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slut4fangs · 2 years

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Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time

Part 2

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female reader

Summary: An innocent game of teasing your best friend Eddie drives him to the point of obsession and lust. Taboo as it may be, Eddie Munson can’t seem to keep his hands to himself when it comes you, his best friend who he's fallen head over heels for

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, Eddie is really slutty & irresistible, soft dom Eddie, condescending mean Eddie that's obsessed with reader, Eddie being a sweetheart too, mentions of Ronance, sneaky sex *Steve is in the same room as it’s happening, a lot of other sexy things that I want to be a surprise, etc.

Author's Note: This was originally going to be short & sweet, but I got too into it. Oh, and make sure to comment & reblog if you liked it. It really helps and encourages me to share my writing. Enjoy! <3

There’s been a change in Eddie Munson lately that you couldn’t ignore. Ever since you started hosting Friday get togethers at your new house, Robin and Nancy being your roomates, you noticed Eddie started looking at you differently. Robin and Nancy were too busy being lovebirds to note this change in behavior, but Steve was all too perceptive. The last two times he pulled you to the side to ask if there was anything going on between you two.

"No, we're just friends. I know he's been...off lately, but it's probably nothing."

"Maybe he has a crush on you," Steve nudges your elbow with a smile, you scoff at this.

"He does not," you assure Steve, laughing it off.

"He's been doing more than just staring you know, I see the way he passes you in tight spaces and always wants to sit next to you on our movie nights. And he stares at your ASS, like constantly. You need to talk to him, because if he's making you uncomfortable I'll kick his a-"

You interrupt Steve, "Don't. I'll handle this, I'll talk to him next week on movie night. Besides, I don't really mind it that much," you shrug and cross your shoulders, trying to sound nonchalant about this admission.

The truth was you really didn't mind at all, in fact, Eddie's longing looks and lingering touches ignited something in you. It was thrilling when he did it. Two weeks ago Eddie offered to help you cook dinner, hovering over you as you stirred the pasta. Eddie had dipped his head onto your shoulder and held onto your hip pressing himself to your ass, sniffing the pot of pasta, his head lolling over to ask you if you thought it needed more garlic salt.

"I don't know, what do you think? You think it smells edible?" You couldn't concentrate with him this close, much less answer truthfully. Your head was clouded with the closeness of him, the heat from the pasta fanning both of your faces. You felt warm in more than one place.

Eddie took the spoon and had you taste test, "hmm, maybe oregano," you answered.

"Here you got a little something," Eddie used his thumb to wipe away some sauce from the corner of your mouth, then proceeded to lick his thumb. It was almost pornographic the way he did it, sucking on his thumb for a brief moment that felt like forever. In that moment all you wanted to do was ask him to put his fingers in your mouth.

Then there was the time Steve offered to take everyone to the lake, Robin and Nancy had a date night already planned so they were out. But that left you, Eddie, and Steve being the only ones going.

"So, whose the third wheel in this situation," Steve joked while driving Eddie's van to the lake, you were in the passenger seat and Eddie was in the back. Eddie seemed to be distracted doodling in his notebook, maybe he was writing something, you weren't sure.

"No one's third wheeling, god, uneven numbers don't mean shit," you say rolling your eyes at Steve.

"You say that, but someone always feels left out when there's only three. Robin and Nancy somehow even it all out, maybe it's because Robin has enough personality to fill a room and make everyone feel included, and special, you know?"

"You're just pissy because Robin couldn't come," you tell Steve, he rolls his eyes right back at you and laughs.

"No shit, she's my best friend. I guess I'm still not used to not giving her rides everywhere, ever since Nancy got a car I feel like I don't see her anymore. It blows, but hey, seeing her less means I get to see more of you. That's always a plus," Steve says, and you're never really sure if he sees you as a potential love interest or just flirts casually. Either way, it made you blush a little.

"Yeah, you think so?" You say, blushing in the passenger seat.

"I know so," Steve smirks, glancing over at you and your heart jumps a little.

Eddie pipes up from the back, "get a god damn room, jesus christ," he tries to hide the hurt in his voice. The thought of you with Steve made him jealous, even though Eddie had a crush on Steve, he couldn't help being so drawn to you.

Steve pulls into a nearby gas station, "do you guys need anything, snacks, drinks? It's on me."

"I'm good," you say.

"Cherry coke," Eddie answers, Steve nods and shuts the drivers door, leaving you and Eddie alone in silence.

Eddie's the first one to talk, of course, "why do you get the front seat and I sit in the back?"

"What, do you wanna trade or something. I don't mind," you say turning to Eddie. Eddie's wearing a white tshirt and black swim shorts, you've never really seen him this casual and it's sort of taking you aback but you try not to stare too much at the way his white tshirt is see-through enough to show his tats underneath.

"We can both sit up front, how about that," Eddie lights up with the idea.

"How does that even work," you ask, a sassy tone resonating in your voice.

"I'll show you," Eddie says climbing out of the back and opening up the passenger door, climbing in and lifting you up to place you on his between his spread legs. "See, now it's fair, we both get to sit next to King Steve."

You can't help but notice how Eddie's hands rest on your knees, drawing little circles. For once, you're speechless and little do you know, it will take a week to process what happens at the lake.

It was nightfall and the three of you had made a fire, made smores and hot dogs, telling ghost stories and drinking wine and beer. When it hit 12 am Steve refused to sleep in the van like Eddie suggested because, "If I'm going to camp, I'm going to do it the old fashioned way on the ground in my sleeping bag. Enjoy the van, I'm sleeping next to the fire."

"Good for you, Harrington," Eddie says crawling into the back of the van where he had set up an air mattress with blankets and pillows, I'm not big and strong like you."

"Goodnight, kids" Steve says playfully before cuddling up in his sleeping back next to the dying fire.

"Are you coming," Eddie asks, you're standing right outside of the van, cursing yourself for not bringing a sleeping back. Eddie stretches a hand to meet yours and you take it, hopping in the back of the van with him where he shuts the doors and it becomes increasingly clear how close you two were on the edge of the air mattress.

"Thanks, by the way," you blurt aloud, "I don't really like the idea of sleeping on the ground anyways," you hold a pillow to your chest. You're wearing your bikini from the lake swim, feeling a little self conscious from the lack of clothes.

"Do you want my shirt," Eddie asks, taking his shirt off and handing it to you.

"Sure, thanks," you start to put it over your bikini but Eddie stops you midway.

"You shouldn't sleep in wet clothes, you'll get a cold. You should probably take this off," Eddie says tugging at your bikini string, untying the top for you and tossing it to the side of the air mattress.

You scoff in flustered disbelief, Eddie speaks up again, "put it on, sweetheart," referring to his tshirt. You did so, thinking that was the end of that. But Eddie wasn't done yet, he had to make you more flustered to make up for witnessing you and Steve flirt on and off throughout the night. It was driving him fucking crazy.

"This too," Eddie pulls the string to your bikini bottoms, tossing them on the mattress and fiddling around in his bag for a pair of his boxers. You're speechless as Eddie climbs over top of you and dresses you in his blue boxers. It felt so intimate, being undressed, and then dressed in his clothes. It was exhilarating as much as it was caring. Eddie had already changed out of his swim shorts and into sweats.

"Thank you," is the first thing you can think to say to Eddie, he's hovering over you, staring at how cute you look in his clothes. He thinks he could probably get off to just seeing you in his clothes alone. The thought of jerking off over you while he stared down at your body crossed his mind, the way your face would look so cute and shocked at the vulgar act. But he pushed the thought aside and put the idea in his spank bank for later.

"Don't mention it," Eddie says laying down next to you, "you're probably cold, aren't you?"

"Well yeah, the lake was freezing," you answer and then Eddie's pulling you to his chest to keep you both warm. You two were face to face and your jaw was agape at how forward and casual he was being simultaneously, Eddie laughs quietly and touches your chin. "What, cat got your tongue? What's wrong, honey? You can tell me," Eddie says in a mocking tone, his hand grabbing your ass shamelessly. He felt this was more subtle than jerking off over your body. "We're just two friends trying to keep each other warm, don't be weird," he's smirking at you and all you can think about is kissing that smart ass smirk off his face. It didn't help he was only wearing his sweats, he knew exactly what he was doing to you. It was time you one-upped his antics with your own.

You shiver, "I'm really scared, Eddie. Do you think it's safe to sleep in the woods like this, we're basically the textbook definition of victims in slasher movies right now. Can you hold me?"

The question stopped Eddie dead in his tracks, you asking him to hold you wasn't something he saw coming. "Oh, you're scared, huh" Eddie said in a mocking tone, jutting out his bottom lip in a pouted frown. "Poor baby, you're scared of the dark, aren't you? C'mere sweetheart, I'll protect you," Eddie said with a wolfish grin spread across his face. You didn't hesitate to jump into his arms, hugging his chest and burying it there for comfort.

"Thank you, Eddie," you say breathlessly and now he decides he's fucked. You were perfect. The more this happened, the more it didn't feel like a fun little cat and mouse game anymore. Eddie's feelings for you were real, the way he felt about you made that clear. But Eddie decided to stay in character, risking telling you his feelings just felt too...vulnerable? He didn't know, he'd never quite felt this way about anyone before. It was all new to him, the feeling of never wanting to let go and risk loosing everything. He wanted you to be his everything, but he forced himself to play it safe anyways.

"You are really cold, wouldn't want you to catch hypothermia," Eddie says, hands trailing up your shirt to grope your breasts and roaming down your hips leaving a trail of fire where he touched you. It felt like your whole body was on vibrate, "has anyone ever touched you there?" Eddie's said this while he snapped your underwear to your skin and you yelped in surprise.

"Ow, Eddie. I don't know what you mean," you said, the clueless act had Eddie's head in a spiral. He didn't know if you playing the same game he was to keep this going, to keep the excitement at a high.

"What are you saying, Princess? No one's ever been here, not even Steve," Eddie says teasing you, his finger tracing your slit over your underwear.

"No, Eddie. He hasn't," you kiss his jaw, "let's just go to sleep please."

"So he's never fucking touched you at all then, don't lie to me," Eddie's voice rises and he's clearly mad over something he's only imagined.

"We've hugged, that's it," you admit, that was a half lie. You and Steve had kissed but it was experimental and you both laughed about it afterwards, meaningless flirting suited your friendship you both decided. Steve did teach you how to kiss though, he insisted upon it, he kept saying how he knew all of these tricks and taught them all to you. It was hot, but still you only saw the flirting as just the way your friendship was, it was never serious, only fun. Eddie didn't see the flirting between you and Steve as fun and carefree though, he was jealous, jealous he couldn't have you for one. And jealous he couldn't have Steve either, but soon, he decided his hormones were driving him mad and there wasn't much else to do about it besides watch you like a hawk and to always be around so nothing happened between you two.

"Liar," Eddie says gritting his teeth, his hand sliding into your underwear to play with your clit while he seethed.

"Eddie what are you doing," you say, your pussy throbbing at the mere thought of Eddie being jealous, and the feeling of him inside your underwear made you hot. Suddenly, the freezing lake's cold wrath was gone, all you could feel was fire.

"You like it though, you like making me angry. That's why I have to punish you, baby, I'm sorry," Eddie said sinking two fingers in your hole, curling just right and just deep enough to make you squirm in his grasp. Eddie's other arm held you close to him, imprisoning your body to his.

"I'm sorry," you said and kissed Eddie softly, your moth open and welcoming his tongue. Eddie moaned into your mouth and wondered how experienced your really were, you knew how to kiss, that was certain. But the way you did it so eagerly, your tongue pushing his, and the way you sucked on his bottom lip made him groan.

"You're about to be fucking sorry, don't give me that pouty lip," Eddie fucked your pussy with his fingers relentlessly, wishing it was his dick instead. "On second thought, you shouldn't even get to wear my clothes. Take them off, now."

"Eddie please, why are you being so mean. This isn't fair I'm not lying," you say, but you were and he could fucking feel it in the way you stammered.

"Did you hear me, strip. Take off my fucking clothes before I make you," Eddie said, anger in his voice. You were so turned on your pussy squeezed his fingers and he gasped, "fuck, did you just squeeze me?God, that's so fucking hot. Now be a good girl and take these off," Eddie bit his lip, completely blissed out at the way you moaned his name and how wet you were for him. It was just like heaven.

"No!" You said, "you can't make me sleep naked!"

Eddie furrowed his brows, it was clear you were a brat and needed to be bossed around to get off. "Fine, I'll do it then," Eddie rolled you onto your back and tore your clothes off, he had never been this hot and bothered before and it was overwhelming but freeing. "You're sleeping naked with me as your punishment, when you decide to be a good girl for me I'll let you wear my whole fuckin' closet." Eddie hovered above you, pinning both of your wrists with his ringed hands, staring down at your naked body. Then the idea from earlier popped into his head again, he was going to jerk off over your body he couldn't resist the idea.

"Stay like that," Eddie said pulling his sweats down so his cock sprang free. Something in you couldn't help but wish he would fuck you right then, but Eddie started jerking off instead, staring at you. His cock hitting your stomach as he pumped it in his hand. "I'm going to come on your pussy, fuck baby you look so beautiful," Eddie spread your folds open with his fingers. Rutting against your clit with the head of his cock, "touch yourself for me." You did, you moaned Eddie's name and he lost control, your pussy covered in his come.

"Fuck," Eddie exclaimed, laying down beside you, scooping you up in his arms so your ass was to his front. Eddie sank two of his fingers in your hole, playing with the come on the outside and occasionally pushing the come inside you.

The two of you curled up into a blanket the rest of the night, Eddie fell asleep with his fingers inside you. You fell asleep speechless and wanting more.

Now it was movie night at your place again, it was dark and all the lights were out as you all watched The Shining for the fifth time. Robin and Nancy went to bed early, like usual whenever Nancy had work early the next morning. Steve was passed out on the loveseat, arms crossed over his chest, sleeping like someone's father that said "I'm just resting my eyes," then fell into a deep slumber, minus the snores.

Eddie had made a point to sit close to you, draping his arm around the couch adjacent to the loveseat. When Robin and Nancy went off to bed, Eddie seemed to inch closer and closer until he was thigh to thigh with you.

"Are you cold," Eddie asked you, his arm moving to hold your waist, pulling you closer for warmth.

"Yeah, it's always really chilly in this room," you drape your leg over Eddie's thigh as casually as you can manage.

Eddie's eyes drop to your thigh, taking in the sight of your tiny pj shorts that left little to the imagination. "I can warm you up," Eddie said eagerly. You bit your lip and nodded at him.

Movie nights were like sleepovers occasionally, Eddie was dressed in only a pair of boxers like usual. It was normal, Steve wore his old basketball shorts shirtless too, it's not like Eddie was being inappropriate. He was comfortable in your home, that's the way it was supposed to be. You only wondered if having these thoughts about your best friend was also the way it was supposed to be. All you could think about was the way he was in the van, you wanted to see that side of Eddie again.

Eddie reached behind him to grab a fuzzy throw blanket and placed it over you two, his hand going back to squeeze your waist, and then your thigh, rubbing you there. His eyes were trained on the movie, trying to look distracted while his hand kept inching toward your heat. Suddenly Eddie's hand rested on your clothed pussy, his fingers curling so that you could feel his middle finger poking at your hole slightly, still unmoving to do anything else, the two of you stayed that way for a few minutes in silence, neither of you saying anything like it wasn't happening. You felt your chest rise shallowly and your hand reached inside Eddie's boxers where your hand rested on his hard cock.

Eddie took this as a chance to slip his hand inside your shorts, his middle and index fingers curled inside your pussy. Your hand moved under the covers, stroking him while you two kept your eyes fixated on the movie. But all you could think about was how Eddie's fingers were slowly fucking your underneath the blanket.

"You're so warm. Do you wanna cuddle, I need more heat," Eddie said, what he really meant was he needed more of your heat, specifically the heat between your thighs.

"Mhm," you lay down, Eddie spoons you from behind, covering you two up with the blanket and making sure Steve was still asleep.

Eddie nuzzles into your neck and kisses you, his hands reach up to cup your tits. Eddie keep one hand up your shirt, his other hand pulling your shorts off, all the sudden you feel Eddie's cock slot between your thighs. You gasp and Eddie covers your mouth and shushes you, "shh, this is the best part, sweetheart," Eddie refers to the movie while his fingers work your clit expertly. Eddie kisses your cheek and then your mouth, "need you to keep every part of me warm, hm?" Eddie whispers this into your ear, then slams his cock into your wet hole, wanting nothing more than to hear you moan with his hand over your mouth. Slow, hot, and wet strokes of Eddie's cock fills you while he keeps his hand over your mouth to keep you from waking up Steve.

"I've wanted this for so long, baby. You have no idea how long I've waited to feel this pussy, I knew you'd be ready for me. I can't seem to keep my eyes off you ever since you sat on my lap two months ago when we were playing cards. I know you didn't mean to, but you kept wiggling around. I know you felt my dick digging into your ass, that's when the secret touches started. You didn't tell anyone about that, did you?"

You shake your head no, you didn't tell Steve about the touches and when it actually started. You knew he wanted you, it was all about the back and forth game you two were playing, the secrecy. He'd touch you accidentally, and you'd do the same back, feigning innocence to keep the ongoing game more exciting. You had him on edge, waiting for the right moment to act on the desires that clouded both of your minds.

Eddie's hand still clasped over your mouth he spoke about that first night, "at first, I thought it was an accident. But once you felt my cock get hard you kept wiggling and then you, fuck- you really started humping my thigh. You rode my fucking thigh when everyone was too drunk to notice, I jerked off in your bedroom that night. Hand down my pants, I came in my own pants. I stained my underwear and left early, holding my jacket over my front. You knew exactly what you were doing, don't act so surprised that you love my cock inside you. You've been waiting for it for so long," Eddie whispered in your ear, giving you full body chills.

Eddie spoke again, "when I let go of your mouth, don't make any noise. Just do what I say, and I might go easy on you." You do what he says and turn to face him, he turns you around to face him and hikes your leg over his hip and you sink down onto him, letting Eddie fuck you as fast and hard as he wants. You can't help yourself, you smother Eddie in kisses all over his chest, neck, and end at his lips, you suck on his tongue and you can hear a deep moan come from him. The two of you go wide-eyed and glance to see Steve stirring under his covers, you and Eddie pretend you're sleeping, Eddie covering both of you up to your necks. You two close your eyes and pretend to have fallen asleep, cuddling innocently, as Steve wakes up and makes his way to the guest bedroom.

You start to move but Eddie grabs your ass with vigor and slams you back down on him, "I didn't say to move, baby. Be a good girl and don't torture me any longer, please." It's demanding, but mainly pleading of him. Eddie's desperate to keep this going for as long as possible.

"I'm not going anywhere, Eddie," you kiss his cheek and Eddie smiles at you, wide and Cheshire-like, like he's up to something.

"So you're saying you're my little cockwarmer now, guess that's better than cock-tease," he chuckles and you swat his arm. "Hey, I like you whether you're a cockwarmer or cock-tease, as long as you're near my cock we don't have a problem," Eddie laughs at his own ridiculous statement, being that he was still completely serious in all he was saying though.

"I'm going to miss our little game though, that was so exciting," you say grinding yourself on Eddie.

"I bet you do, you just love to torture me don't you, babydoll. We can play games all you want, that's fine. But the more you tease me the rougher I'm going to be, you know that though, brat," Eddie chokes you, bringing your lips to his for a passionate steamy kiss.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, babe."

#my fanfics <3 #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #perv!eddie munson

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superblysubpar · 6 months

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Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again.

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good.

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation.

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you.

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks.

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower.

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake.

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love.

But this one, this one takes the cake every time.

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay.

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down.

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you.

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat.

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does.

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road.

He’s always amazed when you do that.

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately.

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you.

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you.

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it.

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos.

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently.

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep.

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow.

The next day though, something inside of you snapped.

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway.

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right.

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you.

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!”

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention.

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer.

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass.

He didn’t.

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple.

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table.

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers.

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.”

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop.

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other.

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door.

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick.

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again.

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.”

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep.

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed.

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck.

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited.

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep.

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate.

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious.

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now.

All week? Why hadn’t you told him?

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer.

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink.

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour.

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house.

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar.

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything?

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up.

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you.

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled.

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened?

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months.

Maybe it had been.

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours.

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t.

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently.

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose.

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that.

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined.

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same.

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it.

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day.

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do.

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit.

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her.

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you.

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later.

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him.

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway.

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could.

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler.

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals.

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school.

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised.

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you.

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler.

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities.

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned.

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation.

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed.

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word.

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?”

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human.

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next.

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle.

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door.

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face.

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you.

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting.

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word.

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old.

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards.

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently.

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you.

“You don’t, huh?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks.

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded.

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at.

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again.

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs.

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right.

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all.

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer.

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed.

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you.

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise.

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged.

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did.

“Oh my god!”

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling.

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards.

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it.

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke.

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly.

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her.

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie.

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet.

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets.

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned.

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt.

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console.

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you.

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders.

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”.

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time.

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed.

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced.

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again.

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level.

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face.

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed.

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again.

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

#eddie munson #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #superbly subpars writing #cw alcohol #cw injury #cw blood #easy like sunday morning universe #easy like sunday morning AU

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blueywrites · 1 year

Text

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.

786 notes · View notes

fandom · 2 years

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Stranger Things

In a busy, fantastical year of sci-fi television, one show rose above the rest, and we’re betting you know exactly the one we’re talking about. Stranger Things has always been super popular on Tumblr, so it's no surprise this season wasn’t any different. After waiting an entire three years, we were treated to not one but two volumes of horrific, heartbreaking goodness.

From the moment we heard the opening notes of Journey's “Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)” in the first official trailer in mid-April, we knew this season would be on a bigger scale than we’ve ever seen for the series. That same week, Stranger Things made its first Fandometrics appearance of 2022. But the real excitement set in when Netflix released the first volume, a set of seven episodes, on May 27, 2022. The show has appeared on our weekly TV Shows list and remained in the top 20 ever since. Skeptical? Well, stranger things have happened!

The wild mid-season cliffhanger was enough to keep fans going through the month-long break between volumes. You used the interim to discuss theories and fears, share GIFs and edits, and post myriad fan works. Returning to Hawkins in July for the second volume, some of those theories and worries were confirmed. After the two final episodes, you came together once again to mourn your losses and discuss the ramifications of major events for the next (and final) season.

We all know the lifeblood of Stranger Things has always been its characters: We’ve rooted for them, shared their wins and losses, and watched them grow. This is especially true for the show’s ragtag group of teens who frequently find themselves looking for trouble in all the right places. This season, the Stranger Things fandom collectively fell in love with newcomer Eddie Munson: the long-haired, guitar-wielding dungeon master of our dreams. Eddie was the clear favorite by a mile, followed by Steve Harrington and Will Byers (fun fact: they are actually the top three fictional TV characters on Tumblr for the entire year). We’d also like to give honorable mentions to Argyle, Chrissy Cunningham, and Vecna, all of whom have made for major topics of conversation.

And, with everything these characters have endured, season after season, their bonds have become stronger than ever. Steve Harrington is still everyone’s favorite dad (Hopper is a close second), and Tumblr has dubbed Robin and Steve platonic soulmates. This new chapter brought seasoned and budding friendships, romances, and of course, a whole lot of ships. You picked apart every interaction and every lingering gaze and came to the conclusion that Steve and Eddie totally should’ve been together. And then there are the ever-diligent Byler, Ronance, and Jopper shippers. We see you, too.

If all of this wasn’t enough to demonstrate the impact of Stranger Things 4 on Tumblr, then maybe this will: Stranger Things was the #1 thing on all of Tumblr this year. Yes, of all the tags used this year, the sci-fi hit reigned supreme.

It basically turned Tumblr upside down.

#year in review #stranger things #tumblr2022

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thisapplepielife · 28 days

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Written for a @astrangersummer.

Of All the Gin Joints

Nancy lets her eyes adjust to the darkness and flashing lights of the club. It's not exactly her comfort zone. But she watches as the men, and the women, move to the beat of the music that's bouncing the speakers, thumping so hard she can feel it in her chest.

She's never been anywhere like this, not really. It's not exactly her scene, never has been.

So, she finds a spot to stand in the corner, leaving a buffer, so she can take it all in. She always needs to study first, she never just dives face-first into anything. Unless it's an emergency. And this? Not an emergency.

This is just an unknown, an exploration of her sexuality that might be coming later than most. She thinks she should have done this sooner. Maybe not the club part, but the acting on her interest in women. But she didn't. Not the women, and definitely not the club, so now she'd like to know more before deciding to be all in on being a club-going person, especially at her age.

Watching, it's clear that everyone seems to be having a really fucking good time, and aren't paying any attention to her clinging to the shadows, like a wallflower.

She's about to maybe make a move more towards the center of the action, when she catches a glimpse of a familiar smile, and she steps to the side to see better, to clear her sightline, to really make sure. And, yes, it is Robin, bouncing, laughing, dancing with a guy, seemingly having a hell of a good time.

It's not Steve, this guy is far too short, and it isn't until he turns that she realizes it's Gareth. He's just chopped off all his curls, which she thinks is kind of a shame.

But, beyond that, she knows if Gareth's here, that means Eddie's here, and if Eddie's here, well...there he is. Steve Harrington, bouncing, hair flying, looking twenty instead of over forty.

Looking free.

And happy. Really, really happy.

She hasn't seen any of them in person in years, only recently watching from afar on the new Facebook thing that she was bullied into joining by Dustin. She's not too mad about it, since it means she gets to see pictures of all her old friends, and gets to know that they're doing okay out in the world, living their lives. At least when she remembers to login and check.

Nancy hasn't decided if she's going to approach them or not. This is new to her, and while she knows they'd be supportive and fun and totally in her corner, she was really only looking to dip her toes in, not plunge headfirst.

But she doesn't get to decide, because Robin's caught sight of her and is waving frantically, with an enthusiasm only Robin can muster. She's missed her, she realizes. Missed all of them.

She sees Robin turn and yell in the other direction, hands flailing, nearly hitting those around her.

She hasn't changed a bit.

So, Nancy waves back, and heads her way. She's kind of glad the decision was made for her. It's easier that way, and she gets to see Robin.

When Nancy approaches, Steve is suddenly there, picking her up and swinging her around so hard, she feels her back pop. She's not sixteen, not anymore, but he doesn't seem to have gotten that message as he squeezes her against him, before finally putting her back on her feet but still doesn't let go.

"I can't believe you! You're here!" Steve says, smiling wide and so fucking happy.

He's glowing.

There's a ring through his eyebrow, and tattoos crawling up his arm, and yet, he looks exactly the same, somehow. Just really, really happy and all grown up.

It's a good look on him. Honestly.

He giggles, squeezing both of her arms, "Nancy Wheeler."

She almost corrects him, but it is Wheeler again. Her divorce was finalized and she took her own name back, and she doesn't expect she'll ever give it up again. It's who she is, and she kind of hates that she ever forgot that.

"Where's Eddie?" Nancy asks, leaning towards Steve's ear, trying to be heard over the music.

"The bar!" Steve screams back, and she looks that way, expecting to see him in line for drinks, but he's behind the bar. Putting on a show, as always.

It's a little mesmerizing. But Eddie Munson always was, for better or worse. He had an unique skill for capturing an audience and refusing to let them go.

Steve wraps his arms around her neck from behind, forcing her to walk in front of him, leading her right towards Eddie.

"Look who I found!" Steve shouts and Eddie grins, leaning up on and over the bar to cup her cheek, kissing the other one.

"Hey, Wheeler. What can I get you?" Eddie asks, waving his arm down the bar in a sweeping fashion.

She isn't sure, so she lets him pick, and he gets to work, sliding and twirling, dragging the bottle upwards as he pours, and she grins. He was made for this, she's pretty sure. Putting a show, holding an audience.

She hadn't realized he was a bartender, but she crawls up on an open bar stool, to watch him work. She expects that Steve will sit down next to her, but instead he walks around behind the bar, and kisses Eddie before he makes himself a drink. It's not as impressive as watching Eddie do it, but it's definitely not Steve's first time behind a bottle either, that's for sure.

"Do you own this bar?" she yells, and they both nod.

Of all the gin joints in all the world, she happened to stumble into theirs.

It really is a small world after all.

She hadn't heard they'd bought a bar. She must be more behind on that Facebook thing than she thought. Or they've owned longer than Facebook has been a thing, and it was old news she'd just missed out on hearing. She'll have to ask Dustin, or Mike. Get filled in on what they know.

"It's great!" she screams back, and it is. It's a little loud, a little overwhelming, but it seems like a really fun atmosphere.

They both smile, and Steve is holding his own drink, and Eddie leans over putting the finishing touches on it. Then Steve's back across the bar, sitting next to her.

"You're here by accident?" Steve shouts to be heard, and she nods. She heard about the queer friendly bar, that wasn't really a club exclusively for young people, and it looked like something she might want to check out, now that she's open to exploring that side of herself.

She should have known she'd be drawn right to Steve, the only other bisexual person she really knows. That's just how these things work with them. There are no accidents. They've all been tied together for a long, long time, even as they've drifted and lived their own, separate lives.

They try to talk over the music, but it's impossible, and Steve takes her by the hand and leads her behind the bar, and into an office. He closes the door, and the sound is suddenly gone. Silenced.

"Soundproofed?" she asks, sitting down on the couch.

Steve nods, "I still get headaches sometimes. It gives me a place to go to get away from the noise if I need to, without having to go all the way home."

"Smart. That's smart," she says, looking around. There are pictures lining the walls, filled with tons of familiar faces.

"It was Eddie's idea," Steve says, grinning, "he just wants me to be comfortable."

Then he smiles a different smile, a softer one, "And nearby."

Nancy smiles back at him, happy he's happy.

"He looks good, by the way," Nancy says, "really good. You both do. Robin, too."

Steve just smiles, because he knows that's true. Time has been kind to them, all of them, it seems.

"Gareth should have kept those curls, though," she teases.

"Don't tell him that, it's a sore spot," Steve says with a grin.

"Mum's the word," she promises.

Then the door opens and closes, Robin sliding inside. She bounces up and down, clapping her hands, "Nance! I can't believe you're here!"

Nancy stands up, and hugs her. Robin isn't as awkward as she was at eighteen. But she's still got that funky style that Nancy's always been a little jealous of, if she's totally honest. That innate ability to just be herself.

Steve is standing there smiling, and then says, "I'll let Robin show you around and catch you up. Eddie'll cry around if I skip out on helping him."

Nancy knows that's not true. Eddie Munson worships the ground Steve Harrington walks on, and has since 1986. At first it felt like Nancy was losing something that she might want again someday, and wanted to bristle up at Eddie. Claim her territory.

But she quickly saw how Steve looked back at Eddie. She knew that look, and well, and she was happy for him, even if it was kind of hard to let that door close for good.

By the time they all went their separate ways, it was pretty obvious Steve and Eddie were in it for the long haul, and probably would always be.

And here they are, still together, and they still look fucking happy.

She's not surprised one bit.

And good for them. She isn't sure what it would be like to pick right the first time. She's picked wrong twice now, and she's not excited to do it again.

Women. She might try women for a while. Forget all about men for a stretch and see how that feels, how it goes.

Robin is sitting next to her, and as soon as the door closes behind Steve, leaving them in quiet again, Robin's asking a million questions.

Always curious, Robin.

Nancy answers them. Mike's good. Three kids that act just like he did, which he definitely had coming.

Robin catches her up on everybody she's still close with that Nancy hasn't seen in a while, and it's nice. Comfortable, like no time has passed.

"You want another drink? Dance? Some food? Anything?" Robin offers.

"Yes," Nancy says, and hell, she thinks she might want it all.

Another couple drinks in, they are bouncing around the dance floor as much as their middle-aged knees will allow, when Nancy reaches forward to brace herself against Robin's hip.

She didn't mean anything by it, but the sudden shift on Robin's face is telling another story.

Oh shit.

Okay, yeah. That.

She steps forward, and Robin meets her halfway. Lips pressing against hers in a way that she only barely let herself think about, in a time gone by. The curiosity was there, down deep, back when they were just getting close. But Nancy didn't know how to define it, how to understand it within herself.

She does now.

Robin's hand slides up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades, as she kisses her in a way Nancy's never been kissed. Not by anyone, maybe.

She should have known. She should have realized that this is what she was looking for, missing, late to understanding.

When Robin pulls back, she smiles, and Nancy smiles back, her heart beating hard against her chest.

She wants to do it again.

So she does, leaning up, pressing her lips to Robin's one more time, eager to see where this can go from here.

Hopeful, and excited.

Ready.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

#a stranger summer #week seventeen #prompt: “I can't believe you!”#stranger things #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #stranger things fic #ronance #steddie #thisapplepielife: a stranger summer #thisapplepielife: short fic #ronance fic #robin x nancy #fruity four fic #fruity four #platonic stobin

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sweetronancer · 8 months

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i have a big fat crush on emma swan.

ANYWAY I WANNA YAP ABOUT RONANCE BUT I REALLY DONT FEEL GOOD GRVRJEUEHOA my tummy hurts :P

once upon a time is making me think about my knight!robin au or js fantasy au i need helpppp

#percy pauses and yaps for a little #once upon a time mention #emma swan mention omg #ronance mention too #robin buckley #i love complaining about how much my tummy hurts on here because like its just fun and silly like me #and im also freezing #so ofc i dont feel good #ill pull through though but i really wanna yap about ronance but i wanna take a break from my phone (literally impossible)#idk why i have so many writing ideas #i have no energy to write them

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robinsno1lesbian · 3 months

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hey, hey!! hope you’re doing well <3

i have a blurb request! maybe a lil ronance x reader thing where r is feeling insecure that she isn’t loving them equally and hard enough, so they both remind her that she is being the best girlfriend to each of them <3

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

- ronance x reader

summary: after going to university with one of your girlfriends, you worry that robin might feel lonely back in hawkins.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, pet names (baby love, my girls, love), established poly relationship, i -once again- did not beta read this, i do want to mention that i’m not poly myself! so if there’s anything in this that isn’t accurate to the actual experience or if there’s anything wrong with the terminology, please let me know!! :)

a/n: @eds6ngel thank you so much for your request!! i really hope this is what you had in mind for this! it’s basically a little hurt with looots of comfort! it kind of turned into ronance comforting r about their dynamic, i hope that’s what you had in mind! <3

you’re hanging on the telephone, trying to make the minutes of the call last. you’re curling the cord of it around your index finger absentmindedly, your legs draped over nancy’s lap on the semi-comfortable bed of your shared dorm room.

she has already talked to your girlfriend, who’s currently rambling on about her shift with steve, and has handed you the telephone to get a taste of robin’s adorable rambling as well.

you’re still new to this. to them.

not dating in general; you did have somewhat of a girlfriend back when all three of you still lived in hawkins. so you’re not new to your sexuality or the fact that you love women. it’s the dynamic that’s new to you.

when you met robin and nancy, you quickly figured them out. in their defense they were trying to be sneaky about it, presumably expecting you to be as oblivious to it as everyone else around. unaware that you knew the hiding, the stealing kisses and loving in secrecy. that you experienced it yourself and saw it in them immediately.

how exactly it happened, neither of the 3 of you can recall. maybe it was between the glances you shared, the way they caught you staring at their proximity. perhaps it happened because of the lingering touches: robin’s hand on your waist when moving past you, nancy’s palm brushing over your own whilst praising you for your relentless, determined studying. or maybe it was none of these at all. maybe it was when you had the wheeler’s basement all to yourselves and one shared bottle of liquor turned into two, which led to your fumbling confession of the confusing feelings you had developed for both women.

they were not confusing at all, as it turns out. loving them both came to you easy. easier than anything you could’ve ever imagined before.

there was still lots of secrecy to it, as to be expected from dating two women in hawkins, indiana, in 1986. but they weren’t scared to love you, like your previous lover had been. they weren’t afraid of loving you at all. if anything, they were proud of having you as theirs.

what started as “trying it out” ended up with waking to the soft, floral scent of nancy’s sheets, sandwiched between two warm bodies. it ended up with shared kisses in the morning, at noon and in the evening too. two pair of shoes by the door turned into three. three toothbrushes in the bathroom, three plates set up for breakfast. three bodies curled up in bed together.

it ended up with the most loving relationship you could’ve ever wished for.

and it was perfect, even with the limited time the three of you had been given in hawkins together:

the plan had been settled before. when you’d been just a friend to the couple and nancy had asked you to share a dorm at university. you had obviously accepted, happy to have someone there with you, someone who wasn’t a stranger. robin would stay in hawkins, save up money to go to europe and work shifts at family video with steve. and you & nancy would leave, study at emerson together and become roommates.

now you’re in said room, close to nancy, and wishing robin could be here with the two of you. to have more of her than just the voice through the receiver.

“so anyway!” the girl tells you. “i told steve not flirt with her because -duh?- she’s heidi’s mother but he didn’t know that so-“

her voice sounds raspier than usual through the static of the receiver. she sounds happy. and, god, you hope she is. you don’t want her to feel left out, like you’ve left her behind in hawkins to be with nancy. you know that, rationally speaking, robin is okay. she misses you, of course. how couldn’t she? you’re her girls after all. but she’s happy that you get to pursue your dream while she works on her own from home.

still, you can’t help the nagging feeling that you’re not being fair. that you’re not loving them equally; the way they both deserve to be loved.

“hellooo?” her voice snaps you back to reality. “y/n? you still there?”

“yes!” you snap out of your thoughts suddenly. nancy notices and looks up from the book she’d been reading. “yes! of course! yes! sorry. steve was flirting with heidi’s mom?”

“he was!” robin nods, her smile evident in the sound of her voice. “he so was and he didn’t even know!”

you chuckle, accompanied by a gentle shake of your head. “typical steve move”

“that’s what i said too!”

the two of you share a moment of laughter over the phone before robin trails off.

“i miss you” she whispers.

“we miss you too!” you assure her immediately. “but summer break is right around the corner. then we’ll be back with you!”

robin hums her agreement. “yeah. i can’t wait to see mes filles”

you smile at the way she pronounces the foreign word. she’s already made plenty of use of the french dictionary you gave her when you left.

“your…?”

you can practically hear her beaming through the telephone. it makes you smile. “mes filles!” she repeats, slower this time. “my girls”.

“your girls” you repeat softly, just a breath, but robin seems to pick it up anyway.

“i can’t wait to see you” she says. “i love you”

“i love you too, take care of hawkins while we’re gone yeah?”

“will do” she assures you. “I’ll see you”

you blow her a kiss through the speaker before you say your goodbyes and hang up.

nancy is by your side immediately, nudging your leg softly.

“hm?” you snap out of your thoughtful trance and look up at her.

“what’s up with you, love?” nancy asks gently, and puts her book down. “you seem…?” she trails off.

you huff. of course nancy would notice. she’s majoring in investigative journalism after all.

“it’s just-“ you sigh. now nancy’s sits up, your vagueness alarming to her. she wraps an arm over your shoulder and pulls you against her body soothingly.

“hm?” she kisses your temple, her index tracing the moles on your arm.

“i don’t want her to feel alone” you admit under your breath. “robin. i don’t want her to feel like we’re leaving her behind in hawkins”

“oh baby love” nancy says, her lips ghosting over the side of your face. her grip tightens around your body too, pulling you closer to her.

“it’s just-“ you sigh. “i love her. just like i love you. but you’re here and she’s not and- and i feel like it’s obviously harder to show her all that love i have for her. at least from afar. but i want her to feel it! i want her to feel loved”

“she does” nancy softly interrupts your train of thought. “she feels loved baby! you have like- the biggest heart ever! it’s hard not to feel loved when it’s you”

you still smile against the odds of it all when your girlfriend speaks so fondly of you.

“she knows she’s loved, y/n” nancy says, slightly more firm this time. “we knew it would be like this. and of course the distance sucks! i wanna love both of my girls from up close too!”

you can’t help but chuckle a little and nancy side eyes you.

“pervert” she whispers under her breath, followed by another kiss to your face. “it’ll be easier once we’re all together again. but she loves us. so much”

it’s enough to ease your worries for now. you know, of course, that the love for the two of them will be enough too. it’ll always be enough.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

“y/n!!” a voice that is unmistakably robin’s calls over the airport lounge.

it’s hot in Indiana, warmer than it had been when you boarded the plane in massachusetts. robin is wearing a pair of loose shorts, presumably steve’s with how low they’re sitting around her waist. she’s got her short hair up in a messy bun, and her arms spread for you and nancy.

you drop your suitcase immediately, already chasing towards her with open arms. you’re squealing like a little child when you finally find yourself back in the taller girl’s embrace. nancy joins the two of you just a couple of seconds later, just as long as it took her to catch up with you.

“hi” robin whispers against your hair. she can’t be overly affectionate with the two of you yet, at least not as much as she wants to be, but her arms around your body are enough to finally soothe the ache her absence had left in you.

“hey” you whisper against her neck. hidden from the sight of anyone who might pass by, you press a quick kiss to the side of her neck. robin responds with a low hum.

“is she teasing already?” nancy smirks from behind you and the three of you loosen the hug enough for robin to present two separate flower bouquets: one of nancy’s favorite flowers, one of yours.

“robin” nancy says. “you didn’t have to!”

“i know” robin shrugs casually. “wanted too, though. my girls made it through their first year at emerson! how cool’s that huh? god i’m so proud of you. i could kiss you right now. i would. i really want to, to be honest. but- you know” she gestures around. you and nancy both share a grin. robin hasn’t changed at all.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

once you’re behind the closed doors of robin’s house, the girl is all over the two of you -and you’d be lying if you weren’t all over her too.

she’s got an arm draped over each of your shoulders, alternating between placing kisses to your temple and nancy’s cheek, joined with sweet whispers of: “missed you. missed you so so much”

you don’t even have time to properly unpack your luggage before you find yourself in robin’s bed. she had to size up ever since you’ve gotten together, saving up money to replace her small single bed with a queen sized one to make enough room. she’d done it happily, had been bouncing off the walls the day you were putting together the new furniture.

she’s sandwiched between your bodies, lying in your middle and curling against the two of you happily.

“wanna spend forever like this” she tells you. nancy chuckles and you grin.

robin turns her head to look over at you. you can feel her watchful gaze studying your side profile.

“hey” she whispers, nudging you with her shoulder. you turn over at her. nancy is watching you too. you know, right in that moment, that she must’ve told robin about your worries. you’re not gonna hold it against her, exactly. if anything, you’re happy nancy has told her. you doubt you would’ve found the words to express your feelings to her.

“hm?”

“you know” robin says, simultaneously reaching for your hand to rub your knuckles with her thumb. “i am so lucky to have you. to be loved by you. the two of you.”

“me too” you tell her quietly.

“you don’t have to worry, baby” she continues “about…me not feeling loved enough. or whatever it is you worry about in that brilliant mind of yours”

nancy smiles from behind robin. she’s holding her free hand as she speaks.

“even with the distance?” you whisper softly, chewing your lower lip absentmindedly. robin reaches out, gently pulls your lower lip down from between your front teeth before kissing your mouth gently.

“even with the distance. with everything.”

she mumbles against your mouth. she has crawled closer, but nancy has followed immediately and is now spooning her from behind.

“you’re my girls. you really think some stupid amount of distance would change that?“

a smile makes its way upon your features. she’s right, of course. your love for the two girls in robin’s bed isn’t limited to their physical presence. it couldn’t be.

“i love it even more when i have you both here with me, though” she grins and wraps her arms around your waist to pull you on top of her. nancy giggles behind her, her arms coming up from behind her to hug the two of you

“sure?” you ask.

“1000%. i’ll make sure you guys have the best vacation in hawkins. well. as good as possible. we’re in hawkins after all.” robin scrunches up the freckled bridge of her nose.

“we’ll make it work” nancy chimes in, brushing robin’s hair behind her ear.

it’s new, to all three of you. but you know, right then and there, that it will be okay. that everything will work out just fine, no matter what.

#ronance #ronance x reader #ronance x reader fluff #robin buckley #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley imagine #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler fluff #nancy wheeler x reader #nancy wheeler x female reader #nancy wheeler x you #nancy wheeler imagine #nancy wheeler x robin buckley #nancy wheeler x robin buckley x reader #stranger things

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kitchen-spoon · 4 months

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Steve needs glasses

1989: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Nancy, and Max all live in Chicago together. Steddie and Ronance are in Established relationships and live together in apartments near each other. Max just moved to the city for university and Lives on Campus.

Before they all lived together Max figures out they are dating first and see’s Steve in glasses first because she cut herself pretty bad and was home alone. She goes to Eddie’s for help. He takes her to the kitchen and is cleaning her up when Steve walks out in his underwear covered in hickies with his glasses on asking what is going on.

Eddie is a mechanic. His style has changed a lot because of his job, he needs to dress more practical now. The few things he doesn’t give up are his septum and bridge piercings and his rings. He routinely takes them off and on everyday before and after work. Mostly he wears homemade muscle tank tops he cut himself that show his ribs made from band t-shirts. He wears work boots often now too. His hair is usually tied back into a ponytail and he uses his bandana to keep his bangs away from his face. His usual uniform also involves navy Carhartt overalls.

Steve works at a diner. On Wednesday nights he closes so Eddie, Robin, Nancy and max all come in after close and eat the leftover food that was going to be tossed. Nancy doesn't come often because she usually has work the next day and can't stay up late so, Eddie and Robin deffer to Max for Stories about Steve when he first started dealing with the upside down.

Eddie’s suspicion about Steve needing glasses starts right before they get togther. At first it was because of how much Robin brought it up but he just chalked it up to their weird wonder twins friendship. when He really notices though is when they go to a college party thanks to Nancy and Steve spills his drink trying to pour it in the cup while sober.

Eddie gets his suspissions confirmed when he gets Steve to admit he has trouble seeing one night. They are in the garage together, Steve is ‘helping’ by passing Eddie tools. He asks Steve to pass him a specific sized ratchet and Steve passes him the wrong size Twice. Eddie just straight up asks if Steve has trouble seeing but, Steve gets defensive and is like ‘alright asshole I get it I’m not handy jesus.” But Eddie calms him down, apologizes and asks again letting Steve know he is serious. He mentions the party and other things (squinting at the remote when he puts on movies, always clips the corner in the hallway going into the washroom.) And Steve finally relents and admits "maybe I’ve been having problems for the last year." Eddie freaks out, "like year?! Jesus Steve you need to go to an eye doctor. Seriously." and convinces him somehow.

They go. Steve’s head injuries / concussions have weakened his right eye. He has Amblyopia or a lazy eye. His brain has a disconnect and can’t recognize sight from his right eye as well. He’ll have to get glasses and wear an eyepatch. (which he only wears around Eddie) They make another appointment so he can get tests done and they can get his prescription.

Once they leave the eye office Steve makes Eddie swear not to tell anyone about anything. They talk about how needing glasses makes Steve feel weak and less useful, how he won't be able to protect the kids as well anymore and they won't trust him to keep them safe. He also worries about how they'll make him look because he knows he is stupid so all he has left going for him is his looks which will be ruined by the glasses. Eddie sits and listens and then talks Steve through all his worries, especially the ones abut his looks. Its how they have their first kiss and subsequently start dating.

After that Eddie takes Steve to all his appointments and they have little dates after to feel better. For one appointment Steve has to have his eyes dilated so Eddie really does have to come. It's on a Monday so Eddie has to come in his workboots, coveralls, and bandana right after work. Steve gets his eyes dilated and Eddie helps guide him around. They go to the cafeteria while they wait and have milk and cookies because that is all that is left. Eddie soaks the cookie bits for Steve and feeds him. Eddie laughs and says it’s what Steve looks like when he is stoned

When Steve gets his glasses and hangs out with Robin, Nancy and Max for the first time Eddie goes in first and is like don’t say anything or he’ll never wear them again and be blind by the time he’s 40.

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siblingskissing · 4 months

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Ronance headcanons?

Ronance Headcanons

I have had the BIGGEST brain rot about these two, you guys don't even know, so please excuse my rambling session in this post. As always- feel free to share your headcanons, opinions, thoughts ideas, just be kind <3

-Robin is the biggest simp to ever exist. Nancy mentions liking a color? Guess who's suddenly adding it all over their wardrobe! A favourite food? She's already learned how to cook it. Allergic to something? Robin will destroy it with her bare hands and make it go extinct to protect her girl.

-Likewise, Nancy would and will kill for Robin (come on Robin tell her to kill for you she wants to)

-Their favourite dates include them sitting in one of their rooms, a movie or music playing as they discuss conspiracy theories or whatever story Nancy is working on

"There's been a ton of missing items from farms in the areas. Animals, tools, bales of hay-"

"could it be aliens?"

"Alie- Robin it's not aliens!"

"What? Interdimensional monsters are real but aliens aren't?"

-Many people assume Nancy would get annoyed by Robins carefree joke centered attitude but actually she calms down whenever Robin tries making jokes.

-She doesn't like when people don't take things seriously, but she knows Robin is taking it serious, but using humour to make sure they don't spiral with the problem

-their relationship definitely started off rocky but with some time, understanding and surprisingly really deep conversations they learn to appreciate the little things about one another.

-Robin loves Nancy's drive and her leadership skills. She makes sure that everyone takes her seriously and if the kids complain about Nancy being a hard ass she brings them back to listen.

"Nancy's not our boss!"

"No, but she's the one keeping you dipshits safe- she knows what she's doing so listen up and quit complaining"

-They kids listen to Robin more and so when she follows Nancy with no complaints, the kids unconsciously follow suit.

-When Nancy gets stressed/aggravated Robin will be there to lend her a shoulder. They're very much leader/Right Hand man coded to me.

-Nancy doesn't know much about queer culture so when she does eventually come out Robin is happy to talk to her about it and share what she knows.

"So we use Blue violets because Sappho used to describe women wearing garlands of them,"

"Sappho?"

"... Do you have a spar 3 hours so I can explain Sappho and Greek poetry to you?"

-They take all kinds of cute little Polaroids that they keep at Robins place

(examples of said Polaroids)

-Robins family is more supportive so often Nancy goes over there to spend the night

-when college comes up in discussions Robin mentions that she enjoyed investigating with Nancy, the research was fun when they didn't have death looming over them.

"Yeah, learning Russian to break the code was awesome- the torture kind of ruined it though-"

"The WHAT?"

-Nancy asks Robin 1000X if Robin is sure she wants to go to the same college/same field and Robin promises her that she isn't only going because of her.

"I'd follow you anywhere, but this is also for me- if I have to do one more customer service job I might kill someone."

-They love movie nights, curled up under a blanket watching whatever film they can find. Robin always finds the oddest ones and sometimes some really deep indie films. Nancy also enjoys the foreign films she can find and let's her choose.

-on nights Nancy chooses- she likes care free fun films. Nothing too heavy because she likes the simplicity

-Theyre a gross matching couple- but in a new fun way.

-Mat hing colors in their respective styles, using each other's clothes and making it go with their personal choices, matching patterns/designs.

-They also shared shoes sometimes

-On the 90s Nancy gets a more "Rachel from friends" style like this

-Robin eats it up like no one is watching and often has to hold back from just kissing her 24/7

(also I badly wanna do a look book of the characters so Please someone ask for that because I love fashion)

I definitely probably have more but here you are!!

#proship #antis dni #proship community #proship please interact #stranger things #ronance #ronance headcanons #robin buckley #nancy wheeler

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marvel-ous-m · 3 months

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It was SUCH a pleasure to take on this project as a pinch hitter with @steddiesummerexchange - I absolutely loved exploring this little camp-counselor AU, and I hope that y'all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

Summary: Faced with no work for the summer, Robin gets the brilliant idea to apply to work at a summer camp for six weeks, and drags Steve right along with her.

Steve... really isn't sure what to expect. He's never even gone to camp before, he doesn't know the first thing about how to be a counselor.

Still, he agrees- mostly because he needs a source of income, and he's not about to let Robin leave him behind in Hawkins for a month and a half.

A few coincidences (and a little bad luck) finds Steve stuffing his cabin meant for 14 campers full of extra mattresses, so that it can hold a total of 24 campers, himself, and his counselor counterpart, who just so happens to be someone that he's run into once before: Eddie Munson.

Surely things can only go up from here?

Or, a summer camp fic filled with humor, fluff, and a few camp counselors falling in love.

Start of Chapter 1 below the cut!

“Oh my god, Robin, these shorts are worse than the ones we had at Scoops. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It’s not like we had anything else to do this summer. Besides, we only have to wear the uniform for the first week, so suck it up.” She turned towards him and gave him a blinding smile. “For what it’s worth, the green shirt really compliments your eyes. Do you think that the bandana in my hair is too much?”

Steve pouted at himself through the floor-length mirror he and Robin were standing in front of. The shorts were fucking short. Indecent, in his opinion, especially for a camp full of middle and early-highschoolers.

He sighed, then glanced at Robin via her reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t help the smile that appeared when he noticed the pink bandana holding her hair back, making her look all bright and summer-y. “It looks great, Robs.”

“Really? I just don’t want my bangs to get all sweaty and matted against my forehead, but I wasn’t sure how else to tame them.”

“Seriously, it looks really nice. It’s cute.” Steve took a final look at himself in the mirror, grimacing at the uniformed, freshly-twenty-year-old staring back at him. Robin was right, obviously, they didn’t have any summer plans, but the idea of summer camp still sorta rubbed him the wrong way.

Robin had been a camp kid, apparently. She had gone every summer in elementary school once she was old enough, then attended theater and band camps over her middle and highschool summers.

Steve, however, just got left alone at home over the summer, told to busy himself by completing the summer reading for when school started in the Fall. His reading was always done by the third week of summer vacation, and he spent the rest of the weeks swimming laps in his pool, alone, or doing chores around the house, alone, or watching old television reruns, alone. Tommy came over sometimes, even brought Carol with him once they started dating, and things weren’t so bad after that. Still, it always felt like they were using him for his money and his pool, not because they actually wanted to hang out with him.

Suffice to say, Steve doesn’t know the first thing about a summer-long sleepaway camp.

There were a few things that were making the experience a bit less anxiety-inducing. Robin would be there, obviously, and he was put in charge of supervising all water-related play, which was familiar territory. Robin was put in charge of crafts, which would certainly be interesting, given that she could barely even draw a recognizable stick figure. She insisted that camp crafts were just different, and Steve couldn’t exactly argue against that logic, seeing that he doesn’t even know what camp crafts were, so he just went along with her reasoning and hoped for the best.

The gaggle of kids that he’d gotten to know over the past few years would also all be there as campers, which was odd, to say the least- especially considering how overprotective some of the kid’s parents were.

(Joyce Byers came to mind as one such example, but in Steve’s opinion, her protectiveness was pretty justified. You don’t just get over your kid disappearing for a week, a child’s dead body being found in a river dressed in his clothing less than 48 hours later, then your actual son randomly being found at an abandoned cabin in the woods a week later with strange scars and no memory of what had happened.)

It was shocking that the kids convinced their parents to let them go to camp, but Steve was pretty excited. There was even a chance he’d have some of them in his cabin, seeing as he was cabin lead for half of the 9th grade boys, but he also knew there was a greater-than-zero chance that they’d get split up between him and whoever his counterpart was for the other cabin of 9th grade boys.

He didn’t have a list of the other counselors yet, so he wasn’t sure who this ‘counterpart’ would be. Robin said they would distribute packets with that information on arrival at camp. Robin had also said that it was common for past camp kids to become junior counselors when they aged out of the program, then go on to be senior counselors and stick around through college, and seeing as Steve didn’t exactly hang out with that kinda crowd in school, he doubted that he’d know anyone.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, fluffing his bangs in the hopes of at least letting his best feature shine in this job, as opposed to the gig at Scoops with that stupid hat. “Do you remember what time we have to get there today?”

“Uhhh, I think three? Then we’ll have an hour to set up our bed stuff, training and dinner ‘til nine, then training tomorrow and Friday, kids arrive Saturday.” Robin rambled out the information as she applied her mascara in the mirror, shooting a smile at Steve when she was done.

“Three?! Robin, it’s already noon! How far away is this place?”

“Oh, right. It’s uh… about three hours?” Robin’s timid response had Steve groaning and grabbing her arm so that he could pull her away from the mirror, tugging her towards his bed where their bags were lying.

“Alright, c’mon, we gotta go, like, now. I have to stop for gas on the way, so we’re already late, which really isn’t a good look, not for our first day.”

Robin gave an exaggerated sigh, but still complied, opening her gray duffle bag that was lying next to Steve’s green one so that she could shove her makeup and other last-minute things inside. From the corner of his eye, Steve could see various colors of fabric peeking out from underneath her toiletries.

“Are you serious? How many bandanas did you pack?”

“I need a different color for every day of the week, Steve! If this is gonna be my summer look, I’ve gotta commit, you know?”

“Birdie, I love you, but that’s a little ridiculous.” Steve grabbed his duffle bag from the bed and began walking towards the stairs leading to the front door, smiling to himself as Robin’s indignant squawking began while she trailed behind him.

This was sure to be an interesting summer.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #em writes #steddie fic #platonic stobin #camp counselor au #steddie camp counselor au #camp counselor steve harrington #camp counselor eddie munson #stobin #steddie ficlet #steddiesummerexchange24 #ronance #Robin Buckley #Nancy Wheeler

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doomsdaybby · 10 months

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chapter one: pre-soak. laundromat!steve au x fem!reader mini series. you can find the blurb here 🫶🏻

content/warnings: strangers to lovers, barely any plot (no twists or turns, just watch two cuties fall in love), no use of y/n, fluff, mutual pining, steve is such a sweetheart, soft!steve 🥹, steve being a lovesick puppy, reader is just a little mean, jealous!steve at points, ronance bc I love them, eventual smut (not this chapter), she/her pronouns and physical female descriptions used for reader character throughout.

word count: 2.9k

I do not proofread my work, so please be forgiving of any mistakes.

Suds N’ Sparks Laundromat. Spring 1989.

Steve Harrington works round the clock shifts for exactly four dollars an hour to make ends meet. From sunrise to sunset, his life was surrounded by flickering yellow lights (if you looked closely enough you could see the moths that had scuttled too close to the hot bulbs), emptied pockets of spilled quarters on countertops and the rhythmic mind-numbing rumble of washing machines that soon became white noise.

Steve had already run through exactly eight job positions in the last four years. Don’t ask him how, he seems to never make it stick. The conclusion drew to him a while back that he was the world’s biggest fuck up, and that’s the way it was supposed to be.

It wasn't all bad, he worked alone, the regulars were nice enough and the paycheck was on the surprisingly sunny side compared to Scoops Ahoy, Family Video, camp counseling, that one busboy position that lasted five minutes, and the paperboy, and… you get the point.

It was working well enough for him right now, covering the rent and bills for his and Robin’s shared apartment, and of course gas money, whilst saving him a little extra on the side for whatever his heart desired, and that was all he could ask for. Besides, there weren't many openings left in Hawkins for him to fall back on, almost every business manager the town had on offer had mindlessly sifted through Steve Harrington’s glistening -eye roll- resume since the fall of 1985 at one point or another.

He had to somehow make this one last longer than 8 months, his new year's resolution, or else Steve would surely have to pack up his shit and leave.

Though for right now, the laundromat put an undetermined stop in the infinite revolving door that was his employment track record, and it felt like a small sigh of relief that the customers actually seemed to like him. A lot.

Mrs Fletcher, who insisted on Steve calling her by her first name Helen (he never did), brought in exactly two baskets of laundry at precisely 5pm every Friday evening. Not a minute early, not a second late. Mrs Fletcher was a single woman in her mid to late 50’s, give or take, and was not resistant to the irresistible Harrington charm, despite Steve never uttering a single flirtatious syllable in her direction.

He was woefully made aware that she was single because she made an intentional point to mention it every. single. week. Divorced, husband left her in a bunch of debt yada yada blah blah. Whatever. You would think that he was joking, a tad on the dramatic side maybe, but Helen managed to slip it in there at one point or another during each conversation.

She actually lived on Maple Street, only a couple houses down from the Wheeler’s. Steve remembers her kind waves and cheery ‘Hello’s’ to him and Nancy during their highschool sweetheart days. But since word most certainly got around in Hawkins, once Jonathon Byers took his place linked hand in hand with his past burning flame, it wasn't difficult to put two and two together that the pair had split. So once Steve appeared at the closest local laundromat, Helen Fletcher was positively thrilled.

Steve was in the thick of his routinely one-sided chat with his admirer, elbows resting spread east and west on the counter and arms stretched out in front of him in closed palms, eyes beginning to glaze over since having swapped her one dollar note for four quarters almost twenty minutes ago. Though the shrill ting of the doorbell thankfully pulled him from the jumping record that were his strained, yet still polite, ‘uh huh’-s and ‘oh really’-s.

Robin stumbled through the door, a pull-string hamper hanging heavy by the crook of her elbow, Nancy linked snugly in the other. They both cheesed wide at Steve’s unfortunate current predicament, seemingly unaware of the disapproving grumbles and wary eyes of the few balding middle-aged men slouched on the wooden chairs opposite the rowdy dryers, newspapers held up to their brows.

Though they continued with grace, still very much knitted as one strutting hip to hip and sharing an all too knowing glance, one that only read trouble and hours of persistent teasing that Steve was bitterly well acquainted with. Robin slings the hamper onto the counter that sat at the very back wall with a leaded thud, requesting smaller change in favor of a one dollar bill outstretched in her hand, much like her new shoulder buddy, who is now non-discretely grumbling behind her teeth.

Robin notices, and turns to flash the older woman a pearly ear-to-ear grin, blinking her eyes as if to say ‘need something?’. Helen glowered, lips curled up in clear aggravation. Nancy disguises a poorly hidden grin behind a wipe of her mouth, and Robin’s off-putting aura worked its well-oiled charm as Mrs Fletcher went about her business. Seven days of rest, and Steve felt like he could breathe again. At least she took the hint?

“We did laundry two days ago” Steve looks disappointed, jaw falling somewhat slack.

“You’re so right. But, uhm, we had a problem” Robin’s lips downturn with a shred of guilt, albeit short lived, her left eye creasing under the lower lash in a semi-squint.

“Problem? What problem?”

Nancy’s cheeks are sucked in, rows of teeth biting the inside to stifle her giggling, accentuating her structured features. Though Steve couldn’t put his finger on what was so funny.

“We tried to make dinner. Dinner involved red wine. We drank some of it, it was good, and then we kindaspilledsaidredwineverywhere” She finished in a hurry at the conclusion, speaking incoherently from the corner of her mouth.

Now the ceaseless snickering made sense. They were not drunk by any means, but a little too merry and conversing an octave too high for the closing curtain of Steve’s shift. Ten hours of staring at the same four plant-lined poorly painted carolina blue walls was enough to make anyone go stir crazy. Though in the warmer months the breeze was admittedly very refreshing with the door wedged open, so that was a perk.

Steve tips out a hand to take the bag from Robin with a sigh, a deepening crease in his brow and not enough confidence in his chest to watch the two flounder and fidget with the washing machines.

“You’re not angry?” Nancy taunts, almost expectant, with rounded eyes and fingers now laced with Robin’s as they turn to follow Steve to the large island of cheap wood and steel legs that stood point blank in the middle of the room, the swirling barrels of damp and drying laundry surrounding it.

“Ask me again tomorrow” he responds with an exhausted huff, a hint of a scoff. Steve empties out the soiled linens onto the countertop, surveying each garment to assess the damage.

“Jesus, did you guys rob the liquor store?”

Surely they had used more than one, maybe even more than two bottles of wine for whatever they decided promoted them to culinary artists for the evening. More snickering, though they both prodded and knocked one another at the hip. If Steve rolled his eyes any harder they would spin out of his head.

So Steve guided Robin and Nancy to the chairs opposite where he was shoving clothing one by one into the drum of the washing machine, eyeing them warily like toddlers in a playpen, wishing that they would quieten down before the disgruntled muttering of the elderly man at the other end of their row of chairs transitioned into uncensored hate speech.

Steve resorts to mumbling to himself about how they were going to eventually get him in big trouble having to defend them from their own big mouths, and the potential consequences of said unfiltered big mouths, one day or another. He reaches into the bottom of the hamper to pull out a mauve coloured table cloth, that was now three quarters a giant violet stain.

Steve is too tired for a Friday evening and he wished that the last forty-five minutes of his shift would wrap up as swiftly as it was for his two hysterical friends to fuck up a brand new table cloth. He grasps the material edge to edge in his fists, obscuring his view as he begins to walk forwards, ignoring the familiar ting-ing of the small bell above the janky door, as Robin and Nancy exchanged grimaces and mocking chastising in voices that were supposed to resemble Steve’s scoldings.

Though Steve doesn’t quite make it to the washer, instead crashing chest first into your towering and, for lack thereof a better word, foreboding laundry basket, thus by default, you. Your walkman clatters to the black and white tiled floor, Fleetwood Mac cassette striking loose to slide under an adjacent tumble-dryer with a grainy swish. The headphones dislodge from the plug-in, now hanging lopsided from your ears as your ass smacks to the ground, a dull painful shockwave radiating up your tailbone.

“Fuck!” a curse exclaimed in unison, and Steve is already hauling himself up off the floor, “Watch where you’re fuc-” a helping hand in front of your face before you can even finish your sentence, teeth clacking shut in silence at the unexpected assistance.

“Could say the same to you” Steve replied, back twinging as he lugs you up off the floor, “Sorry, it’s been a long day and-” he looks at you properly then, and absentmindedly squeezes your hand in kindness. You watch him expectantly, dusting off your flared jeans with your free hand, wincing something awful as you cup your lower back.

“Shit, shit” He starts quickly, eyes growing partly wide with urgence, forgetting that you were about to rip him a new asshole. “Are you okay?” his brows pinch to mirror yours, gaze flicking in a hurry from the pained expression on your face to the palm nursing right above your tailbone. It was genuine, his concern, you can hear it in his buttery tone.

“No,” you respond in a way that delivered meaner than you intended, before saying a little kinder, “That really fucking hurt”. You release a breath of a laugh, barely there but it could still be heard whilst Steve steadies you, hands still firmly clasped together. He’s warm, maybe too warm, skin soft and his hands are much larger than your own.

“Hey, didn’t you work at that ice cream place a couple years ago? At the mall? Obviously before it burned down and everything” You ask, eyes curious and voice blanketed in familiarity. Steve blinks at you, blindsided by how the now setting sun reflects in your gentle glassy stare, and you realize that you’re still holding hands.

“You flirted with me once, desperation must be your thing” you continued with a small chuckle when he didn't answer, a jab at yourself rather than him, the previous question more rhetorical and an obvious nose-dive attempt of a dialogue starter.

You release him lightly, and Steve becomes aware a little late when you eye him warily, brows pulling together in an uneasy crease, slightly taken aback by his silence. The patch of stillness was awkward, though it gave you a moment to survey him.

“He’s not much of a ladies man anymore” Robin chimes in with a jump from her seat, the saving grace to the now painfully uncomfortable atmosphere. Steve runs a hand down his face, partially catching his lower lids. Please, God, if you’re listening, just fucking kill me, he thought to himself.

You hum, and Steve’s cheeks dust the rosiest shade of pink when you give him a once over, though you’re leaning a little away from him now. His blue green long sleeved is bunched up to make a three quarter length, though his left has slipped down to his wrist now. Two shiny metal buttons are undone, a sliver of a white undershirt peeking through at the collar. There’s a faded spot of spilt laundry detergent splashed right where his heart sits.

Robin is never going to let him forget this moment for the rest of his life.

Steve was a very handsome guy, you couldn’t deny that. You even thought he was pretty cute the few times he served you raspberry ripple ice cream with sprinkles on top. The sailor outfit was a nice touch, though he clearly never got much action. You were lucky enough to audience some of his failed pick-up lines back then. Poor thing, his ego must have been so battered and bruised.

Your mouth curls at the corner fondly, “Uh, thankyou, by the way. For helping me up”.

“I should have watched where I was fucking going” Steve says, finishing off your earlier snipped jab, eyebrows hitting his hairline and dusting his hands off on his jeans. He dips his face away, but you can see the rippling of smile lines that adorn his cheeks.

“And yeah, yeah I worked at Scoops. You from around here?” Desperate to change the subject, the tips of his ears were flaring up. The regular A/C now didn’t feel like enough, he was hot with embarrassment. You're beginning to pick up the dropped laundry now with Nancy and Robin’s help, after setting your lonely headphones and busted walkman onto the counter. Steve also resumed his previous task.

“I’m from Roanoke, you know, just outside Fort Wayne?” Steve nods, still focused on the wine-stained linens. You continue, “My Dad lives out here, so I've been back and forth, more so the last couple years since I left high school”. Steve makes a mental note, no wonder he can’t quite place you.

“When’d you graduate?” he asks, and Robin winces though she doesn’t really know why. Steve glances up from Nancy’s soft blouse in his hands, running the fabric through his fingertips as he watches you.

“‘82” your nose wrinkles, quickly darting a pair of red underwear into the machine next to Steve. He pretends that he didn’t notice. You were older, even if it was just a couple years. Steve liked that.

“Why move out to Hawkins?” Nancy invades with interest, though you welcome the extra input with grace. It had been a while since anyone had shown this much interest in you. Your lips twist faintly in contemplation, not wanting to overshare whilst seeking their prolonged attention for as long as you could have it. Greedy, really. But it felt nice, normal.

“Change of pace. I like it here” you answer her question with honesty, which was accepted for what it was. Though none of them really understood why you would like Hawkins, almost everyone in the small town wanted to get out of there as fast as humanly possible.

Steve Harrington stayed later that shift, the extent of his fatigue and burning desire to collapse in bed numbed by this new infatuation. Maybe the reminder of having the weekend off was enough to ice the burn. You shared enough but too much considering the three before you were strangers, though not even an hour with them and you felt like you had known them for years.

You spoke mostly with Robin and Nancy, Steve chiming in here and there. His gaze was either trained on you or his fidgeting fingers the entire time it took for your laundry to wash and dry. The girls were giggling, and he managed to get a good look at how your under-eyes crinkle when you smiled, the inattentive purse of your lips when you just sat and listened, specks of mascara dusting underneath your lashes where you had been clumsy.

This might become a problem, he thought.

“See you around, sparky” You wave once your now pristine laundry was folded into the basket a whole ninety minutes after your crash to the floor, a natural charm laced in the flash of a closed mouth smile, a cordial wave to your new friendly acquaintances. Steve felt the air settle once you left, he blinked, his heart had skipped a couple beats. You’d forgotten your tape, your walkman, and your headphones.

Steve raises a hand from the counter, fingers twiddling kindly in your direction. The upturn of his mouth is completely unfeigned, and it makes his stomach twist and his legs feel unsteady.

Robin and Steve turn to look at eachother, hands on his hips and a couple beads of sweat stippling his hairline. She’s smiling, an evil thing with no malice behind it. Nancy's lower jaw is sitting loose, her lips parted, watching Steve as if the stars are aligning before her very eyes.

“Robs,” he deadpans, a warning. “Please. Don’t say anything” he feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with clammy fingers.

Nancy and Robin crook their necks to peer at each other, Nancy’s bottom lip is firmly tucked into her top row of teeth, a grin spreading wide. Robin’s mouth is purely hanging open in amazement, and Steve braced himself for what was to come.

They both inhale and Steve screws his eyes closed with a steady inhale through the nose. Reels of kissing noises are thrown his way, the two women’s puckered lips and incessant snorting makes Steve want to crawl out of his skin. He can’t hear whatever raised-pitched fun they’re making of him, drowning it out as much as he is able whilst fishing the car keys from his pocket. Another perk of the job, considering the laundromat was twenty-four hours, he didn’t have to close.

“You guys are assholes” Steve remarks, but the glimmer of a smirk remains just the same.

thankyou for reading this if you made it to the end! 🫶🏻 pls reblog & comment if you like this! I haven’t written fully like this in a good while so i’m feeling pretty anxious. much love x

dividers by @inklore 🩷

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