#oh and robin will and eddie just shows how they don’t give a fuck about their queer audience

[willbyers-stanie]

i dunno why i expected the duffer brothers to write a good story involving queer people or poc because their biggest issue was only ever being nerds

[klausinamarink]

based on this hilarious video with Gianmarco Soresi whom I’ve been watching his comedy work for a few months now

read on ao3

“What do you do?” The standup of the hour - the guy had introduced himself as Eddie - points at Steve.

Flustered at the attention directing every eye in the club to his table, Steve tries not to stammer as he answers, “Well, uh, I make movies.”

“Oh!” Eddie genuinely looks interested. “So you’re a director?”

“Yeah, pretty much. At least I started out as an indie, but I have a big project that’s out and a couple more on the way.” One table nearby claps and Steve tries to wave them off to stop.

“So what was that big project? Was it something we would’ve seen?” Eddie repositions himself so he has one leg up on the stool. Steve stares at how lean they seem with the tight black jeans. He’s got them daddy long legs. His brain suddenly burps out and it nearly makes Steve lose his composure.

“Uh, ha, I did The Final Bat. It’s on Shudder.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly, perfectly hiding his internal cringe. The horror genre is way out of his league and Steve’s already seen The Final Bat being on a few critical lists damning the title as another cliche-filled mess. He only did it because he had finally caved to Dustin’s pleading to make at least one horror movie.

Eddie, on the other hand, seems ecstatic by this revelation. “No way! That’s sick, dude! So the next time you make a horror flick, you’re gonna watch Blumhouse and A24 coming in at each other with steel chairs for distribution rights.”

Everyone laughs, including Robin. She smacks on Steve’s bicep with a wide grin. He smacks her back before he turns back to Eddie and clarifies, “I don’t like horror! I’m not doing it again!”

Aghast, Eddie throws an invisible hat to the ground and stamps on his feet. “Come on! Then what’s the point of watching the studios bite each other’s dicks off when you’re slipping out to watch - I don’t know - the Barbie movie! Now they’re just fighting for the next shitty horror movie to exist!”

Steve covers his mouth but fails to hold back in the laughter. Eddie’s infectious energy is starting to get to him. It makes his chest clench with something other than the usual pains.

Eddie patiently waits for the patrons to quiet down before continuing, still attentive to Steve, “I’m just wondering actually if you ever done theater class.”

“Sure did! Two years in high school,” Steve confirms.

“Let me guess, they did Hamlet?” Eddie raises an eyebrow like it’s meant to be accusatory.

“Yep, soon after I joined.” Steve nods, the memory of that production flashing before his eyes. It had its ups and downs but it was one of the most fun things Steve had ever experienced.

“No wonder they started as soon as your handsome ass walked in the club.” Eddie says low and flirtatiously into the microphone, staring directly into Steve’s eyes. It echoes across the room and back, bringing the howling laughter with it.

Heat crawls behind his face. Steve keeps his hands on the table, forcing down the urge to hide behind them. “I-” He stops to cough, “I wasn’t supposed to play Hamlet.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, “What do you mean?!”

Robin answers loud enough for everyone to hear, “He was the grave robber, but the other guy who did Hamlet got into a coma a week before the show and Steve knew all the lines.”

“W-Woah, woah, woah!” Eddie holds his hands out, looking scandalous. He throws looks around the club. “Everyone, shut the fuck up right now! This is more important than caring about the rest of you!” Eddie drags the stool over and perches on it like a very much invested gargoyle, almost oblivious to the audience’s reaction.

“Okay, let me go through this.” He points at Steve, still holding eye contact as if Steve’s soul would provide the answer. “You weren’t Hamlet. You were meant to be the guy who gives him the skull to monologue. The OG Hamlet got into a coma for some reason-“

“Car accident.” Robin interjects.

“Yeah, no need to elaborate, ma’am. You, Steve-” Eddie breaks off for a second, holding back a laugh of his own. “You somehow knew all the Hamlet lines because you were waiting to skin OG Hamlet’s head and make his skull yours to do the monologue.”

There’s a scandalous outcry from all tables. Even when they mostly calm down, Steve uses the growing anticipation to ‘think’ about what Eddie just said before he casually shrugs and says, “Sounds about right.”

Eddie drops his face into his arm, letting everyone laugh at him. Steve lets himself break, his laughter bubbling out of him in a way that doesn’t sound so self-deprecating or hollow. If he was in a cynical mood, he would’ve thought it was pathetic that the only person who made him laugh so lightly again was some random standup.

After a moment, Eddie finally looks up, his face broken in disbelieving grin. He chuckles into the mic and looks back at Steve, “Sorry, it’s just I hear some wild stories in the crowd some nights and I think yours takes the cake.”

Steve smiles, “Thanks, man.”

Eddie stands up back, half-leaning onto the stool. “Do you still remember those lines? To be or not to be?”

The whole damn thing. “Uh… some of it?”

Eddie’s grin shifts into something more mischievous. “Let’s see who knows more.”

A collective oooh goes around the room, including Robin. She already has her phone out for recording. Steve rolls his eyes at her and takes a quick sip of his water. He clears his throat and starts, “‘To be or not to be, that is the question.’”

“‘Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer, the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..’” Eddie says without missing a beat.

Oh, he thinks he knows it all. The sense of competition that Steve thought had died out with his future of a sports career reignites in his chest. He sits up even straighter. “‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’”

“‘To die-to sleep, no more.’” Eddie slowly walks over to the edge of the stage, “‘And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.’”

“'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.’” Steve almost shivers as he recites the line, uncertain if it’s from the club’s cooling temperatures or the intense gaze from Eddie’s eyes. “‘To die, to sleep.’”

“‘To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub,’” Eddie suggestively rubs a hand on his chest as he squats down. Steve’s eyes flicker to the hand, almost hypnotized by the motion. Nay, he shakes himself out of it. No distractions!

“‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil.’” It’s getting harder to remember the following lines. That hasn’t happened before. Steve has never forgotten the damn soliloquy in years, even when other people try to challenge him.

Eddie continues, “‘Must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely.’”

“‘The pangs-’” Steve feels his breath catching in his throat when he realizes, for the first time, what beautiful eyes Eddie has.

Oh. 

Eddie suddenly perks up in excitement. For a second, Steve thinks that Eddie has come to the exact same thoughts for him. But then he remembers that he hasn’t completed his line, so Steve feigns defeat.

“I win!” Eddie stands up with a triumphant cry. He spreads his arms out to embrace the cheering whoops and applause. “And I’ve only got to play Hamlet in-” He spins around and crouches down so he can look Steve in the eye again as Eddie’s voice booms into the mic, “-FOURTH GRADE, MOTHERFUCKER!” 

Steve’s not even mad. He just throws his head back, laughing and clapping along. 

Almost too soon, Eddie moves on to heckle on another table. But he keeps glancing over at Steve, his smile widening every time. And Steve smiles back, feeling a laugh slip out of his slips at every joke. He watches Eddie more closely, feeling his heart pound faster in his chest the more Eddie stays onstage. 

By the time Eddie has to depart and thank everyone for being here, Robin announces her need to go home and snuggle with her girlfriend. 

“Man, that was the most I’ve ever laughed in this place.” Steve stretches his back, groaning at the little pops. God, being in his early thirties can be a bitch sometimes.

Robin only hums, moving her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Steve pointedly makes no further comment as he pays the tab.

Outside, the crisp night air welcomes him. Steve takes in a whiff, staring up at the light-polluted sky as he bids Robin a goodbye. Then he hears his name being called. He turns around and sees Eddie hurrying out the doors.

Steve feels a smile already on his face, “Hey, Hamlet.” 

Eddie grins at him, teeth and all, “Hey, yourself.” 

They stare at each other but it lacks the competitive intensity earlier. Steve likes this. But he already has a feeling that this won’t be the first time either one of them would challenge the other.

“Sooo…” Steve says when the silence stretches a little too long. He gestures between himself and Eddie, “Wanna restart our introductions?”

Eddie’s eyes brighten, “Yeah! Right, sorry.” He clears his throat and thrusts a hand out. “My name is Eddie Munson. Self-proclaimed comedian and musician. You may recognize me as the guy who beat you in Hamlet’s famous speech.”

Steve takes his hand. Eddie feels bony and thin, but large enough to fit perfectly into Steve’s palm. He tries not to sound so eager as he says, “Steve Harrington. Film director who doesn’t like horror. Believe it or not, I actually know the whole stupid thing.”

Eddie tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, “Really? Like, no offense, but even if you remember that much-”

“‘And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.’” Steve winks with the Harrington Charm, smile and all. 

Eddie stares at him for so long that Steve feels his heart racing for a different reason. And then, Eddie turns around and muffles a loud scream into his free hand. When the man turns back to face him, he’s sporting the widest smile Steve has never seen.

“You knew the whole thing!?” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with utter adoration.

“Yep.” Steve pops the ‘p’, grinning like a little shit.

“But why did you forget that line?”

“Let’s just say,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand, intertwining their fingers together, “I got distracted by the pangs of love.”

Eddie bites on his lower lip as he swoons his body over so they are pressing against each other. With half-lidded eyes, Eddie whispers, “You know that part is Hamlet referring to missing his dead dad, right?”

Of course Steve couldn’t help but kiss him.

[asbealthgn]

Eddie is used to getting recognized in public, but it doesn’t mean he likes it.

And Gareth knows how much he doesn’t like it, so Eddie’s not really sure why his best friend has completely abandoned him like this. Well, maybe abandon is a little dramatic. He said he’d be right back, but that was half an hour ago, and there’s only so many times he can circle the park and dive into bushes anytime someone gets too close. Which is why Eddie left the park altogether and is now sitting at a bus station. No one would expect notorious Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson to be at a bus station, right?

Except he’s not sure the hat and sunglasses and incongruous location are quite doing their job. A group of kids across the road have stopped and they’re all whispering amongst themselves as they look at him. Eddie really wishes he had something to conceal himself with, but his hand over his face would definitely look way too suspicious. He’s thinking he might just have to cut and run and take his chances back in the park bushes.

That is, until the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life sits in the seat next to him, unfurling a giant map that easily shields both of them. Eddie’s fucking savior.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to Japantown, would you?” the guy asks.

As it happens, Eddie does know how to get to Japantown. He hasn’t actually ridden the bus in years, but he still remembers the route. “Yeah,” he says, pointing it out on the map. “You just get on line five headed east and ride it like nine or ten stops until you get to McAllister and Fillmore. From there you just have to walk a few blocks to get into the area.”

The guy looks at him with big eyes, brown and a little droopy. “McAllister and Fillmore,” he repeats, like he’s trying to memorize it. He has pretty pink lips, glistening a little like he’s wearing lipgloss. 

Fuck, he’s adorable. And looks a bit prone to getting lost. And Eddie’s still kind of mad at Gareth for leaving him high and dry out here. So as the bus pulls up to the stop, Eddie figures what the hell?

“I’m actually headed that way,” Eddie says, standing. “I can show you.”

The guy’s whole face brightens and fuck, he really is gorgeous. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all, big boy.”

The bus is blessedly empty other than one shriveled up lady sitting towards the front with her groceries and a teenager in the middle with giant headphones and their nose in a book. Eddie heads to the back with the guy, who now has a faint blush dusting his nose and cheeks.

“I’m Steve, by the way,” he says as he sits in the seat next to Eddie. “What’s your name?”

So that confirms that Steve doesn’t know who he is. It didn’t seem like he did from how he was reacting, but it’s a bit of relief to know for sure. “Eddie,” he says, bumping his shoulder into Steve’s. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve gives him a smile that’s about as radiant as the sun as he nudges Eddie’s shoulder back. “You too.”

“So what do you have going on in Japantown?” Eddie asks.

“I’m headed to a baby shower for some friends who live near there,” he says, “Well, it’s not a real baby shower.”

“No?”

“‘Cause it’s not a real baby. That is, it’s not a human baby.”

Eddie lifts his eyebrows. “I think you lost me.”

Steve twists in his seat and starts gesturing with his hands. “Well, it all started when they found out that one of their cats wasn’t actually spayed and had gotten knocked up by a stray,” he says, “And Robin was like, ‘Hey, more cats, that’s a good thing,’ and Nancy was like, ‘No, our neighbors already think we’re crazy cat ladies.’”

“Uh huh.”

“So they compromised and decided they would keep one kitten and give the rest away,” Steve says, “So it’s less of a come give us presents for our baby shower and more of a please take our babies away shower. You know?”

“Oh yeah, one of those,” Eddie says, and Steve laughs. 

“Hey, are you in the market for a kitten?” he asks. “Cause if you are, I totally know where you can get one.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh. “Honestly?” he says, “I’ve got nothing else going on. Why the hell not?”

Steve gives him another one of those radiant smiles and Eddie can’t help but hope he gets more than a kitten by the end of this.

[paperbackribs]

update: 🐺werewolf Steve, 🦇bat Eddie completed on Ao3 here

How to survive a werewolf attack, Eddie mentally repeats to himself in a determinedly bright manner, channelling every nature documentary he’s ignored. His resolve does little to quiet the jolt of fear that had run through him as it turned into— that.

“How to survive a werewolf attack,” Eddie mutters to himself as it pads one giant paw towards him in the middle of Steve’s living room, hoping that speaking aloud will clear the bees buzzing in his brain, focusing all his thoughts in one direction: he should run.

“How the fuck do I survive a werewolf attack?” Eddie frantically yells at Dustin standing by the couch, grinning a gummy smile back at him with his hands casually thrown in his pockets.

The wolf growls lightly at his tone and Eddie’s head snaps back, alarmed that he’d allowed himself to look away from those intent yellow eyes for even a moment. But as scary as the predatory look is, the size of its head is just as terrifying. As large as Eddie’s torso with a wide, fanged mouth to match. Faintly, Eddie mentally compares one long tooth to the length of his hand.

This is how he dies Eddie realises with a thumping heart.

Not the bats.

Not Vecna.

No, a giant, golden mahogany werewolf nearly as tall as his fully grown adult body is going to open that massive mouth and swallow him down whole.

The beast stops, gaze narrowing to the pulse pounding in Eddie’s neck and he quickly slaps a hand over it, trying to limit the temptation of the tasty blood slash fresh meat vibe he must be giving off. It sits back on its heels; a movement Eddie feels shudder through the carpet at his feet and turns its head to Robin with a slight whine.

She scowls at Eddie, stepping forward to bury her hand comfortingly into the plush at its furry neck. “Don’t listen to him, Steve. He’s just being a big baby.” Shifting her fingers to scratch under its ears, the werewolf—Steve, Eddie hastily corrects himself as Robin continues to glare at him—half-closes its eyes in bliss. Though, he notes that it—he—still keeps his gaze steadily trained on Eddie.

Swallowing, Eddie tries to remember what they had just been talking about, but it’s lost in the chaotic whirlwind of his thoughts and the adrenalin urging his heels back. All of it consumed by the conviction that Eddie is prey in front of predator and about to be fed to what used to be Steve Harrington.

“Oh my god,” he moans, hands coming up to pull his hair down to hide behind, “Am I a sacrifice?”

Lucas sighs in exasperation, “I told you we should’ve showed him photos or something first.” Max makes a derisive sound and sits cross-legged next to Steve’s wide chest; he gently leans against her with a small thump of his tail. “He was always going to freak out, may as well get it over with.”

Eddie would really like to get the small child away from the massive beast right now; despite the fact that Max is a sophomore and would likely rip him a new one at even the suggestion. But it does help, seeing her casually play with the fur under her hand, and the bees die down a little, just enough to remember why they had called him here.

“You wanted to show me this—” Max squints at him and Eddie changes tack “—show me Steve turning into a wolf because you’re concerned about me.” The ridiculousness of it strikes through him, bubbling over into half-hysterical laughter. “Shouldn’t you be worried about the massive fucking fangs near Max’s head right now.”

The wolf lets out a gusty sound that Eddie can only imagine is a sigh and thumps onto his belly, stretching his head out to rest on crossed-over paws as big as dinner plates. The position should look less threatening, but all Eddie can see is how the jaw of the creature has been thrown into sharp relief, emphasising how far it could probably unhinge if given an incentive. He slaps his hand back over his pulsing neck again.

El appears by his side and he nearly jumps a foot, not having noticed her approach while focusing so fiercely on the wolf. She takes his hand, gently saying, “It is okay, Eddie. He’s only Steve and he would never hurt you.”

He keeps a hold of her hand. The Steve he’s come to know since Spring Break has seemed like a pretty good dude, sure; but, the one thing he does know, is that the guy would take a bullet for every kid in this room.

It's not cowardice to hide behind a kid, he reassures himself. Not when the kid isn’t in any danger. Max shoots him a dark look again and he suspects that she’s seen through his intentions. He clears his throat, focussing on El’s kind and reassuring squeeze of his hand, “Right. Why is Steve a werewolf?”

“Good question,” the bill of Dustin’s hat bobs in his approval, “Back in ’84 we were in these tunnels, you see and —”

“Short version, Dustin,” Robin interrupts, which is frankly ironic of her Eddie thinks, knowing she falls into extended explanations herself.

Dustin screws up his face, but condenses the story, “We were attacked by dog versions of the demogorgons and since then Steve has gone all furry whenever he wants.” He waves a hand at the prostrate wolf who continues to placidly watch their conversation, “I see where you went with werewolf but technically, he’s not forced to turn at a full moon.”

Will exchanges a look with Mike as they lean against the opposite wall, “Not technically, no. But he does get weird around it.” El tugs him to sit down with her and Max, but Eddie lets go of her hand, unwilling to let cede the high ground when it’s the only thing keeping his feet ready to run if Steve decides to demonstrate how weird he can get.

“Shouldn’t he have…” Eddie waves a hand over his face with a splaying motion of his fingers. He hasn’t seen a demogorgon yet, but the kids had described them to him, and the demo-bats apparently had the same set-up of gaping maws exploding like a fanged cross over their face.

“Another great question, Eddie,” Max rolls her eyes, “Let me just consult my instruction manual on the Upside Down and get back to you.”

“It’s a fair question, Max,” Lucas says softly and she relents, “Yeah, but he looks like he’s about to throw up and Steve would hate the mess.” The wolf snorts and nudges her with his muzzle; she lightly strokes the top of his nose with a responding smile.

“Our best guess is that the demo-dogs and demo-bats are a weird mix of actual animal and Upside Down creepiness,” Robin says, letting go of Steve to sit on the couch behind him, “And Steve got infected with the actual animal part but the woo-woo creepiness is what helps him turn into the wolf.”

Eddie’s guts turn to liquid, and he hovers suddenly uncertain hands over his body; right beside the areas still scarred from his own demo-bat bites. “Wait a second,” he rasps, “Steve got bit by the dog version and he turns into this. So if I got bit by the bat versions…”

“That’s why we’re telling you,” Lucas explains frankly, “It didn’t happen straight away with Steve so we thought that you should have a heads up at the very least.” Dustin gestures down Eddie’s body with a demanding hand, “And you can tell us if you notice any weird changes.”

“What?” Eddie asks a little wildly, “Like if my voice drops and I get hair in new and wonderful places?” Robin and Dustin exchange worried glances and the latter falls back on a soothing tone that he hasn’t managed since cornering Eddie in the boathouse while he was on the run, “There’s no guarantee that you were infected…” Robin winces at the word choice as Eddie’s eyes widen. “…but you should tell us if you notice anything different, just in case.”

Eddie wants to collapse onto the floor. Just crouch there with his hands pressed comfortingly against his eyes to shut out the insanity this afternoon has turned into. But eyeing how close Steve with his monster fangs is, Eddie refuses to get any closer. He may as well lay on his back and strip for good measure. That way Steve won’t get any denim stuck in his teeth; he thinks the last thought with a small hiccup.

The massive head raises and turns to look over its—his—shoulder with a questioning whine. Robin’s faces hardens slightly, and her arms come up to cross over her chest. “You go for a run or something, I’ve got this.”

Eddie watches those tree trunks for legs rise and feels something quake inside, doing nothing for his pounding pulse that had only just started to subside. Steve looks back at him one more time before licking Dustin’s hand and butting his head against Robin’s knee to trot through the living room towards the backyard.

Chapter 1

[roosterbox]

Had this random thinky thought the other day.

Pre-S4 Steddie are dating. Have been for a decent amount of time. They haven’t told everyone, but a few people know (Robin, Dustin). The thing, though, is that Wayne doesn’t know. Oh, he knows that Eddie has a boyfriend. He’s seen Eddie’s eyes light up like stars when he starts talking about this boy. About how beautiful he is. About how strong he is. And, most often, about how kind he is. After the buildup he’s been given, Wayne is pretty positive there’s no way for this mystery boy to live up to Eddie’s description. Especially with how loveblind his nephew is. But if the way Eddie lights up at the mere thought of him is any indication, he must be something special.

“Invite him over for dinner sometime, son. I’m dyin’ to meet this guy.”

Eddie agrees. And plans are made. But for whatever reason, said plans fall through. And keep falling through.

But then.

The events of S4 happen.

Steve manages to save Eddie, like he should have done in canon (but I digress). They end up in the hospital, and someone gets in touch with Wayne, who shows up almost immediately. And who does he see at his unconscious (severely injured) nephew’s bedside but Steve fucking Harrington.

Now I’m not saying that Wayne assumes the absolute worst upon seeing ‘King Steve’ Harrington in that room (the worst being that Steve has something to do with Eddie’s condition), but he does make his assumptions based on what he knows and remembers about Steve’s parents (especially his dad). Said assumptions are… not great.

He basically kicks Steve out. And Steve just… goes. Robin tries to protest on his behalf, but Steve tells her it’s okay. “Eddie needs him now,” he says.

Eddie doesn’t wake up for several days. Any time Wayne isn’t with him, Steve sneaks in. And gets kicked out again when Wayne comes back. Wayne, for his part, is getting more and more exasperated with his dedication.

But then Eddie wakes up, finally. Wayne and Dustin are there when he does. The latter leaves to give Eddie and Wayne their privacy for a tearful reunion, but he also calls Steve. A little while later, Steve shows up. He and Wayne lock eyes, and Wayne bristles a bit. He’s straightening up, preparing to kick him out yet again, before Eddie turns. And his entire face lights up in a brilliant smile. His eyes sparkle like twin stars.

“Stevie!” He says, imbuing the name with more emotion than Wayne ever expected.

Steve almost trips over his own feet to get to Eddie’s bedside, where he takes Eddie’s hand in his, twining their fingers together. He looks like he might cry.

And Wayne suddenly understands everything.

He lets them talk for a moment. They’ve seemingly forgotten he’s even there. There are soft loving affirmations, sweet names, and maybe even a kiss or two, before he clears his throat. The boys spring apart (Steve springs, at least), but don’t let go of each other’s hands.

“I really wish we could have gotten to meet each other over dinner instead, boys,” he says, gruff as always.

Steve looks nervous, but Eddie’s just embarrassed.

“Uhm,” Steve starts.

Wayne gently cuts him off. “I think you and I might have gotten off on the wrong foot.” And that wrong foot is entirely on me, he thinks.

Eddie looks between the two of them, confused.

“That’s okay,” Steve is quick to say. “You were just-“

Wayne cuts him off again, moving to the other side of the bed, hand outstretched.

“Wayne Munson.”

Steve hesitates, exchanging a glance with Eddie (who’s still terribly confused), before taking Wayne’s hand with his free one, shaking it.

“Steve Harrington,” he says as if Wayne didn’t recognize him on sight a few days prior.

“It’s nice to meet you Steve.” Wayne smiles. “Nice to finally see for myself the kid who makes Eddie smile like that.”

There are further discussions to be had. Eddie is angry (and a little heartbroken) to discover what’s been going on while he slept (“YOU KICKED HIM OUT HOW MANY TIMES???”), but in the end, it all works out. Eddie’s name is cleared. He (and everyone else!) makes a full and complete recovery (plus a few gnarly scars). And Wayne finally, finally, gets to sit down to dinner with his nephew, and his nephew’s boyfriend.

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post. At this point it looks like there’ll be 4 parts in total :)

Robin is basically seething with rage when she walks into Thatcher Tire before the start of her own shift at Family Video. After a month of Steve being happier than she had ever seen him before, he showed up on her doorstep on the verge of tears last night. She had to listen to him talk about Eddie until well after midnight. About Eddie, who had apparently only been “fucking around” with him for the past month, while Steve was falling head-over-heels for him.

Robin liked Eddie, of course she did. But one part of her had not even been surprised about this turn of events. It was the part of her that had never fully trusted Eddie – the part she had tried her very best to shut up because she didn't want to believe in the possibility of it being right.

It was the part of her that had been warning her that something about Eddie and Steve seemed off right from the beginning: how Steve was falling, with complete faith and no safety net, while Eddie was... Well, it wasn't like he was actively mean or cruel in any way. It wasn't like he seemed to be using Steve or like he wasn't really into him. None of that. But there had always been this something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Now she finally knows what it was.

She has dozens of questions ready to fire at him. Did he ever even notice how fragile Steve really is, underneath those leftover pieces from his high school days? How lonely he is? Does he even know how badly that boy wants to be loved? Does he know how much it broke Robin's heart when she couldn't give that love to Steve in the way he wanted her to? Will it break Eddie's heart, too, when he realizes what he has done to Steve? Or did he already know, all this time? Has he just been playing some cruel game for a whole fucking month?

So she barges into the garage and marches purposefully towards the backroom with her battle baret all dusted off for the occasion, ready to tell Eddie exactly what she thinks of him. But she stops in her tracks when she hears Eddie's voice emerge from the room, sounding like he's already caught up in some kind of heated conversation himself.

'Right?! I mean, can you believe this shit?! He just shows up with goddamn flowers like we're – like we're actually together or some shit!'

It's silent for a while and it takes Robin a few seconds to realize that he must be on the phone.

'He's hot, okay?' Eddie continues, in a voice that could best be described as distressed. 'And the kids like him, he's cute, there was no reason not to say yes when he asked me out. But it was never supposed to – we were just supposed to have some fun and leave it at that.' He actually sounds like he's on the verge of tears by now.

'Because this was never the fucking plan!' he answers a question asked from the other end of the line. 'If he's gonna continue like this, all sweet and caring and giving me flowers and shit... I'm gonna fall in love with him, Jeff, I'm serious! I don't even know why he's doing this – he probably just wants to know that he can, you know. Give his ego a little boost and laugh at me when he finds out it's actually working. It's cruel, it's really fucking cruel.'

There's another beat of silence.

'You're a lifesaver,' Eddie then says. 'And bring that one ice cream, you know the one, with the pecan and the – exactly! And maybe some of your mom's chocolate pie if she still has – thank you, my hero. Oh, and don't forget to say hi to your mom from me.'

While Eddie hangs the phone back on the hook, Robin takes her final step around the corner.

'Is that really what you think of him?'

Eddie jumps up when he sees Robin standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her chest and one of her most scathing looks on her face.

'What the hell, Buck? Were you eavesdropping on my phone call?'

'You really think he's the cruel one?' she repeats, ignoring his indignant question. 'Then why did he show up at my door yesterday night looking like a heap of misery and telling me how his boyfriend turned out to only have been his hookup all this time?'

'Look, Buckley, I – wait, what?'

'What?'

'His what now?'

And the utterly confused look on his face tells her more than enough. He didn't know, she realizes. He truly didn't know what Steve felt for him.

'You fucking dummy!'

'I – what did you just call me?'

'A dummy.' Okay, it's not exactly the best insult she ever came up with, but she has no choice but to double down on it now.

'No, earlier, you – you said – his boyfriend,' Eddie stutters out.

Robin merely shoots him an unimpressed glance.

'Steve thought we were boyfriends?!' he exclaims in a shrill voice. He looks at her like she just dropped some news about Vecna returning to Hawkins.

'Do you really have to look that disgusted about it?'

'No, I wasn't – Are you playing some kind of twisted prank on me here?'

'Do I look like this is a prank?'

He narrows his eyes at her. 'But... Why the hell would he want us to be boyfriends?'

'Because he liked you, you idiot!' she yells at him. 'Because he asked you out and you said yes and you were nice to him! Because he basically had those obnoxious little pink hearts floating around his head whenever you were together! Because you treated him with more kindness and respect than any girl he's ever dated before – well, until he wanted to celebrate your anniversary and you basically told him to fuck off when he wanted to take care of you while you were sick! Which you clearly aren't, by the way!'

'Don't be ridiculous here,' Eddie shoots back at her. 'Why would he ever want me to be his boyfriend?'

'Because – are you even listening to me?! Because he's in love with you!'

'Come on, Robin, you can't actually believe that,' he says, a tensed chuckle coloring the end of the sentence. 'He's Steve Harrington.' And he says that name in such a snide tone that it makes Robin flinch on her best friend's behalf.

'I mean, sure, he's fallen from his throne and all that,' he continues, 'but no one really changes that much. He was a dick! Don't you remember how he treated your band friends? Don't you remember how completely invisible you were to him? Don't you remember the names he called people like us? All the people he'd knock down to lift himself up?'

She doesn't avert her gaze, but only lifts her chin.

'You don't need to remind me,' she tells Eddie, trying her very best to sound as calm as possible. 'I remember. But I also remember how he snuck the most nerdy kids I ever met into the back of our ice cream store to let them watch movies for free. And I remember how he stuffed them with free ice cream when nobody was watching. I remember how he spent hours giving Dustin advice about his girlfriend – the advice was terrible, frankly, but that's not the point, it was well-meant.' No, stop, don't get distracted, she sternly tells herself, steering back to the topic at hand.

'I remember how he did everything in his power to get Dustin and Erica to safety when we all got caught in a goddamn nightmare. I remember how he almost died taking a bunch of punches for me.' She takes a quick breath before she goes on. 'I remember how he broke down in my arms because he felt so guilty about the person he used to be, the people he hurt when he was this asshole teenage boy doing asshole teenage boy shit. I remember how dumb he felt when he didn't get into any colleges again, I remember how scared he was when he figured out he liked boys, I remember how you were the one who made him finally feel some self-worth again when you guys started dating... And you know what else I remember? How you broke his heart yesterday. So you don't have to tell me what a dick he is, Eddie Munson. If you need to point fingers and call someone a dick so bad, don't you dare come for Steve. You better look in the mirror for that.'

Pt3 is here!

(Edit: it's actually 5 parts now. You can read the whole thing on ao3 here)

The amount of people asking to be tagged has frankly been unreal, woah! It honestly means so fucking much to me that you care enough about this silly lil story to ask for a tag 🥹 Seriously, thank you so much, and I hope you liked this part / the way the story is unfolding. I’d love to hear what y’all think <3

Taglist: @pluto-pepsi @i-less-than-three-you @estrellami-1 @epiclazershark @angelscoops @missmagillicuddy @fxndom-hoe @chaoticvictorianspirit @itsali-taken @merricatty @its-a-me-a-morgan @lilacrobin @adaydreamaway08 @starman-jpg @irethsune @starry-eyedlune @littlemsterious @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @lostonceandneverfound @a-gae-af-racoon @heartstarstar-blog @ignoretenderness @thehorrorandme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @vampireinthesun @ntwolf69 @thatonebadideapanda @jackiemonroe5512 @tinynebula @obliosworld @sleepy-time @daydreaming-mood @aizawa-emma @leethegay @irregular-child @just-a-tiny-void @evix-syne666

[thecreelhouse]

handle with care

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Eddie and Robin think Steve needs to get out more, but he ends up in what he believes to be the wrong place at the wrong time, until he meets you. (meet cute/ugly au!!)

WC: 2.7k

CW/Tags: language, alcohol, mentions of injuries/blood, teeth mention, super brief suggestive moment, but the rest is awkward yet sweet fluff, reader is GN except for one gendered term at the end I couldn’t work around (apologies!!)

A/N: 10 years ago I broke my tooth on some poor dude’s head while stage diving, so here’s a fic inspired by that LMAO. I didn’t realize how similar some of it is to an old fic I wrote in 2020 until I finished writing this, but the overall idea is different enough to still post imo. this is silly and I don’t expect anyone to read it but if you do, thanks and enjoy! <3

“Oh. Oh, dude… that looks rough.”

Steve’s stumbling out of the small yet packed crowd, holding his head while blood drips down his face. He looks miserable, to say the least.

“Last fucking time I let either of you drag me out to some shit like this.”

“Whoa, hey, man, it’s your fault for not knowing pit etiquette,” Eddie snarks back, still handing a napkin over to Steve.

As soon as it’s in his hand, Steve recoils and throws the napkin back at Eddie. “Why is this wet?”

“Found it on the bar—“

“Jesus Christ.”

Robin rolls her eyes, handing Steve a clean, dry napkin for the blood. “The hell happened?”

“Some fucking idiot decided to stage dive onto me, and something hard stabbed my forehead.”

Robin stifles a laugh, but Eddie doesn’t bother hiding his snicker. “Dude, I warned you about crowdsurfing, pits, and stage diving.”

“What happened to just… enjoying music with your ears?”

Eddie quips back, “There’s absolutely no fun in that, Harrington.” 

Steve drops into the barstool next to Robin, holding his head with a groan. She moves his hands away from the source of blood. “Let me see— oh, shit.”

“What? What happened? Is it bad?” Steve panics, but as he looks up, he sees Robin looking over his shoulder down the bar. Eddie follows her gaze, eyes narrowing at someone asking the bartender something, ending up with a glass of water.

“Think I found your idiot.”

Steve turns around, but too quickly, hit with dizziness instantly. “God, I’m never leaving the house without a fucking helmet ever again.”

“Hey, hey—“ Eddie calls out to you while you’re walking by the trio, rubbing your finger along the new, jagged edge of your tooth, lost in your thoughts. You spit into the closest trash can, blood tinged saliva finally off your tongue before taking a sip of water. Eddie’s hand lands on your shoulder, spinning you around. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Your brows scrunch together as you shrug his hand off of you. “What’s yours?”

“Is— did you break your tooth?” Robin can’t help asking as you run your thumb along the sharpness of your now damaged front tooth. 

You yell over the music, “Yeah, some fucking moron wasn’t moving with the crowd, and chipped my tooth! I think I hit their head while stage diving. Who the fuck comes to these shows to just stand there?”

Robin and Eddie both glance at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“What? What’s so fu—“ You glance between the two of them, then notice Steve, cradling his head in his hands as he holds a napkin to the wound; your face drops in a cruel mix of embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Oh my god— fuck, dude, I-  I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, no, it’s fine, it’s not like I haven’t had enough concussions in my lifetime, or anything.” Steve groans, side eyeing you. He’s about to give you more sass, only to become distracted with your face. You’re so … pretty. He was expecting some annoying, ‘tough guy’ to be the culprit, not someone cute like you. “I— it’s cool, what’s one more, right?”

Robin has to hold back her laughter at Steve’s attempt of a save, spinning around on the barstool as she tries hiding her face in her drink. She only ends up laughing, dribbling onto her shirt.

“Great job, Buckley, can’t take you anywhere either.”

Robin ignores Steve’s remark after the first few notes of another song begins, “Oh, wait! Hold on, hold—” She downs her drink before yelling, “I loooooove this song!” Looking over at you, she asks, “You two should be fine, right? Great!” She hops off the barstool before dragging Eddie into the crowd with her.

Immediately you take her seat, gently pushing Steve’s hair away from his face. “C’mon, lemme see the damage— oh no.”

Steve groans, lifting his head with his eyes screwed shut from the pain. “If I hear one more ominous “oh” I’m gonna lose it.”

His comment is shrugged off, “Probably should properly introduce myself, since, y’know, my tooth decided to meet your head first.” Your joke pops his eyes open, laughing for a moment until it worsens his pain with a cringe. “Ah— shit, sorry!” You shoot him an apologetic glance before offering your name.

Glancing up at you, getting a better view of your features, he stumbles over what should just be a simple response. “St- Ste— my name? It’s Steve.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back a giggle before continuing, “Steve, I got bad news for ya’.”

“What now?”

Taking over on blotting the wound, you move his hand away softly as your own adds pressure to stop the bleeding. He blushes under your touch, welcoming and soft in contrast to the sharp pain you accidentally left behind first.

“You’re gonna have to wear a bandage on that cute face for awhile.”

Steve laughs at your corny attempt of flirting; like he’s any better.

“Yeah, well…” His eyes meet yours, then fall to your smile. The part of your tooth cracked off isn’t terrible. Noticeable, sure, but somehow you make it work. “I got nothin’ clever to say, but you’re still cute with a broken tooth. Not easy to pull off.”

You roll your eyes playfully with a smile as kind as your touch.

“I’m so sorry me and my tooth happened to dive bomb into your pretty head,” You tease, using your free hand to rummage through your jacket pocket before finding a sealed bandage. “You mind if I see?”

“I mean… your tooth was literally in my head, so I don’t think you have to ask.”

“Okay, sassy pants, hold still.” You carefully remove the now bloody napkin away, noticing the gash is pretty rough, but not worth an ER trip, thankfully. The bleeding’s beginning to slow down.

“What’s the news, doc? Am I gonna make it?”

“Hm… not sure. Might need a drink for that,” You smirk, applying the bandaid to his head. Steve looks a little silly, but still terribly attractive. “Pick your poison, s’on me.”

“Oh, I- I—“ He glances up at you as you lean onto the bar, admiring how your outfit hugs you in all the right places. “S- surprise me?”

You give another smile before catching the bartender’s attention. Steve misses what you order with how hard his head is pounding, loud music no help whatsoever. You murmur a quick thanks before sliding a tip towards the bartender, handing Steve his drink before knocking your glass against his, “To the only idiots in this place.”

There’s cherries in both yours and his, but he has an extra; after taking a sip, his eyes go wide with nostalgia. “Why does this taste familiar?”

“Dirty Shirley!” You exclaim happily, but Steve looks confused. “Like, a Shirley Temple, but grown up! Get it? ‘Cause it’s got the vodka?” You force a laugh at your own bad humor, but the way you poke fun at yourself earns a genuine, soft laugh from Steve as he shakes his head. “Used to be my fave drink as a kid, and now it’s even better.”

“You didn’t get as many cherries as I did,” He points out with the slightest pout while you take a sip. 

“Told ‘em yours needed to be as sweet as you.”

“You’re knocking it outta the park with these corny lines.”

“Yeah? Enough to apologize for being a total asshole and flinging myself on you?”

Steve hums, lips on the edge of his glass, “Might need to try a little harder.” He knows he’s not a lightweight, so it can’t be the alcohol making him feel so airy and bold, it has to be the head injury. He reaches out to your chin, gently pulling on it to lower your bottom lip; you part your lips, catching on immediately as you try playing it cool, ignoring the way your breath hitches.

It’s got to be a weird sight out of context, watching Steve feel along your broken tooth, but it’s kind of on par for how weird this entire situation has been. “S’sharp. Does it hurt?” If this was any other stranger touching your tooth you just broke on their head, you’d be creeped out, but something about Steve’s demeanor shows he means no harm.

“Sore but it ain’t so bad. Got my nose cracked in a pit last year, that was worse.” You shrug while Steve looks at you like you’re insane; his hand pulls back before you become nosy. “So… gonna tell me why your polo wearing ass is in a place like this?”

He nods over to Robin and Eddie, bopping around the crowd. “Those two thought I needed to get out of the house more.”

“Shoulda’ picked something more your speed,” The comment’s lighthearted, but you feel bad instantly; you barely know Steve, you probably should ease up on the teasing.  “M’sorry again, like, for real. I got way too excited to stage dive for the first time, and it’s definitely my last.”

“Nah, you’re right, I stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”

“What? In a dive bar balls deep in the DIY scene? The whole point of subcultures in music like this is giving everyone a place to feel welcome, even if they’re cute dorks that don’t move with the crowd.” You catch yourself before rambling away about something you’re so passionate about. “If there’s ever a show you wanna go to and need someone to hang with, I’m always down for shit like this. Even if it’s something more your speed, just lemme know.”

Steve finds himself smiling over your offer, curiosity getting the best of him, “Why do you like all of this—” He gestures lazily around the club “—so much?”

You down the rest of your drink, “It’s a second home to me— and that sounds bizarre, I’m sure, ‘cause, like… how the hell do you feel at home in a room full of strangers? But I feel safer losing myself to the music with people who get it.” You pull a cherry out of the glass, popping it into your mouth with a pluck of the stem. “Whether I’m by myself or with friends, it beats being home home, I guess. Either way, I don’t feel so alone here.”

Steve watches you fidget with the cherry stem, mentally kicking himself for asking something so personal. “I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— that’s—“ He collects his thoughts for a moment, “I’m sorry if that put you on the spot to answer so… uh—“

“Keep your apology, Steve, you did nothing wrong. My bad for over sharing, I tend to do that… a lot.”

He shakes his head, “Hey, don’t— you keep your apology, too.” He’s not sure when his hand reached for your arm, softly squeezing it in a supportive gesture, but you don’t seem to mind. He laughs humorlessly, “Jesus, are you bad with that too? I feel like I’m apologizing all the time for just—“

“Just existing?”

“Yes!” He’s a little too excited to relate to someone with a personal struggle, but you don’t mind.

You lift his hand off of your arm, and for a moment he worries he was too forward, but you gently hold his hand in yours, pressing your palm against his. The two of you splay your fingers out, pressed up against one another.

“Don’t know why you’re scared of being in a pit with hands like this. Y’could totally take on jerks like me who get carried away.” Your comment isn’t meant to be anything more than harmless and playful, but once the words leave your lips, you curse yourself internally for how they’re phrased.

Steve’s brow quirks, and your mouth opens, about to apologize, but he beats you to it. “Can’t tell if that was supposed to be another corny pickup line or not.”

“… Maybe it is.” You smirk, but anxiously add, “Unless it’s— it doesn’t— not unless—“

“Unless I want it to be?” He finishes for you, intertwining his fingers with yours. “‘Cause I do.”

You beam with a nod, “So… you wanna hang out again? Like, for real, not this whole tooth in your head mess.”

Steve finally shoots a smooth response, “Can’t do that unless I have your number, y’know.”

“Oh— oh, duh, oh my god.” You lean over the bar, asking the bartender for a pen and paper, but he only has a pen; there’s probably something cliche in the way you’re writing your number on a bar napkin, when just minutes earlier, you used them to halt the bleeding from Steve’s head.

Scribbling it down, you hand it to Steve, but not before a tiny boost of confidence pushes you to add, “Might need your number too, in case one of your friends decides to use that napkin.” He side eyes you with a hint of a smile, writing and exchanging his number with you, too.

Neither of you notice Robin and Eddie across the room, yell-whispering to one another over the music as they gossip over the two of you.

“You saw that too, right? They did the hand thing, the hand thing!” Robin happily shouts, and Eddie chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Yeah, they’re definitely gonna fuck.” Eddie snickers and Robin jokingly smacks his shoulder.

“Bet they’re gonna be endgame.”

“Sure fuckin’ hope so, it’d be one hell of a story.”

—

Omitting anything inappropriate, especially the last part— told to you teasingly a month into dating Steve— you finish retelling the night you and Steve met.

“That’s how you met Daddy?” The twins’ reactions starkly contrast one another’s, as usual; your daughter is horrified, while your son is thrilled to learn this.

“S’so silly!” He falls onto his back from his spot on the floor, holding his tummy as he laughs loudly. 

“Did he glue your tooth back together?” Your daughter asks, blatantly ignoring that Steve has no dentistry experience whatsoever. You hold back your laughter, not wanting to make her feel bad. 

“No, honey, I actually spit it into—“

“— Into their hand, and safely took it to the dentist for him to fix the next day.” Steve rushes in as he walks by the room, overhearing the conversation; he looks to you, eyes wide, mouthing, “what are you doing?”

Your daughter runs to Steve, clinging to him like a koala. He laughs as he lifts her into his arms, watching as her tiny hands push his hair away from his face; he starts going cross eyed trying to follow her movement. 

“Sweetheart, what are you up to?” Steve chuckles as she runs her hand along his forehead, face displaying a state of determination.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Where’s the spot Mommy’s tooth hit your head?”

He glares down at you playfully while his daughter continues searching for a scar. Looking back at his daughter, he answers, “It faded awhile ago, probably from all the forehead kisses Mommy gave me.”

You force a fake cough, “Corny.” At the same time, both of your kids make “blech!” noises.

Before Steve can retort, your son runs to climb into your lap, excitedly asking, “Can you show me how to do that?”

Your brows furrow a bit but you laugh, “Show you how to do what, kiddo?”

“Stage diving!”

Both you and Steve exclaim a firm, “NO.” making your son pout, but only for a moment.

“S’okay, I’ll ask Uncle Eddie instead,” He slips off your lap, marching out of the room; his sister wriggles out of Steve’s grasp, and he takes the hint, setting her down gently. She gives a “hmph!” stomping out after her brother.

Once the coast is clear, the two of you burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Did you ever think us being absolute idiots would lead to all of this?” You find yourself asking Steve between giggles. He pulls you up off the chair and into his arms, kissing the top of your head as he laughs softly. 

“Not at all, but I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

You push his hair away from his face, finding the very faint scar from that fateful night years ago, pressing a soft kiss to the exact spot, thinking:

What a hell of a story.

[sunflowersteves]

family video || e.m.

pairing || eddie munson x fem!reader

summary || robin and steve were able to snag eddie munson a job at Family Video and it just so happens that the person of his dreams would be a regular customer.

author’s notes || i refuse to believe vol 2 just happened so here’s a fluffy fic where eddie is most certainly alive

warnings || season 4 vol 2 spoilers, fluff

masterlist

“Does it always feel this weird?”

Robin tapped her finger on the table, bored out of her mind. “Does what feel weird?”

Eddie shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe the fact that we saved the world a week ago from a monster-psychopath that tried to open four portals to another dimension in the middle of Hawkins and everything is just…Normal?”

Steve grunted while continuing to shelve the movies onto the small cases, “after the four times you save the world,” he sighed, “you get used to it.” 

Eddie could only groan, feeling like he was slightly going insane. After the entire town was out to get him for being a ‘freak’ and accusing him of starting a cult for Chrissy’s murder, he’s not sure he could move on. 

The government tried its best at covering everything up, immediately giving Eddie an alibi and insisting he was innocent. The Goverment also made sure that Chrissy’s death had been a closed case, giving some excuse about drugs and her abusive mom being the culprit. Jason was then put under investigation as a suspect for her murder, just so the accusations could be muddled easier. After a couple of weeks of investigating, Jason was arrested for attacking Lucas and Erica.

Eddie would still sometimes get looks from neighbors and people in Hawkins, but for the most part, he was left alone. No one really wanted to confront him after everything that had happened. 

Robin and Steve luckily were able to beg Keith for Eddie to get a job. They had to practically be on their hands and knees. Eddie was grateful, though. It was a distraction where he could fuck around with his friends and not worry about his problems.

“Great, love to see it.” Robin just snickered at Eddie before immediately receiving a glare.

"How are you so unaffected by this?" Eddie started to fiddle with his rings.

Robin shrugged, "What, Eddie, you want credit or something?" Before he could make a snarky comment back, their conversation cut off by the sound of the ringing bell on top of the door. 

“Welcome to Family Video—” Eddie’s breath left his lungs when he looked up from the computer. Oh, wow, oh shit—

You stood there with a genuine smile on your face, elbows leaning on the counter, while looking at the metalhead in front of you. You were talking to him, and he, for sure, had no idea what the fuck you were saying. 

He just had the wind knocked out of him, and all he wanted to do was stare at your perfect—beautiful—lovely face. The curve of your nose, the way your tongue clicked against your teeth, your eyes staring right back at his—yeah, he was totally fucked. 

“Hey, dingus, she asked you a question.” Robin had her eyebrow raised at the metalhead in front of him. He snapped out of his daze, brown doe eyes wide as he tried to recall what you had said. 

“I–Um–” Robin couldn’t help but have an amusing look on her face. The Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson was nervous? He was normally the utmost confident one by shouting and yelling about everything and anything. But here he was, completely and utterly speechless. 

“I was just wondering if you had a copy of Teen Wolf. Sorry, I just couldn’t find it on the shelves when I came yesterday.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, I–um–can show you.” He led the way towards the back of the video store and picked out the exact copy for you. He couldn’t help but feel hot—sweaty and sticky. Was it hot in here? Did Steve forget to turn on the AC?

“Here.” He handed you the copy, but not before your fingers brushed against each other. He could feel his own heart pounding against his ears. You were soft—so so soft. The tingling sensation never left while you smiled brightly at him.

God, you were just so beautiful. He hoped you would come to see him every single day of his entire life. 

“See you around, Munson.”

He deadpanned. You knew his name?

~~

The next time that you came back to the video store was three days from when he had first met. And you bet, Eddie definitely counted each passing minute that you didn’t return the VHS. But he knew that you had to. You just did.

It was another very boring day with Steve and Robin, not much traffic since the weekend was over. He was currently sketching in his book and trying very hard to come up with a new story for the campaign on Friday. 

He heard the bell to the door ring but didn’t bother to look up. He figured that if they needed anything, they would ask him or Robin for help. He was still sketching, his pencil making light marks on the sheets of paper.

“What are you up to, Munson?” 

His heart immediately burst. You. You were here. You were standing right in front of him with a slight teasing gleam in your eyes. Your head was cocked slightly to the side, and your smile was so completely infectious. 

“Oh, it’s just– it’s just for my club that’s this Friday.” 

You blinked, eyelashes falling perfectly onto your face. “Hellfire club? Aren’t you the president?”

Oh. Oh. You knew of the hellfire club? He knew that you weren’t a part of the popular crowd, but he didn’t realize you were into nerdy stuff either.

He was floored, absolutely floored. “You know of my club?” 

You propped your elbows up onto the counter, trying to get a better look at his sketching. “Yeah, my little brother loves D&D, so I’ve played it quite a few times.”

He licks his lips, eyes darting slightly nervously.  “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He sees that you still had Teen Wolf in your hands, and it was leaning against the side of your hip. Right, yeah, work. He has stupid work to do. 

“Here, I can check that back in if you want.” He reaches for the movie, and your eyes widen slightly. Oh, yeah. The movie that you had rented. To be honest, you had forgotten about it. 

You hand it back to him and watch as his eyes scan for your name on the computer. He then types a little on the computer, which you definitely took advantage of by looking at his hands. And oh, wow, his hands. They weren’t perfectly manicured or anything, but the rings that adorned his fingers definitely sprouted butterflies in your stomach.

He turned to you, smiling, “there. you’re all set.” You give him one right back and almost turn to leave. 

“Hey, what if you came to our club?” He leaned just a bit closer towards you.

“What?”

“This Friday at 6:30. Our club meets in Ms. Hank's classroom.” 

You look down at the fake wooden table for just a second as if you’re contemplating. In reality, you were trying to hide that bubbling feeling inside you as he stared at you with such intensity. 

“I might just take you up on that offer.” Before he could even react, you gave a quick kiss on his cheek. His mouth popped open in surprise, he could hear Robin and Steve gasp in the background.

But you had that cheeky smile on your face. Your eyes sparkled once more as you stared at his startled face. You let out a consent sigh before turning around and leaving the store. All he could do was beam. 

“See you around, Munson.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i literally have no idea what this is, or where it came from but here's a thing:

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,043 | rated: M (will be E in next part)

Eddie Munson was not Steve’s bi awakening, okay? He wasn’t.

He just happened to be standing in the middle of Family Video dressed like his bi awakening (and it didn’t help that he already had an embarrassingly huge crush on the guy).

Steve had come out of the back none the wiser to what he was about to see, glancing up from the tape he was carrying for someone who’d called earlier. His eyes met big, clunky, worn-in cowboy boots, long lean legs (and very nice ass–damn, they’ve got one of those stupid bandanas in their back pocket too) in classic Levis so tight they looked like they were painted on, the back of leather jacket (--hold on), and the back of a head of long, wild-looking, sun-kissed, yet still dark hair.

After his seconds-long oogling, Robin, who was chatting with Bon Jovi’s twin at the counter, glances behind him at Steve. 

Bon Jovi tries to turn and look back without taking himself off the counter, but when that insane hair of his gets in the way, he shoves up off the counter and spins on one heel.

“Munson? Where the hell’ve you been?” Steve thanks whatever it is up there that the surprise of seeing Eddie again temporarily suspends his frazzled ‘hothothothothot’ thoughts about his friend enough to respond normally.

“Damn, Stevie, been gone all summer and all I get is a ‘The hell’ve you been’?”

“Of course, asshole, you’ve been gone All. Summer.” Steve says, finally getting to the counter himself and dropping the tape on it. He scoops Eddie up in a tight hug, one long won from their month of recovery post-Vecna.

Everything went fine, Vecna was dead, the upside-down sealed away, but they hadn’t all left unscathed. Specifically Steve and Eddie, both of whom ended their spring break from hell nursing bat wounds, and closer than ever before. 

Then, after finally graduating, being hailed a hero for “saving” Max and Dustin from the real killer (thank you, suspicious government people), Eddie was hauled out of Hawkins by his Uncle, the former of whom got just enough time for a quick ‘Gotta go, Wayne wants me helping out at the farm this summer,’ before he was gone.

“I told you I would be, Harrington,” Eddie says once Steve sets him back down on his own two feet.

“So what happened? Where’ve you really been?”

Eddie raises a brow, “At the farm. Like I said.”

“Okay, well, excuse me for thinking it may have been the same 'farm' my parents said my childhood dog was sent off to.”

“You think my Uncle was gonna take me upstate to shoot me dead?”

“Obviously not, dumbass, but what other goddamn reason would you, Eddie Munson, have to be on a farm. Like with cows and stuff?”

“Though the sun did you some favors,” Robin cuts back in.

And isn’t that the truth. Up close now (and letting himself look), Steve could see how Eddie’s normally dark hair and pale complexion were now sun-kissed and so well be-freckled that it sent his stomach for another rollercoaster ride.

“Yeah, Munson, you planning on keeping the blond around?” Steve teases, picking up a strand of sun-lightened hair off Eddie’s shoulder and giving it a short tug.

“I don’t know, I’m not really used to how light…”

Whatever Eddie says after that is completely drowned out by ringing in Steve’s ears because Eddie stretches an arm up to paw at the top of his head and he’s wearing a crop top.

He’s wearing a goddamn crop top under his jacket, some band tee that looks like he’d hacked off himself..and are those abs?? God damn he is so fine. It’s not fucking fair. Who does he think he is running around like Steve’s own personal wet dre–

“Holy shit.”

He couldn’t help it. The words just fell out of his mouth.

“H-holy shit, you’ve got abs, Eddie!”

‘Thank you, Robin.’ Steve thinks at her absently since his brain is completely preoccupied..

“Wha–? Oh! Yeah! Check me out, huh?!” Eddie grins wide, lifting his shirt just a bit more to show off the toned expanse of stomach. 

Steve’s mouth goes bone dry.

“And that’s not all,” Eddie says. He drops his shirt and shucks the jacket off his shoulders.

His very well sculpted shoulders.

And arms.

And oh god those hands. Steve could hear the soft scrapes of rough callouses against the leather when Eddie threw the garment onto the counter beside him and his only thought was about how they might feel against his skin..

Still beaming, Eddie flexes one, then both arms, his biceps bunching under more tanned skin. “I got a lot of ‘lifting heavy things and putting them back down again’ in over the summer.” he continues, “I’m probably stronger than you now, Harrington.”

“Ha haha, right..yeah. Robin, can you excuse us for a second?”

Steve doesn’t wait for her response before he grabs Eddie around one of those absolutely delicious biceps and hauls him through the store and out the back door.

He lets a grinning Eddie go as soon as they’re through the back door, taking a couple steps away towards the woods behind their building, and trying to calm down with measured breaths.

When he does turn around, Eddie’s stood away from the door, one hip cocked out and his arms crossed across his chest.

The grin on his face has melted down into a smirk though, and the look in his eyes is less teasing and more cautious.

Steve steps back up close to the other man, and literally starts to circle him like a shark. Scanning his eyes up and down Eddie’s body as he does.

“What’s goin’ on Stevie? Looking for some style tips?” he jokes.

Steve doesn’t answer, and starts his second cycle around his friend.

“You know, maybe get rid of some of those polos?” Eddie sounds just a bit more unsure this time.

Steve’s behind Eddie’s right shoulder when he speaks again. “You think you can barge back in after all this time, looking like that,” Steve comes around to stand in front of Eddie again, “And not expect me to react?”

Eddie grins wickedly again, and steps back at the same time Steve steps forward.

“Expect me to not want to devour you whole?”

“You expect me to want that, big boy?” Eddie says as he’s pressed between Steve and the closed back door.

Steve rears back immediately, “Shit, Eddie, I’m sor–”

“‘Cause I do.” Eddie grabs hold of Steve and spins them around, pressing the younger man back against the door instead. “Ohhh boy, do I want that.”

Steve groans as Eddie slots their hips together, “You really are a big boy, aren’t you sunshine?”

“The things I’m gonna do to you..” Steve growls out, Eddie’s jaw snapping open with his words.

They’re both startled away from the back door when Robin bangs on it, “You’ve got five minutes to get back in here before I drag you back in! It’s Friday and we’re about to get busy!” she yells through the door.

He hears her converse squeak on the tile inside the door as she heads back to the front, then chances a look at Eddie.

He looks as red as Steve feels, from the bit of his face he can see from behind the hair he holds over it.

“Eddie–”

“It’s cool, Harrington,” he wheezes out a dry laugh, glancing over at him, “Better get in for the rush before Robin comes back.

He reaches for the handle again, but is stopped short by a hand on his wrist.

“Listen, Eddie.” Steve says, giving the other man’s arm a soft tug to get him to turn around. “I may have gotten a little…over enthusiastic…”

Eddie’s face scrunches up in a weird way.

“No! Not in a bad way, unless you weren’t as into it as I was–doesn’t matter! Point is, I may have gone a little crazy, but I wasn’t faking it.”

“I don’t think guys can fake it, Steve-o.” Eddie jokes softly, a small smile on his face.

Steve chuckles just as soft, “Shut up man, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“I think you do.”

“I dunno Steve," Eddie shrugs sarcastically, "You’re quite an enigma.”

“Okay, fine, here’s it spelled out for you: I am super into you.” Steve puts up a finger to stop whatever it is Eddie was about to say, “Hold on– I am bisexual, have been for a while and would like to try this..with you. If you want.”

“You gotta be more specific on what ‘this’ is, sunshine.” Eddie steps close to him once again.

Steve smirks, walking Eddie backward to the door again with both hands on his waist. Once he’s got him pressed back against the warm metal, he scoops the hair away from Eddie’s ear and holds it out of the way with a hand on the back of his neck.

He leans in, whispering right into Eddie’s ear. “I want to take you apart, Eddie.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and Steve can feel the man’s heart hammering against his own chest.

“I want to suck you down, eat you out, and fuck you into next Tuesday.” He states, nipping on his earlobe for good measure before pulling back. 

Steve takes in Eddie’s flushed face, his eyes blown out they’re almost completely black, his chest heaving.

“I’d also like to totally romance you and date the fuck out of you, but…” he shrugs, grinning as Eddie smacks his chest lightly with a laugh of his own.

“I’m serious though, Eddie. I want this.”

Eddie’s smile falls slightly. “You sure about the whole dating thing, Harrington? You know you can’t date me for real..like in public and shit.”

Steve shrugs, “I know, but… I don’t think I’d survive something casual with you, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’d been punched.

He takes back in a deep breath, then pulls Steve flush to him again.

“I think that sounds amend—-”

Eddie’s forehead smashes into Steve’s nose when Robin shoves the door open behind Eddie.

“Damn! I knew the door was a bad idea.” Steve says, his voice coming out nasally from where he’s pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Time’s up, Dingus, get your fruity butt inside.”

Eddie chuckles after her, leading Steve inside. “You shouldn’t tip your head back, lean forward and let it drain out.”

“Ugh, you sure? I’ll get blood all over me,”

“I’m sure, sweetheart, I’ve had a few bloody noses in my time.”

“Here,” Robin says once they reach the counter.

Steve takes the offered tissues, and soaks up the small trickle of blood.

“You still wanna date me if my nose is crooked?” he asks Eddie, who’s (sadly) shrugging his coat back on.

He pretends to think for a moment. “Sorry Stevie, that’s a dealbreaker. Even if it was my forehead what done it.”

“Ugh you’re such a dweeb, I don’t know what you see in him, Steve.”

“He’s hot, okay? And he’s still hot even after he rejected me just now.” Steve states matter-of-factly while shoving a wad of tissue into the one nostril still bleeding.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Very.”

“No, you’re gross. You guys are both gross.”

“Oh Birdie, you should've heard the things he was saying to me outside; all ‘Ooh Eddie, your muscles are so big and so is your hair and also your di—’”

“OKAY! That’s enough of that!” Steve cuts him off, pushing the still grinning Eddie toward the door, then, a softer: “Yours or mine after I’m off?” once they’re at the door.

“Definitely yours, unless you want Wayne to be privy to our shenanigans.”

“Yeah, that’s a no. Also, shenanigans? Really? You’re a super dweeb.” Steve smirks, pushing his boyfr— frien— Eddie out the front door. “I’m off at four, see you at five?”

Eddie fumbles backward over the curb but manages to catch himself, “It’s a date, Steve.”

He watches Eddie climb up into his van, and follows its path down the road and out of sight with a dreamy sigh.

“You still have tissues in your nose, Dingus.”

part 2/2 here | and on AO3!

definitely inspired by this post from @sparrowtapes

[steddieas-shegoes]

Happy day of survival, Eddie!

Steve doesn’t leave the hospital.

He says it’s because Max’s mom can’t be reached and he doesn’t want her to wake up alone, which is true, but that’s not the main reason.

Wayne Munson looks haunted.

His nephew has been borderline dead for hours now, and they won’t let anyone back to see him or give any updates other than he’s still alive, not dead, heart beating, blood still forcefully exiting the body through multiple wounds.

It’s not looking good.

It’s beyond touch and go.

It’s go and go. Touch and touch?

Steve doesn’t fucking know. He just knows they’ve never been here before.

And he didn’t know what to do about it.

Max was in surgery getting the bones in her legs fixed. They expected her to stabilize after surgery, but she’d have a long road ahead.

Eddie was in surgery to get internal bleeding under control so they could focus on the external bleeding. They were giving him blood as quickly as he was losing it.

Wayne had given two pints the moment he arrived, despite the doctors recommending he not give more than one since he hadn’t eaten all day.

Steve was a match, but they wouldn’t take from him because he’d suffered significant blood loss himself. No matter how much he argued, they turned him away, said they could find other donors.

He tried every time he saw a new nurse. But they must have all been warned about the ‘kid trying to kill himself via voluntary blood loss.’

So they all waited.

Wayne paced. Robin would just stare into space, then look at Steve, then the clock, then space again. Nancy was trying to manage the kids, making sure that all the parents were contacted and Dustin’s ankle was being looked at. Jonathan and Argyle had disappeared with Hopper and Joyce almost immediately, and Steve couldn’t really find it in himself to care about that.

They waited.

The kids all went to Max’s recovery room the moment they were allowed. Nancy waited outside for the parents to show up. Robin’s parents had shown up and insisted she leave with them and Steve agreed; No use waiting here when she could wait at home.

But Steve and Wayne waited.

They sat across from each other, but didn’t look at each other or talk.

Wayne watched the doors, Steve watched the clock.

Four hours is a long time to be in surgery.

Five hours is a very long time to be in surgery.

Six hours is too long to be in surgery.

At hour seven, Steve finds one of the nicer nurses from earlier to try to get any kind of update that wasn’t just ‘he’s still alive.’

“Excuse me. Is there anything new on Eddie Munson?”

“Oh, you’re still here? Sweetie, you need to get some rest!”

“I’m fine. I just need to know how Eddie’s doing.”

He could feel Wayne’s eyes on him, but he ignored them for now.

“He’s still alive. They’d let you know if he wasn’t.”

“Yes, but how much longer will they be?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“It has. He had a lot of very serious injuries.”

“I know, it just.” He sighed and shook his head. “He was asking for me when they brought him back. He was awake. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

He felt a warm weight on his shoulder. He turned to see Wayne standing beside him, sad smile pointed at the nurse.

“C’mon Steve. Let’s take a little walk.”

“What if they’re done while we’re gone?”

Wayne looked at the nurse. “Just going to the cafeteria. Come find us please.”

“Can do, Mr. Munson.”

Wayne gently guided Steve out of the waiting room, down the only hall that wasn’t closed with double doors. They passed some offices, a few supply closets, and made it to the cafeteria. It was busy, a fair mix of doctors, nurses, and visitors bustling through the line to grab some dinner or lunch or midnight snack. Steve had no idea what time it was.

“How about some sandwiches? They got premade ones over there so we don’t have to wait in line.”

“Sure.”

Steve followed Wayne towards the sandwiches, surprised to find they looked decent. He pulled out his wallet and started to shuffle through the few bills he had left from their trip to War Zone when he felt Wayne’s hand on his.

“They aren’t charging right now because of the quake.”

“Oh.”

Steve put his wallet away and picked out a ham, cheese, and mustard sandwich. He wasn’t really hungry, but he knew Wayne wasn’t going to let him leave if he didn’t try.

They sat down at a table in the far corner, no one at the surrounding tables despite the crowd hovering at the entrance.

They both took a bite of their sandwich, Steve resisting the nausea building up to get something in his system.

“So.”

Steve stared at Wayne.

“Didn’t know you knew Eddie.”

“We kinda just met.”

“He’s mentioned you before.”

Steve knew his reputation, especially to people like Eddie. He may not have ever done anything directly to him, but he was around to watch it happen. He did his best not to cower from Wayne.

“I’m sure it wasn’t anything good. Look, Mr. Munson…”

“Uh uh. Let me finish.”

Steve nodded, eyes wide in fear of what Wayne would say.

“I remember him coming home one day his junior year saying there was this kid with this great hair that got all the girls. He sounded pretty jealous, but not of you.” Wayne raised his eyebrows, seeing if Steve understood. He did. “He didn’t say anything else until his second senior year. He came home with a black eye and I asked what the hell happened and he said you saved his ass from much worse. Remember that?”

The memory hit him hard.

Tommy had been stupid, like always. Eddie had been feeding into it, like always. Tommy got carried away and started pushing Eddie around. Eddie tried to walk away, Tommy refused to let him. He shoved him against the wall and threw two punches in a row at his eye before Steve was able to pull Tommy away and convince him to let Eddie go.

“I’d forgotten, but yeah.”

“He brought you up sometimes after that. About how you seemed different. But still didn’t have the courage to see for himself. Guess that changed?”

“In a way. We didn’t have much of a choice with this. I don’t know that he’d wanna be around me outside of…all of this.”

“Let’s ask him when he wakes up. I’ll make a bet with you.” Wayne smirked. Steve had no idea how he was holding it together so well. “I bet $5 he asks for you the moment he wakes up.”

“You don’t think he’ll ask for you? Or Dustin?”

“Nope. It’ll be you.”

“Alright. $5?”

“$5.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

Steve managed to have about half of his sandwich before giving up. He still felt nauseous especially when he saw that the clock was broken and he had no real idea for how long they were sitting in there.

Wayne didn’t comment as they made their way back to the waiting area, just followed behind him, slight limp present from sitting in hospital chairs for too long.

They were only sitting down for about ten minutes when a nurse came over to Wayne. She looked like she had bad news.

Steve walked over to listen in.

“He may not wake up. He’s stable, but his status could change quickly. You can see him if you’d like, but be prepared for a lot of machines keeping him alive. He has a lot of stitches.”

“He’s alive?”

Steve hadn’t meant to speak, but couldn’t help the relief flooding out of him.

Wayne nodded at him, tears shining in his eyes.

“He’s alive.”

Steve repeated so he could believe it.

He’d spent the last 12 hours trying to convince himself Eddie couldn’t die, but now he had to convince himself he was alive.

“I’ll wait here, Mr. Munson.”

Despite the fact his brain and body were trying to force him to go see for himself that Eddie was alive, he knew Wayne needed to go first.

“Nonsense. You’re coming with me. The boy’s got two hands to hold, don’t he?”

Steve blushed, but nodded.

They followed the nurse through the doors Steve had been so convinced were locked, but had really just been closed. She walked them down a hall, then turned right down another hall, and left down a hall that was much darker, but had more doctors bustling around.

She stopped outside of room 327, turning to both of them.

“Visiting hours are technically over, but they’re giving you permission to stay. It helps patients to have company even when in a coma.”

Steve and Wayne nodded and thanked her before walking through the doorway.

She’d been right to warn them; machinery was hooked up to almost all available skin. He had one IV on his right hand that connected to a liquid bag to keep him hydrated, and one on his left hand for another blood transfusion. More tubes were coming out of various places, and he had an oxygen mask on his face instead of just the usual cannulas Steve had seen before.

“Oh, Eds.”

Wayne pulled the chair to by the door over to his bed and sat down, gently touching his fingers and letting out the tears he’d probably been holding in for hours.

“You better come back to us, boy.”

Steve stood at the end of the bed, feeling like he was intruding on Wayne’s moment, but knowing saying anything or leaving would just interrupt it more.

“Grab the other chair and sit on that side, Steve.”

Who was Steve to argue?

He sat and placed his fingers on top of Eddie’s, frowning when the heart monitor started beating more rapidly.

Wayne looked over at their hands and then the heart monitor, a knowing smirk crossing his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?”

“I thought he got over it.”

“Got over what?!”

Steve was trying not to get impatient, but Wayne wasn’t making any sense and Steve’s head hurt and he was exhausted and just wanted to rest.

“His crush on you.”

“His what?”

“St…eve?”

Steve’s head turned to Eddie so quickly, he practically gave himself whiplash.

“Eddie?!”

He didn’t want to remove the oxygen mask, but he wanted so badly to see the full smile he knew Eddie was giving him.

“We win?”

His voice was barely audible, but Steve could make out the gist of it.

“Yeah, babe. We won.”

“Wayne?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Did…he…just say…babe?”

Wayne snorted. “He did.”

“‘M high.”

Steve squeezed his fingers gently, and then leaned over to kiss his forehead.

“Go back to sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

“‘Kay. Luh you bo’.”

“Love ya, kid.”

Steve remained quiet, but looked up at Wayne after he was sure Eddie was actually back asleep.

“You know, I got to know him a lot better over the last few days. They say you don’t really know someone until you’ve seen them at their worst.” Steve shrugged. “I think we saw each others worst at different times and still managed to be here. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Wayne reached a hand over and covered his and Eddie’s fingers.

“Yeah, kid. I think it means somethin’ pretty important.”

When Eddie woke up the next day, he was lucid enough to remove his own oxygen mask and start whisper yelling about his throat being dry.

Wayne shook his head and said he needed some fresh air, but he knew that was just to give Steve some privacy.

“I got you some water. Doctor says small sips and you can only have a few at a time.”

“Doc can…suck my…dick.”

“I’d rather he didn’t.”

“Why? Jealous?”

Steve had no control here. He wasn’t used to it.

“Yeah, actually.”

Eddie’s eyes searched his face for any sign of teasing, but found none. Of course he wouldn’t. Steve had spent the last 24 hours figuring out he was kind of halfway in love with Eddie already.

Robin was gonna lose her shit.

“When…can…I leave?”

“Not any time soon. You’ve got a lot of healing to do.”

“But…”

“Nope. Put your oxygen back on before they come yell at you.”

He groaned, but did as Steve asked.

He fell asleep minutes later, Steve’s fingers tracing patterns on his palm.

He wasn’t sure of many things; Eddie’s name still had to be officially cleared, the kids still had to visit, and Eddie had to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. But he knew that he was where he was supposed to be. With Eddie.

Part 2

[finntheehumaneater]

I owe you a black eye and two kisses (pt 9)

(Part one) (part 10)

playlist | pinboard | ao3

(Notes and taglist under the cut)

Steve really was good at looking sad and pathetic. He had showed up at Robin’s doorstep with tears streaming down his face, his hair flopping over in a way that he didn’t, and Mr. Buckley had let him right in and sat him down at the kitchen, getting him something to drink.

Steve wiped his eyes, looking around the kitchen. There were pictures everywhere, some of Mr and Mrs Buckley, some of Robin when she was a kid and her hair was longer. Steve had let her cut it once in the back room of Scoops Ahoy because it had been bugging her.

“I’ll go get Bobby,” he said softly, running his hand over Steve’s shoulder for a moment before heading upstairs. It only took a moment before Steve could hear the footsteps rushing down the stairs, and then there were arms thrown around him, a cheek pressed against his.

“Gods, Dingus, I thought you died!” Robin sobbed, and Steve found it hard to breathe with how tightly she was hugging him, but he just hugged her back, letting out a quiet, broken sob of his own as he shook his head.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” She questioned softly, not pulling away, and Steve struggled to take in a breath at first.

“I—I was at Wayne’s,” he whispered, and he felt Robin go tense and still.

“Wayne’s? Like—Wayne Munson? What were you doing there?”

“Eddie brought me, I—I don’t…” his words caught in his throat. He needed to stop crying. His voice came out as a whisper when he next spoke. “I think I’m in love, Robin…”

“With Wayne?”

“No, with Eddie—“ Steve startled a laugh, pulling away, smiling even though he was sad. He was more than sad, he was ruined. “I mean, Wayne’s good looking, yeah, but…I was talking about Eddie.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed out, looking down. “You love him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t…know what it feels like, really. It was different with Nancy, but…this feels…better. But—but he hates me, Robs, I…I don’t know what to do!”

“I mean, of course he hates you,” Robin stated, shrugging as she grabbed a seat and pulled it next to the chair Steve was sitting in. “You were kind of an asshole to him.”

“I know! But I’ve been nice to him, now! I’ve been trying so hard to just…make him like me, and…” he trailed off when he heard Robin sigh. “What?”

“Steve…being nice to him now doesn’t really make up for what you did before. I mean—it’s great that you’re working towards being a better person and all, but that doesn’t erase what you’ve done in the past.”

Oh. She was right, of course, but it made Steve feel horrible. He had done all of that for nothing. Even if he was better now, Eddie was still going to hate him, no matter what he did. 

“Oh, Steve…” Robin whispered, taking his hand gently in hers and sighing again. Steve just shook his head, pulling his head back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have said that—“ Robin started to say, but Steve looked up and took her hand again.

“No, no, you’re right. I’m just being stupid, I—I’m stupid, that’s all. Can’t expect people to like me when I’m horrible, can I?”

Robin’s eyes widened and she shook her head, squeezing Steve’s hand. “You’re not horrible. Or stupid.”

“I am, though, aren’t I?” Steve muttered, giving her a shaky smile. “Can’t even make friends anymore now that I’m not an asshole. The kids don’t want me around anymore because they’re worried I’ll—I don’t even know…and every time I try to talk to someone they look at me like I’m….” He closed his eyes, dropping his head down. “Like I’m stupid. Because I am.”

Robin went silent, and a part of Steve wanted her to argue—to tell him that he was wrong and that he wasn’t an idiot—but the rest of him wanted her to know that he was right. He wasn’t smart like Dustin or Mike or Nancy or Robin. He asked stupid questions and he said stupid things, and—fuck, he was a dingus, wasn’t he?

“Everyone’s different in their own—“

“Please don’t, Robin,” he begged, his breath hitching. “I don’t want hear that I’m special or I’m different, I—I’m not. There’s nothing fucking special about me. I’m—I’m Steve fucking Harrington, the rich asshole kid who’s parents don’t even love him—“ 

“Shut up,” Robin snapped, glaring at him. He flinched, looking away as a few tears fell down his cheeks, and her tone softened, bringing his hand to her chest. “You’re none of those things, okay? And I’m not going to tell you what you are, because you need to realize that for yourself. Understand?”

Steve nodded, and Robin pulled him in for a hug, letting him cry against her shirt, his whole body shaking as she held him. He wanted to stop crying, but he couldn’t. He could have lost her at Starcourt. He could of lost his best fucking friend before he really got a chance to get to know her. And they were still getting to know each other, really—still figuring out what was okay and what wasn’t, when to back off and when to keep pushing.

“I should apologize to him—“ Steve finally chokes out, but Robin cuts him off again.

“Did you do anything wrong?”

“I…no, but..”

“Then you’re not apologizing to him, Dingus,” she says simply, one hand coming up to tug at the sleeve of his shirt, and Steve smiled. 

She was right, again. Eddie would have to come to him and apologize. And Steve would wait here—for as long as Mr. And Mrs. Buckley would let him—until Eddie did.

Slightly shorter bit today, y’all, because the next part will be longer than usual and I am so fucking tired today :)

taglist, which is open:

@estrellami-1

@randombibitch

@insteviewetrust

@anne-bennett-cosplayer

@hack-saw2004

@lolawonsstuff

@goodolefashionedloverboi

@slowandsteddie

@ellietheasexylibrarian

@mugloversonly

@littlebluejane

@zombiethingy

@steddie-island

@rozzieroos

@ohimamarigold

@origamiplushie

@mamafaithful

@stillfullofshit

@gleek4twd

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@anaibis

@xxfiction-is-my-realityxx

@honhonbaguettegofuckyourself

@kickpuncher2punchkicker

@dissociatingdemon

@itsall-taken

@pluto-pepsi

@lawrencebshoggoth

@manda-panda-monium

@flustratedcas

@here4thetrauma

@silentiumdelirium

@limpingpenguin

@samsoble 

@hotluncheddie

@sangrientojoe

@moomkin77

@jamieweasley13

@private-jett

@eyeharttart

@y4r3luv

@ultimatezuku

@emelieluckwood

@foundintheshadows (maybe??)

@archermightbegay

@queenie-ofthe-void

@saramelaniemoon

[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. 

[morganski-19]

The One Where It All Started

This takes place about a year before the rest of the posts will be taking place. Just to set the stage before the real schnenanigans start.

“So I said that was a terrible idea, because there was barely any research done so it would be misleading to the readers, right,” Nancy continued her story about the piece she’s been working on at work.

“Yeah, that would make me pissed,” Robin added, following along.

Nancy nods in agreement as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Exactly. I would rather print nothing than something they made up. But of course, the boss doesn’t think so. I’m thinking of dropping the project, so my name isn’t attached to it, but then that just means I ‘didn’t have faith in the work’. No shit I don’t, it’s completely fake.”

“Fuck those guys,” Steve adds, partially listening as he’s grading his student’s assignments.

Jonathan and Argyle walk into the café, finding the group at their normal seats and joining them.

“My dudes,” Argyle bellows. “How’s it going?”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Nancy groans.

Jonathan winces. “Those assholes at work again?”

“Yes,” Nancy exclaims. “I need to find another job but this is the best I could get after school.”

“Could be worse,” Robin adds.

“I know, I just hate working there.”

Steve stares at the paper in front of him with a confused expression. “What do you guys think of this one?”

He turns the paper around to reveal a hand turkey covered with red drops resembling blood. What would normally be the feathers are now plucked off and surrounding the turkey leaving the pink underneath. Or at least that’s what it looks like. It could just be pink feathers and a turkey standing on a pile of leaves. But that wouldn’t explain the X’s for eyes.

“Are you seriously grading hand turkeys right now?” Robin rolls her eyes. “And you think your job is hard.”

“Try to teach a bunch of first graders basic math after they’re all hyper from recess and then get back to me. And it’s not just hand turkeys. There’s also spelling tests somewhere in here.”

Jonathan takes the paper from Steve’s hand, showing it to Argyle better with a very concerned glare. “I think you might need to talk to this kid.”

“He drew a murdered turkey, dude. Kid’s got issues.”

Steve takes the picture back, assessing it more. “I mean, those could be leaves.”

Robin points to the picture. “And that’s not blood.”

“Yeah, I need to talk to the kid.” Steve turns it over and sees the name. “Wait, this is Bobby’s. His parents hunt wild turkeys. That’s normal.”

A man with long, brown curly hair approaches the group, wearing a leather jacket with a band tee and black jeans. “Sorry to interrupt but, Wheeler?” He turns toward Nancy, pointing softly at her.

“Oh my god, Eddie?” Nancy smiles standing up to give him a hug. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since high school.”

“Eh, it’s been better. But you, I saw the article you did last month. Best thing I ever read in the news.” Eddie sits down on the chair across from Nancy.

Steve is trying his hardest not to stare and keep grading his stack of papers, but it’s hard. Robin elbows him in the side and widens her eyes in a “Really?”. Steve shrugs in his defense, taking a sip of his mocha. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Aw, thank you. I worked hard on that. What are you up to now?”

“Kinda between jobs at the moment. I work as a freelance artist but I’m taking a break from that becoming a tattoo apprentice.”

“That is so cool, dude,” Argyle interrupts from across the table.

Nancy has a moment of realization. “Right. Eddie, these are my friends. Robin, Steve, Jonathan, and Argyle. Guys, this is my old friend from high school, Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you guys.”

The group replies with varied greetings, Steve and Eddie holding eye contact a bit longer than the rest of the group does. Resulting with another jab in Steve’s ribs from Robin. He yells at her with his eyes for her to stop.

“So, do you live in the city now?” Nancy goes back to addressing just Eddie.

He scratches at his chin with a pained faced. “Kinda. Moved here to live with my ex a few months ago. And then he sort of cheated on me, so I’m trying to find somewhere else, but money’s kind of tight right now.”

“Ugh, that sucks,” Nancy winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Is what it is.”

Nancy turns to Robin, whispering something in her ear. Robin shrugs and whispers something back.

“You know, if you wanted to, no pressure or anything,” Nancy starts. “But, my old roommate just moved out and I’m looking for a new one. It’s a nice place my grandma rents to me so it’s rent controlled. I know we haven’t talked much since high school, but it’s yours if you want it.”

“Have to think about it, and see the place. But that might be nice.”

“And you’d live across from me and Steve,” Robin adds, earning her an elbow to the ribs.

Eddie smiles flirtatiously. “Well that does sweeten the pot.” He notices the hand turkey still laying on the table. “What the fuck is wrong with that hand turkey?”

“I already said I would talk to the kid,” Steve groans.

“Why is this is this kid going on turkey hunting trips anyway,” Jonathan asks, concerned.

Steve shrugs. “How would I know, not my kid.”

Argyle reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a joint, handing it to Steve. “For your troubles.”

“This group is great,” Eddie laughs to himself, already agreeing to Nancy’s offer in his head.

General information about the fic here

Tag list (just tagged everyone who seemed interested, let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417

[artiststarme]

Where's The "Talk"?

Based on a prompt from @samcoxramblings. I hope this meets your expectations! Please leave your thoughts in the comments and if you have any more angsty prompts, send them my way!

~*~*~*~

After coming out to the Party, Eddie and Steve were on their toes for days just waiting for someone to give them the ‘Talk’. They were amped up, prepared to receive loads of various threats ranging in creativity and snipe. But the days came and went and no one mentioned anything. Anytime Eddie would mention expecting a shovel talk to protect their babysitter, the kids awkwardly looked between one another before changing the subject. When Steve mentioned to Robin and Nancy that no one had warned him against hurting Eddie yet, they just rolled their eyes and ignored him. Neither man knew what the Party was waiting for. 

After a week, Eddie loses his patience and asks the kids at their Hellfire session. “Okay guys, what gives? Where are the outlandish threats of violence, the creative insults about my character, the whole shabang? I’ve been on the edge of my seat for fucking days.”

“Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?” Dustin asked him, sounding puzzled. 

Eddie snorted a sound of frustration. “The shovel talk! Steve and I told you that we were dating a week ago and no one has said anything! Is this a gay thing? Are you too scared of being homophobic to say anything? I can take it!”

The kids looked uncomfortable but Mike spoke. “Look man, we just don’t want to waste our time. You and Steve aren’t going to last. I mean, look how different you guys are! You’re awesome, you DM for Hellfire, and you’re in a band. What does Steve do? He works at Family Video all day and sure, he looks kinda good without a shirt on, but he has nothing else going for him!”

Lucas and Dustin looked at him in confusion before Dustin cleared his throat. “Eddie, we know you’re not going to hurt each other. You’re both our big brothers and you’re not actually dating. Steve likes girls! I’m sure he’s just looking for a way to let you down easy. I’m sorry, man.”

Meanwhile, Eddie looked at them indifferently. He couldn’t believe that these little assholes would say that to him and at a DnD session no less! He whipped his head to look at the original Hellfire members only to find Gareth, Jeff, and Grant looking shellshocked. 

“Do you boys feel the same way?” He asked them, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

Jeff shook his head slightly, “no way, man. We just don’t know Steve well enough to give him a talk. You know we’ve always supported you, if you want us to threaten him a little, we can.”

“Yeah, we’ll threaten the socks off of him!” Grant nodded. Gareth though just continued glaring at the kids.

Eddie nodded, it seemed there was a division of true friends and posers around the table. If his little sheep didn’t want to believe he and Steve would last, he’d show them. He and Steve were for life. Eddie was like a parasite, a viral STD if you will. Once you got him, you were stuck with him forever.

“Well, thank you for sharing your opinion. Does anyone else feel that way?” He asked them. Did the rest of the Party share the same views? He desperately needed to know. 

Lucas nodded slowly, “well, yeah. Hopper says you guys are only seeing each other because you’re trauma-bonded and Robin said that it doesn’t mean anything anyways.”

Eddie chuckled sardonically. Oh so, the entire Party was against them? Fine, he didn’t need to be a part of the group that tore his life apart anyways. 

“Alright, Hellfire’s disbanded. Get your stuff and get out. Corroded Coffin, we’ll continue the campaign as a three-piece on Thursday before band practice. I’m going to go see Steve, the guy I’m in a relationship with. You know, the one that ‘doesn’t mean anything’ since we’re ‘too different’ and ‘trauma-bonded’ and ‘waiting to get let down easy’? Go fuck yourself and fuck your precious Party too.” And with that, Eddie stormed out. 

He drove straight to Family Video and was ashamed to find that frustrated tears had started leaking from his eyes. He couldn’t believe this. After all they’d gone through together with the Upside Down and psychic killers and murder accusations, being in a relationship with Steve was the tipping point? Absolutely ridiculous. He darted into the video store and didn’t even slow his stride as he threw his arms around Steve where he was talking to a customer. 

“What the- Eddie? Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” He asked him before turning back to the customer. “I’m sorry, could you talk to Robin over at the counter please? Have a nice day.”

Steve gently herded him into the employee lounge and pressed his teary face into the crook of his neck. “Eds, hey, what happened?”

“I’m so sorry, Stevie. I never should’ve said anything!”

“About what? What’s going on? Weren’t you supposed to be playing DnD today with the kids today?” Steve asked him. He wiped the tears from underneath Eddie’s eyes and rested a hand on the back of his neck for comfort.

“I asked the kids why we hadn’t gotten a shovel talk from anyone yet before we even started. They said that no one in the Party thinks we’re going to last. Hopper thinks we’re trauma-bonded, Mike doesn’t think we’re fucking compatible, Dustin thinks you’re faking it, and Robin thinks we’re not serious. They’re not interested in ‘wasting their time’ giving us a talk.”

Steve blinked in surprise before his face hardened. “We don’t need their acceptance or their approval. We know they’re wrong and that’s what matters. We don’t even need a talk from them. Fuck ‘em! We can give ourselves a shovel talk if our good-for-nothing-friends can’t do it!”

“Steve-” 

“I’m serious, who gives a shit about their opinions? Who are they to judge? Dustin’s dating a girl over the radio that lives in goddamn Utah or some shit. Lucas can’t judge because Max broke up with him again for like the tenth time this month. Mike’s only girlfriend was a girl he found in the woods that didn’t know any better than to date him. Robin’s never even been in a relationship so she can’t judge us for having one. And Hopper is 100% going to be in the doghouse after I tell Joyce about what he said. Fuck what they have to say.”

“But Stevie, how are we going to give one to ourselves? That doesn’t even make sense,” Eddie told him gently.

“Fine, then we’ll give one to each other. Eddie, if you break my heart, I’m going to give Wayne adoption papers and take your last name whether you want me to or not.”

Eddie sputtered, “what the fuck? What kind of talk is that? You’re supposed to threaten me with physical harm, not whatever mindfuckery that was!”

“Don’t belittle my shovel talk! Like you could do any better,” Steve scoffed at him.

“Oh yeah? Steve, if you break my heart then I’m going to break your kneecaps so you can’t leave until I win you back. And if I break your heart, I’m going to finish what the bats started.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie! Are you okay? That’s fucking violent!” Steve yelled.

“That’s the point!” Eddie screamed back.

“No it’s not!”

“Yes it is, you’re supposed to threaten to hide the body with a shovel,” Eddie said like it was obvious. 

“Dingus, stop talking to Eddie and get back to work. We have a line,” Robin said exasperatedly, poking her head into the back room. 

“We’re giving each other shovel talks since you losers wouldn’t do it. You know, since this means something. I’ll be out when we’re done with that,” Steve told her bitchily. 

“Fuck off Buckley,” Eddie hissed venomously. Robin looked shocked at his mutiny but backed away regardless. 

Steve stared at the door for a moment but Eddie drew his attention back to himself with a whispered, “if you don’t hurt me, I’ll help you hide a body.”

Steve cackled and murmured back, “you already were accused of murder once, you need to stop being so violent!”

They continue to date until marriage is legalized in the state of Illinois, where they move shortly after they deliver their truly remarkable shovel talks. As payback, they get a marriage certificate at the courthouse and don’t invite anyone from the Party to act as witnesses. Instead, Uncle Wayne, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant surround them and hear the clerk declare them husbands. 

(Hopper and the rest of the Party find out at Christmas that year and everyone loses their shit in synchrony. They all learn a valuable lesson that day that Eddie Munson holds the meanest of grudges.)

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[viviseawrites]

you know those words you read but never hear so you make up the way they sound based on how you read them? (for instance, stobin, apparently.) have a pre-season 4 pre-relationship steddie thread about one such word:

steve and eddie don’t exactly hang out, but they get along for the kids’ sake. steve waves from his car when he picks the boys up after hellfire; eddie gives steve a nod when he passes in front of family video to meet dustin at the arcade.

slowly, they graduate to the bare bones of conversation:

“hey.”

“how’s it going?”

“can’t complain. you?”

“same here.”

“yeah. alright, see ya around.”

it changes when dustin invites both of them to his birthday party. steve shows up with robin, and eddie shows up alone, intending to say his hellos and bail. but they get trapped at the snack table by mrs. henderson.

claudia thanks them both profusely for watching out for the kids. they side-eye each other, both embarrassed and simultaneously proud, both a little skeptical even as they try to placate her.

“it’s nothing, mrs. henderson. he’s a good kid.”

“yeah, of course, claudia. it’s not a big deal.”

“no, no, you’ve both done so much!” she insists, pulling them each into a warm hug.

she toddles off after a while to take pictures, and they awkwardly glance at each other until finally eddie breaks the silence. “so, what’s she so grateful to you for?”

steve shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “dustin’s been through some stuff. honestly, i was just kinda there for most of it, but she refuses to believe that.”

“hmm,” eddie says. they fall quiet again, but eddie’s still thinking about it, his plans for leaving forgotten in favor of curiosity. because that feels like a half-truth. “i mean,” he says, catching steve’s eye, “henderson talks you up a lot himself.”

steve looks startled, a flush rising in his cheeks. he scrubs his fingers through his hair, glancing away. “oh.”

“yeah. soooo… what gives? what did steeeeve harrington do to impress the dorkiest, nerdiest kid i’ve ever known?”

steve snorts, then realizes he can’t actually explain. “uh.” he scans the room for robin, hoping she can bail him out, but she and max are kicking a soccer ball at the boys while they yell about it. fuck. hopefully dustin catches onto the lie if eddie ever asks him about it. “a couple years ago, i tried to help dustin find his missing cat, and we got cornered by a… pack of… uh, feral dogs? and—”

eddie snorts and quickly covers his mouth with his hand. steve stares at him. eddie flails a little, helpless, and finally says, “sorry, it’s just. did you say FEARAL?”

steve blinks. “yeah, like wild?”

“it’s feral,” eddie says.

steve thinks about it, then shakes his head. he’s pretty sure about it. “nah, because they’re so crazy they strike fear into you, right? so it sounds like fearal?”

now eddie has to think about it, because that kind of makes sense in a weird way. but no. “yeah, dude, it’s feral, like the fair. so, feral dogs.”

“huh.” he considers this, then shakes his head and crosses his arms like he’s disappointed. “well, that’s stupid,” steve mutters. “fearal sounds better than fairal.”

eddie feels a flash of fondness, against his will. he grins and hides it behind a strand of hair. god, is steve harrington, a douchey but hot ex-jock babysitter, actually cute? the world is so unfair.

he decides then and there to start having real conversations with steve whenever he can, just to see what other adorable slip-ups he might make. because ohhh yeah. eddie is screwed.

[dontcallmeeds]

Part 2 of Eddie Making Jewelry For Steve; Part 1 here / Part 3 here / Part 4 here

Steve had figured it out after the second little box that was left on the Family Video counter.

He didn’t see Eddie leave it, he was too involved in his conversation with Robin that happened to be about his panic surrounding Eddie.

See the thing is, he knew there were bisexual people and he knew he liked men for years.

But saying it outloud and falling for his best friend? Well, that was a whole other thing.

The way Steve figured it out was the handwriting on the little notes. It felt a little crazy comparing his Family Video card paperwork to the notes, but Robin was the one who suggested it.

Eddie looped his lowercase Es tightly, to the point they almost looked like Cs. And his Is were always lowercase with a circle instead of a dot.

It really just had to be him leaving the beautiful pieces that made Steve’s heart melt and his stomach fall out his ass. Although, he still had his doubts. There was no way his dream guy was just being that fucking perfect, that wasn’t usually how Steve’s life went.

But oh god did he sure have hope.

Steve thought he was being obvious that he knew, wearing the ring that he had fallen in love with in front of Eddie. He even fidgeted with it and caught Eddie staring at it before the other man quickly looked away.

He couldn’t help but tear up in the Beamer after the outing, asking Robin for advice only resulted in drunken living room karaoke, not a plan.

Steve tried to ask where he got his pieces once so maybe him and Robin could run surveillance like old times, but Eddie ended up being vague and elusive.

When Steve brought Nancy into the secret op, she suggested a stake out which felt like stalking. She started a board with dates and drop off locations and roughly estimated it was every 2-4 weeks on dates Steve was usually busy.

It was coming up on almost a month since the last drop and Steve was practically showing off with the last chain, making sure his polo was just open at top enough for Eddie to see.

The flushing across Eddie’s cheeks into his chest was everything, but still his metalhead said nothing.

It was time for Nancy’s plan.

Steve dropped days he’d be busy, watching as Eddie seemingly made a mental note of them. His feigned disappointment was shaky, Steve hoping he’d just blurt it out without confrontation.

But alas, nothing.

Nancy put on her ‘undercover journalism best’ aka a literally just a black sweater and black pants, borrowing her parents car instead of using her own. And I’m that moment Steve felt—

“Am I crazy? Is this whole thing crazy?” Steve paces the Family Video aisles between romance and comedy, which felt pretty fitting considering his love life was a joke.

Robin places a hand on his shoulder and gives him that all encompassing look between the fact that she thinks it’s completely sane, but also really fucking crazy.

“You want to know for sure, right? Not just the handwriting or little weird glances?”

Steve sighs and then nods slowly, he really did want to know for sure. But the problem is what came after.

“Okay then, we’ll just see what Nancy says then hmm? For all we know it could be a boring—“

As if on cue, the walkie they stole from the kids crackles.

“Steve—it’s for sure him, he just—“

“HE JUST WHAT?! WE NEED ANSWERS WHEELER,” Robin shouts into the speaker before Nancy can even finish, Steve grabs the walk-in out of her hand with a scoff.

“Say sorry to your eardrums for her Nance— so wait, what happened?” Steve tries to shove down his nerves, but his fingers on the device tremble.

“He leave something in your mailbox, do you want me to—“

“Steve, GO!”

He really needs to teach her what an inside voice is.

“Are you—“

“I’ll cover you, if Keith comes back I’ll—I’ll make up a dead aunt or say you ripped your pants, I don’t know! I’m not good under pressure, you know how I get Steve. Goddamnit, just go before I start rambling!”

Steve nods and handing her the walkie, running out the door. He knows he breaks the speed limit on the way home, knows if he gets pulled over he can just use the Hopper card. He normally wouldn’t, but extreme times and all that.

Nancy is pulled into the drive when he gets there, popping out when she sees him pull up next to the mailbox.

“Hey I wanted to stay, for you know, support,” she says with a small smile, seeming to enjoy this all way too much.

“Nance, you didn’t have to—“

“Yes I did, Steve. Now fucking open it before me and Robs burst a blood vessel.”

Steve nervously chuckles, his fingers twitching on the mailbox door before pulling it down to a little red box.

‘Stevie, something different,’ is all it reads.

He shares a glance with Nancy, before pulling it out.