicopter parent to a kid who was mostly on his own for his entire life!” Tim blurted out. “I am not an alien, Bernard!”

“Well, not technically since you were cloned from Superman on Earth.”

“Oh my god! You were just talking about Steph being Supergirl! Why would I date my dad’s cousin?”

Bernard blinked. “Supergirl and Superman are cousins?”

Right, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn’t supposed to know that. “I thought they’d said something like that before, yeah. Are people seriously saying I’m Superboy on the internet?”

“NO! No, I swear I would have led with that if I thought your identity was compromised. A few people have mentioned Wayne and Damian, but not you or Steph or Jason.”

“Wh-Jason!? You think Jason was an alien too!”

“No, not exactly, but a few times when I’ve visited I swear I’ve seen a guy in the manor who looks like Jason. It’s just been out of the corner of my eye and he’s gone whenever I look so I’ve always thought it was just Dick or Bruce or some picture of Jason that my mind was playing tricks with, but it makes sense now that I know Wayne is Superman. He must have been able to heal Jason with alien tech, but couldn’t say anything because that would give away that he’s Superman.”

Damn it Jason! And damn it Bernard! I’m dating the smartest moron in the world! “Bruce did not bring Jason back with alien technology and none of us are aliens!”

“It’s okay, Tim. I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim grabbed Bernard by the jacket and pulled him into a kiss. When he started to feel lightheaded, he pulled back, “Could someone whose skin is as solid as stone kiss like that?”

Bernard blinked dazedly at him for a moment. “How do you know what Superboy’s skin feels like?”

Tim screamed internally. “He’s saved me from a kidnapping before.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I can get you the police report if you want.”

“Huh… And the others?”

“Not Supers. I can stab Damian the next time we’re at the manor if that’ll prove none of us are aliens.” He’d rather stab Jason, but that would probably only confirm to Bernard that Bruce used alien technology to bring him back.

“You probably shouldn’t stab your brother if he isn’t an alien.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I won’t stab him anywhere deadly.”

“That’s not the point,” Bernard said slowly.

“He’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“So do you believe I’m not an alien now?” Tim huffed, letting go of Bernard’s jacket.

The blond’s eyes dipped down to Tim’s lips. “If I say no, will you kiss me like that again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tim said, but he kissed him anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, but I still say Clark Kent is definitely Batman.”

“Sure, Bernard.”

[remakethestars]

Being Damian Wayne's Twin Sister Would Include:

Headcanons.

❝Exactly. I don't ask my dog to drive, and I don't ask the Justice League to solve my problems.❞

— Damian Wayne, Adventures of the Super Sons #9: Showdown on Hexworld

TRIGGER WARNING: Cursing, (Damian’s) death. Mentions of toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny, nightmares, blood, knives.

Headcanon masterlist.

When people ask you, “So, which one of you is the evil twin?” Damian always glowers, and you always motion to him.

You look disturbingly alike when only your eyes are showing; Damian’s got long lashes. Talia taught you a good tactic for tag-teaming in combat as kids was to pull up your hinged balaclavas and make the enemy think there was only one of you, that they’re seeing double.

Or for one of you to hang back while the other attacks as a distraction before the other knocks them out from behind.

Obviously, this won’t work when the two of you start filling out, but it works when you’re kids. It’s the reason why, even off the field, the two of you usually wear a matching outfits with hoods.

You utilize the same methods when she sends you to live with Bruce.

You don the Robin costume just like he does, much to the rest of the Batfam’s confusion (both because they weren’t expecting it and because they can’t tell you apart either), but sticking with the “red” theme, you go by Redstart.

There’s a rumor on the street that Robin V. is a meta that can teleport.

The two of you are freakishly good at mimicking the other’s voice and mannerisms, which makes it even harder for your family.

Jason tells you two about April Fools Day, and you make the most of it. Of course, Damian’s a pain in the a$$ and decides to go around pretending to be you and getting into trouble. You’re banned from the mall, and you still have no idea why. 

The two of you can communicate with just an impassive expression (Dick says it looks like a prime example of twin telepathy to anyone else), but anyone close to you knows sh¡t’s about to hit the fan when the two of you look at each other and smirk.

If it’s something you can’t communicate nonverbally, you use your cryptophasia. 

Cryptophasia is a language developed by twins when they’re learning to talk. Most of them grow out of it, you and Damian decided to keep developing it so it became more of a conlang. No one else has been taught to speak it, and they never will be. It’s for emergencies only.

Sun Tzu’s The Art of War was your Bible growing up, and the two of you call out verses when you fight together and need the other to understand a tactic (you both inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory, so you’ve got it memorized).

When you get too big to pull off the which-is-which game, you make your own costume and become the true Redstart. 

It’s basically Damian’s Robin uniform (the Super Sons’s version is the only one I’ll accept), but the boots and gloves are black, the biceps have a white stripe, the lining of the cape is white (the lining of the hood is black), the gold accents become white, it has a zipper down the front instead of clasps, and the mask becomes black (including the eyes). The waterline of the eyes is white. Like a painted redstart.

If Damian’s into animals, you’re into plants. The two of you find common ground on the fact that pollution sucks, so when you walk Titus, you take a trash bag and gloves with you to pick up litter as you go.

You did not want to go to Jon’s school. 

Not because you don’t like Jon (because you do), but because you know you could run intellectual circles around every one of those snot-nosed brats. 

School is stupid. Especially because the American education system is subpar; everything about it is.

You hardly pay attention in class. You do all of the homework a week ahead of time incase something comes up. Usually you’re doing next week’s homework in class. You’ve written entire papers on your phone in Google Docs in the middle of class to be printed out later.

If you’ve already done everything, Damian’s usually drawing and you’re daydreaming or you’re working on a case on your phone.

The teachers are always trying to catch you not paying attention, but you little sh¡ts can always answer their questions. 

Damian’s closest with Dick, but you’re closest with Tim. You admire his ability to plan ahead (see the entirety of the Red Robin comics), and you know that he’s better than both your father and your grandfather; you want to be as good as him when you grow up.

It takes a long time to wash the toxic masculinity and internalized misogyny our of your head, to learn that your grandfather’s ideas of “strength” were wrong, that it’s okay to lean on someone besides Damian, that you can be just as strong as your brother and still be feminine, that there are acceptable emotions besides anger.

Actually, your father teaches you that anger is more likely to get you killed. He won’t let you go into the field when he knows your angry.

It’s harder to drill out of you than your instinct to kill.

There’s a Lebanese restaurant called Tarbooshes (Teen Titans Special #1) the two of you go to when you’re feeling homesick. They make ox blood soup the same way your mother did, and it’s the only non-vegetarian thing Damian will eat for that very reason.

It’s nice to have a place to go where they know you by name and know what you want when you tell them “the usual.” It’s nice to have a place where you’re not a Wayne or an Al Ghul, where you’re just [Y/N] and Damian.

You disappear for an hour on your birthday to eat there. Bruce has asked you were you go, but you kept that between the two of you. 

Speaking of birthdays, you’re eleven minutes older than him. He was six pounds and ten ounces (Batman & Robin #0?), and you were a solid seven.

After Damian died, you go to Tarbooshes to feel close to him.

You were doing all right with the no-killing thing until the night Damian died.

Heretic never stood a chance.

He looked so much like Damian it gave you nightmares, though. Nightmares where you killed your twin brother and woke up sobbing.

Damian didn’t give you a speech in his last moments. He just looked over at you and said in your cryptophasia, “I’m sorry.” 

Not “I love you.” Not “Take care of them for me.” You knew that; you’d do that. He didn’t have to tell you, and he didn’t have to ask.

Just “I’m sorry.” Sorry that you were the one that was left behind.

It’s one thing to lose a family member, to lose a friend, or to lose a lover. It’s another to lose half of your soul.

The two of you had always feared you would die apart. It had always been a possibility; you weren’t stupid enough to think, “It’ll never happen to me.” Because it definitely could. 

And it had.

You wanted to run away from everything. Even just for a while. Go to one of your safe houses in London or France or whatever and just — you didn’t know — stare at the wall until you felt better? But you’d made that unspoken promise to Damian — “I’ll take care of them for you; don’t worry.” — to take care of Titus and Catfred and Jerry and Batcow and Goliath, to take care of Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason and Cassandra and Tim, to take care of Jon and Colin and Maps.

You avoided the cave. And if you had to go down there for some reason, you refused to look at the Robin suits.

Dick noticed. He asked if you wanted them taken down, even just for a while. You gave him a look like he was nuts and said, “No.”

Jon was a mess. More of a mess than you were, somehow. 

You’d shown up at the Kents’s. Jon was out doing Superboy things with Clark and Conner. Lois was the only one home.

You nearly scared her out of her skin when you materialized behind her and asked, “Is Jon home? It’s important.” 

He had to know first. He deserved to.

For all he put up with from you two, he deserved to be the first to know when one of you was f*cking dead.

Lois, of course, bless her heart, had the mom instincts to know that you were in no way, shape, or form okay even when you were trying so hard to hold yourself together. She asked you what’s wrong, and it’s what made you break. 

Your lip trembled. “He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“Damian,” your voice broke. “He’s dead.” 

Jon came home to find you in his living room in your Robin uniform, covered in Damian’s and Heretic’s blood, snot running down your lip, sobbing in his mothers arms and knew what happened without having to ask. He did anyway.

When you and Jon both finally passed out, your Uncle Clark flew you back to the Batcave. No one was in any condition — not even Alfred — so he carried you up to your room; took your boots, mask, cape, and gloves off; and tucked you in. Then he went to find Bruce because there was no doubt he was losing it too.

Bruce doesn’t tell you anything about trying to find a way to bring him back without the Lazarus pit because he doesn’t want to get your hopes up. 

You walk into your room one day to find Damian sitting there reading the dissertation (the requirement was three pages, not 120, but your teacher would just have to deal with your coping mechanisms) you had been working on for your World History class and left up on your laptop while on patrol. 

He said with the utmost indifference, “You’ve made some good points, Sister,” and, of course, you pulled out a knife and attacked him because this was — was — was some shapeshifting alien or hologram tech or a cruel joke — your twin was dead, this wasn’t funny, whoever did this was going to pay.

He met you blow-for-blow and flipped away from you before saying, “And here I was expecting a warm welcome,” in your cryptophasia. 

“Brother?” 

“Tt. Obviously.” 

Yeah, a college level thesis. You’re smart. You inherited Bruce’s eidetic memory and were raised by assassins.

You learned seven languages and wrote five doctoral theses by the time your teeth came in, wrote your first letter to a newspaper editor when you were two, could’ve had a geology doctorate when you were seven (Super Sons #1), and it only took you a week to learn the language on Takron-Galtos. You’re smart.

You’re also incredibly skilled. You learned to drive when you were five (Super Sons #1), your mother trained you to go for weeks without eating (Adventures of the Super Sons #6), you can micro-sleep for days and converse with half your brain asleep, can use a muscular contraction to move your liver out of the way of a blade (Nightwing #20), and can place yourself in a deep trance to heal damages caused by a hematoma (also #20).

(My dumba$$ didn’t note what Super Sons/Adventure of the Super Sons comic I was reading when I took notes, so I don’t have all of them noted in the two above bullet points. But that’s where they’re from. If I end up rereading them, I’ll edit this and add the comic numbers.)

The first time on patrol you thought Bruce was gonna die, you called him Baba. 

The next evening, when Dick came to visit the cave, he turned to you and Damian and asked, “So, which one of you called him Dad?” 

“How’d you know?” you asked. 

“He’s smiling the way he did the day I called him Tati.”

“He’s not smiling,” Damian pointed out.

“He is on the inside.”

Can we talk about how royally the Arkham Knights game screwed up Tim Drake? (Though, everything seems to screw up Tim one way or another, I guess.) Why does he look like a quidditch player in the gif above the cut?

Visit my headcanon masterlist.

DISCLAIMER ━━━ I’m a dumb white American, and I don’t know much about Arab or Romani culture other than what I’ve learned online. I hope I got it right?? If I didn’t, please drop a comment or P.M. me or something to let me know!

[sashi-ya]

Hiya ! If requests are still open for this week could I ask for Marco with a tiny fem!s/o with a size kink ??? Thank you so much and hope you’re having a great day 💕💕💕

Hi darling!! Of course! I hope you like it ♥ Thank u for your request and all of the support! Have a great weekend ♥ ~

NSFW ~ Marco x F! Tiny! Reader ~ You Are So Tight For Me ~

TW: NSFW. Size kink. Best friends to lovers. Sex at a party. Unprotected sex. Kind of rough sex.

WC: 1.7K

Tag list: @undercoverweeeb @mistyroselove

Marco and you have always been good friends, really good friends. You love him as much as he loves you, yet, you too never ever had any romantic or sexual interaction before. You are so close, people usually think you two are a couple, yet you aren’t. Still…

You > Oiiii pineapple birb, are you up for tonight’s party at Izo’s? Pineapple Birb > Oi Tontatta, yeah. Be ready at 8.

“Tontatta? What does he mean with “Tontatta”??... OH…” you say while throwing the phone to the bed and realizing he was mocking you by your short height. “You fucking giant pineapple…” you grunt as you enter the shower.

-----

The sound of Marco’s pick up horn announces he is already waiting for you outside. You take your bag and keys and head out.

“G’Night” you say, struggling to enter the vehicle. “Why the hell did he buy such a big car?” you think while stretching your arm to close the door. Of course, you fail in the first attempt so the doctor bends over you and closes the door. Marco is not huge but compared to you it’s pretty big. He pats your lap, strongly, laughing. “Why the hell are you so tiny?” he says. And you can’t help but squirm a little on the seat thinking about his huge hand over your thigh in a friendly way that you wish was with other intentions.

Rolling your eyes you tell him to stop making fun of you and start driving. “Fineee” he says and hits the gas. Music blasting suddenly makes you forget about the touch of his hand over your thigh and you two sing -shout- “Good 4 U” by Olivia Rodrigo.

Marco parks over Izo’s house. He descends the pick-up and helps you. “Jump to pappa” he says, laughing. You frown and burn holes into his eyes. “Shut up” you say as he snatches you from under your shoulders and puts you down on the street. You are surprised, he has never helped you like this. Still, you act annoyed, “Who does he think he is to treat me like this?” you think.

Walking towards the door, you can see from the window the shadow of a boy wearing a straw hat running around. “Luffy” Marco and you say, laughing.

The night goes by with alcohol and food, so much food. Sanji cooked the equivalent of three full restaurants just for you -specially Luffy-. Everybody is a little tipsy, and so do you. Kiku, Izo’s sister, comes up with the idea of watching a horror movie. Everybody, except Chopper and Usopp agreed. Law and Robin decided the title, and oh boy, that was gore…

The boys set up the projector, and everybody takes his place. Sanji and Zoro begin fighting because apparently, they were “too close to each other” on the couch. Everybody look at them thinking the same, “why the fuck do you sit together if you don’t want to be close?” but then all of you remember they haven’t still figured out how much they love each other. So, for the sake of the group’s peace, Marco suggests that you could sit over his lap, and so they will have more room.

You agree instantly and sit over Marco’s legs. Your back laying over his chest. You are so used to him that this doesn’t represent a problem for you. But then, Marco snakes his arms around your waist and presses you tight against his lap. “What is this boy playing tonight?” you think.

Somehow, the idea of feeling so tiny, so squeezed against his body is making your core feel a little… fancy.

The movie starts, and so far, you haven’t gotten scared until the murderer appears out of nowhere and stabs the victim from his back. You jump over Marco’s lap, so suddenly that he also gets scared. “Shh” he whispers in your ear. A shiver runs through your spine, as you feel Marco’s warm breath on your neck. “Sorry…” you excuse yourself. “It’s ok” he says, and rests his chin over your shoulder, squeezing your waist even tighter. You gasp and fidget your ass over his groin. “Fuck it, he wants me” you think. And indeed, you feel how a hard -huge- bulge grows under your bottom… All of a sudden, a different movie plays on your head, the idea of him fucking you with his huge member makes you wet, so wet.

You start to act scared with every little scene, and with that, a little hump over him that makes his member grow harder and harder. No one will notice, everything is dark, they are all into the movie. And with the last little jump, Marco has had enough “Stop doing that or I’ll have to fuck you right here in front of our friends” he whispers. You swallow, you wanted to turn him on, but you’ve never expected he would be so straightforward to you.

You slowly turn around your face, his nose touching your cheek. “Then fuck me if you dare” you tell him. A sexy side smirk draws on his lips, and his hands pressed your lower belly so your sex could feel perfectly how hard he is. You realize you are probably gonna have a big time when taking him all inside, and that fans the fire inside you. “I’m gonna go to the restroom” you tell him, with an inviting grin. He lets go of you, and you walk upstairs.

A few minutes later, the bathroom opens and Marco looks at you up and down, scanning you with lustful eyes. You sexily take your jacket off and let it fall to the ground. He closes the door behind him and walks steadily towards you.

His right hand squeezes your throat. His left leg in between your legs, lifting you up as your back is pressed against the cold tiles of the bathroom. “Come on, hump over my leg now” Marco says. You try to gasp for air and do as he tells you to. You rub your sex against his thigh, your legs hang at each side. He is so big compared to you…

He then grabs you by your waist and sits you over the bathroom counter. You spread your legs, so he can come closer. His mouth invades yours, lustfully, feral. This felt way better than the times you’ve dreamt of it.

When he is satisfied with the taste of your mouth, he lifts you up. You cross your legs around his waist and Marco carries you to the next room. Who knows whose room it is? but you don’t care… He throws you to bed, you lay on your back while he unbuttons his white shirt. You enjoy the show of the big man in front of you, your body begs to be destroyed, to be fucked.

“Marco…” you mumble. “Hm?” he asks. “Fuck me, rough” you tell him. “You sure? I’m afraid I’ll destroy your insides” he says while leaning over you, already taking off your pants. “That’s exactly what I want” you say and bite your lip. “You little whore” he says laughing and pounces into you.

He bites your neck; you carve your nails on his back. His huge hands take off your shirt, exposing your perfect body to him. “God, why are you so tiny? I’m gonna rip you” he says, with one of your nipples on his mouth. You moan as his tongue wets your breasts.

He then traces a path of wet smooches from your tits towards your sex. He licks and kisses your hot skin, and you squirm. Yet, you are anxious to see his member, you’ve been wanting to see that huge dick in front and inside you for so long…

A finger enters your sex. “Oh, even my finger feels tight inside you… I wonder how I am gonna fuck your little cunt?” he asks, and that turns you so fucking much, he has no idea. Then, the second finger in. Slowly, but surely you dilate enough -or so that’s what you thought- to receive his shaft.

“I think I can manage to fuck you like this” Marco says while lowers the zipper of his jeans. You swallow, you want it inside now. He finally flashes his eight inches dick to you. You widen your eyes and he notices it. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Fucking destroy me, Marco” you tell him, delighted by the huge member in front of your eyes.

“Sure, my dear” he says, and aligns the tip of his dick with your entrance. You are so wet that it slides perfectly and even if Marco tries to hold back not to hurt you, he can’t take it any longer. Soon, he is balls deep inside you. You whine, loud enough for the whole house to hear you. “Shhh, little whore” he shushes you and covers your mouth with his hand.

You feel your walls stretch, they burn, but you love it. A bulge forms in your lower stomach whenever he is deep inside you, you watch it and the image makes both of you extremely aroused. He is indeed destroying your tiny body, and you are enjoying every single moment of it.

And after intense thrusts, your insides clenches around him as you are ready to fall into an intense orgasm. “Mhh babe… you are so tight. Even after fucking you so much” Marco whines. You moan as the last deep plunges send you to climax heaven. You squirt on the base of his dick, so hard, relieving the pressure, biting Marco’s shoulder.

He does the same a few seconds after, and he does not back off until your insides get filled fully with his warm seed…

“So, are we dating now?” he finally speaks, while resting after an amazing fuck. “Well, yeah, finally” you tell him and laugh soundly. Everybody knew that, except you two…

“We should come back, don’t you think?” you say. “I hope they didn’t hear us…” Marco tells you kissing your forehead… ♥ ~

[obsessivelycapricious]

Got an idea for a reader insert fic for the DC universe. I'm probably not going to write it so I'm putting it out there like this instead. Hell if anyone wants to run with this then brilliant. Just shoot me a message and we can talk. Its female reader insert and can be for many different pairings. Male/female/platonic. Mostly with villains.

Shes an artist and her paintings aren't really very popular as they tend to depict the underbelly of Gotham and usually feature a villain or two. the Elite don't like to dwell on such things so theres a bunch of canvases in her apartment unsold.

Shes also got a dark past and made some dumb romantic choices when she was younger. Sionis almost ran her out of town but Gotham is her home and she has nowhere else to go. Batman had to save her. It was a whole thing. She's still terrified of the black mask.

But then we reach an anniversary of Batman and his fight to protect the poor defenseless citizens of the city and someone picks one of her paintings to be on display at the gala. Its not even her favourite painting because to her it just isn't quite finished yet.

So she attends, rather reluctantly putting on a dress and everything. any interested potential buyers decide not to after hearing her describe the rest of her collection which is predictable but disappointing but at least she can admire the pretty people.

Just as things get interesting and she meets the one and only Bruce Wayne - did he just flirt with her? - disaster strikes as the joker and his goons interrupt the event with some typical scheme. Joker throws one of his blades into the heart of her painting during his dramatic monologue and she stares at the painting. Realising its finally complete.

She gets home safe from the gala after batman swoops in and saves her again. But at least this time its by proxy so she can keep some of her dignity. But when she gets home all of her paintings are gone and her apartment has been turned over. She finds out days later that the painting in the gala has also been taken.

A few weeks later she is walking home from work and is kidnapped and bundled into the back of a van. She's terrified its Sionis catching up to her again but they drag her into the basement of a seemingly random club and when they take the bag off her head she is sat at a table with Gotham's infamy elite. Cobblepot, the riddler, two face, mr. freeze, the list goes on. It could also include ivy and Selena kyle maybe harley too? At the top end of the table in command position sits the joker.

They explain, through no small amount of bickering and insults thrown between each other, that they have a proposition for her. They want to give her the opportunity to deal her paintings exclusively to them. First refusal goes to the villain that features in the painting and after that they'll arrange an auction. If no one wants the painting then it can be sold elsewhere.

Our reader is no meek and mild wallflower and can hold her own in the room negotiating a fee for herself for the paintings already stolen and future installments for exclusivity and convincing them to offer her protection. They laugh at first and wonder why she would need protection when the worse gotham has to offer is in the room with her now but she shudders and suggests that if Sionis is no match for them then they won't mind making sure he doesn't get near her again. Her one caveat to the deal is that if the batman shows an interest he gets first dibs. He did save her life after all.

And so begins an unlikely partnership with Gotham's criminal underbelly. Because they arent house trained and dont seem to understand how to use a door properly, her appartment keeps getting broken into when a new batch of paintings is ready to go. Johnny frost is usually the one who drops off her pay.

Sometimes she comes across her new clients in unexpected places. She meets Edward Nigma while out to buy the paper who spent his morning coaching her through various riddles. Sometimes she finds a car waiting outside to take her to Penguins club or on the very rare occasion she finds an errant joker in her apartment, constantly keeping her on her toes with his bouts of madness. She gets to know a few of them on an almost intimate level though she is vigilant enough to never cross that line. They somehow always keep her out of the mob business they conduct so she always has plausible deniability and so they dont have a good reason to kill her.

Meanwhile, Sionis hears from Victor Zsaz that our reader is flourishing rather than hiding away scared for her life like he left her. Whats more she is painting again and for other people?? This wont do. She belongs to him and only him.

So begins our final act where sionis carries out his diabolical plan and the readers favourite villian swoops in and saves the day. This could be a choose your own ending sort of thing where the reader can pick who she wants. Including batman and a version where the villians all team up and work together. Or yknow. Writers choice if youd rather just write one. Im a fan of it being the joker or batman or nightwing/robin (if you fit some interaction in between the plot so theres enough intent there)

Then the finale to it may be romantic and may end with the reader and their fave releasing the pent up tension between the two. Or if youd rather have a more platonic non relationshipy ending you could have the reader finish off sionis and take that step into villainy herself.

Ta daaaa! The end.

Message me if you wanna use the story! I would love to read it or see stuff about it.