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curiositydooropened · 2 days ago

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series masterlist | part two ->

📻 tracks 01 - 07

5,786 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains mentions of cigarettes, weed, sex dreams, and a troubled home life for reader

Her hands tremble as they reach out to him. His eyes close from her gentle cup of his cheeks, though the tender sweep of her thumb across the apple of his right one has them fluttering open.

He wraps an arm around her waist at the sight of her distress, clutching her skirt in fistfuls as he pulls her closer and graces a gentle kiss to her jaw, catching the singular tear fated to drop with his lips before it can.

“I’m gonna be fine.”

His gruff voice against her skin doesn’t sound like he believes it, nor does the way he savors her beneath his mouth, kissing down the side of her neck like he knows he’ll never taste her again.

“You don’t know that,” she whispers into his temple before granting a kiss of her own to the same place.

Her shaking hands lift his jaw so he must look at her, unwaveringly, as she commands, “If you die-“

“I’m not gonna-“

“If you die,” she begins again, stronger, louder, clear in her decision. “I die.”

He knows she means it, her severe gaze promising and threatening and so unbelievably hot-

“Boy!”

Eddie blinked awake, finding his uncle shouting above him and smacking two pot lids together.

His alarm clock flashed red, 12:00 over and over again and he yelped, shooting out of bed as he shouted, “What time is it?!”

Wayne started to retreat down the hall, yelling over his shoulder, “Seven thirty!”

“Fuckfuckshit!” He scrambled out of his room, slipping on open notebooks and campaign books he fell asleep with as he went. Knocking over Old Spice and knickknacks on his dresser when he used a steadying hand against it.

“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?!” He accused his uncle as he squeezed too much toothpaste on the brush. He pushed the glob of paste back onto the bristles and shoved it into his mouth and began running the shower.

“Boy,” his uncle came into the doorway just to point a hand holding a pack of cigarettes at him, “You know damn well I go to the diner after my shift. And you’re jus’ lucky I got home when I did, Fran was real chatty this morning.”

Eddie rolled his eyes at the sink as he spit, then muttered, “Fran’s always chatty.”

Wayne leaned against the doorframe like he needed it to hold himself up. He shook his head. “You don’t have time for a shower, you’re already late.”

Eddie threw his arms out wide as if to say look at me, then actually said, “I smell like an ashtray.”

His uncle scratched at his chin, then suggested, “Quit smoking.”

Eddie pushed past him, flicking the pack of nearly empty Malboro’s in his hand as he went. “I’ll quit when you quit, old man.”

That got him a flick of his own to the back of his head and a gruff, “Don’t let the water run! We can’t afford it, especially since you’re getting fired today.”

“Har-har,” Eddie grumbled as the water turned off behind him. He jogged back into his room and scanned the contents of his floor for the clean pile.

He lifted a turquoise and black polo and sniffed it, recoiling from the garment and tossing it over his shoulder as a metal screech of the screendoor echoed down into his room.

Not the clean pile.

He quickly found a new one that didn’t smell as bad and pulled it on as he raced towards the laundry basket in the hallway in search of clean boxers and socks because he at least washes those on a semi-regular basis.

Fully dressed, he shoved his feet into his dirty sneakers and snatched the keys from the bowl by the phone, moving so fast he’s sure he’s created enough wind to actually stir up a cyclone to explain the mess he’s left behind.

His feet stamped against the rickity steps and crunched the gravel beneath them as he spun to yell back at Wayne.

“Thanks for waking me,” he nodded towards the trailer as he walked backwards to the truck, “Casserole in the fridge. And stuff for a salad.”

Wayne’s nose scrunched up at that, smoke billowing of of his mouth as he grumbled something under his breath while Eddie hopped in, rusty blue door protesting the whole way to closed.

“Salad!” Eddie pointed a finger out the open window of the truck at his uncle who waved it away before tapping at his watch. But there was a smirk of a smile on his lips wrapped around the burning cigarette.

The truck rumbled to life on the first try and he kissed the center of the steering wheel, “Good job, baby.”

Balled tires kicked up dust as he spun the wheel and whipped out of the gravel lot and onto the highway. He fumbled with the steering wheel, knee keeping her steady as he pulled a hair tie from around his wrist. He held it between his teeth as his hands worked at the mess on his head, pulling into something manageable as he sped down the two lane blacktop.

And then red and blue lights swirled to life behind him and a siren chirped out into the air once.

Eddie groaned as he spit the tie into his lap and grabbed the wheel with two hands, hair falling limp again. He guided the truck to the shoulder and turned the key. He let his head fall to rest on the steering wheel while he waited, forehead furrowing against the cracking leather.

This girl was good, but he missed his van.

Footsteps stomped towards his open window as a voice too eager to be pulling someone over greeted, “Good morning Mr. Munson! You know why I pulled you over today?”

Cause you’re a dick.

“I haven’t the slightest clue, officer.” Eddie lifted his head to look out the open window at Callahan’s smug face.

He pointed a meaty finger in Eddie’s face, “That’s sheriff to you, Munson.”

“Sorry, sir,” Eddie gritted out, wrapping his fingers around the wheel tighter so he wouldn’t lean out the window and rip each hair of Callahan’s mustache out one by one just to watch him suffer.

Callahan looked amused as he asked, “Were you aware of your speed leaving the park this morning, Mr. Munson?”

“Dude, were you just sitting outside the trailer park waiting for me? I could have you written up for stalk-“

Callahan tapped the roof of the car twice, making Eddie’s teeth grind together in silence again.

“I could have you written up for a number of things, Mr. Munson,” Callahan started. “Calling a member of the police force, dude, for one.”

Eddie stared ahead through his windshield and thought of all the places he’d rather be.

“Or maybe write you a ticket for speeding. Or how about that taillight you haven’t fixed yet?” Callahan crossed his arms, but lifted a finger and pointed like he was onto something, “Or maybe, if I search the cab of this…” he trailed off and gave the truck a grimace before continuing, “Fine vehicle, I’ll find some illegal drugs you have the intent of selling.”

“I don’t do that any-“

His volume and argument quick to die off when Callahan raised his eyebrows like he was just waiting for an accuse to arrest him.

“Please, man,” Eddie tried to get an ounce of patience squeezed out of himself to continue, “I’m already late for work. Can you give me whatever ticket you’re planning to give me so I can just be on my way?”

Callahan glanced at the logo on Eddie’s wrinkled polo and clicked his tongue. “Such a heartwarming thing to name such a fun place after such a nice girl. It’s a shame what happened to her though…”

Eddie’s hands twitched on the steering wheel with the thought of what Callahan was insinuating. Like he had something to do with the mall fire too somehow.

“I thought that the Chief told you that if you made any more comments about the rumors about me somehow being involved in that-“

Callahan raised his arms in surrender, “Woah, woah, woah,” he pressed a hand to his chest, “Mr. Munson, nobody is making any comments here. You have an alibi for that night, as we’re all well aware of.”

Just one mustache hair would be satisfying. No harm, right?

“Well,” Callahan squinted at him, pleased smile on his face, like he was god’s greatest gift to this earth for what he was about to say, “I’ll let you off with a warning today, how ‘bout? No need to make all the kiddos at Holloway’s wait for their fries and skates, right?”

Two mustache hairs. And a punch to the face.

Callahan’s grin widened, like the look on Eddie’s face was all he wanted out of the interaction. “But if you don’t get that tail light fixed and learn to slow down, maybe get to work on time, I’ll have no choice but to bring you in.”

He tapped the top of the truck, grimaced, then rubbed his hand on his pant leg.

Eddie saluted two fingers at him and watched him walk away in his side mirror, rolling his eyes at the way he whistled and walked like he was in a John Wayne movie.

“Prick.”

Once Callahan drove away in the opposite direction, he slammed the stereo on and cranked the tape he had left in, and started to dig around for his pack of Camel’s he swore he wouldn’t break into today.

His tires screeched when he peeled onto the road again, speedometer quickly going much higher than ten over now.

📻 “I’d spend my days alone. I used to stay at home. Lost in seclusion there, like I was in a cell.”

The Judas Priest that had been on in the car was quickly taken over by Top Hits, and his shoulders hunched as Madonna started to play.

Again.

He spun around and handed two pairs of skates to two teens and dully said, “Enjoy.”

One smacked her gum as she pushed the scuffed up pair back over the counter and said, “I said sixes. And these smell.”

“You-“ Eddie bit his tongue as the teen blew a bubble and popped it loudly. He rubbed at his temple, “You said six. So I gave you sixes. Then you said they were too small. So I gave you sevens.”

“Yeah but these are too big,” she put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes.

“How do you know?” He held his hands out to the pair he had quite literally just slid across to her.

“I just know.” She snapped her gum again and his eye started twitching.

“You just know?” He grit out, closing his eyes as Madonna sang about it being time for the good times and he hated that he knew the next lyrics.

When he opened his eyes and his lips parted to say something he hadn’t thought through, you slid up next to him behind the counter.

“Hi there!” You greeted the girls, bubbly and tossing your hair as your hip bumped his. “How about we try a different pair of sixes then? Those other ones might not have been broken in yet.”

“That’d be great,” the teen smiled at you and then let her features fall slack again as she looked at Eddie.

His fist balled on the counter and you slid a shiny pair over to her and exuberantly told the girls to have fun.

Your features shifted as you turned your back to the rink. Your face now turned from perfect customer service ‘pleased to be here’, to more of a dulled delight as you looked at him and gestured to the snack bar with your head. “Go take a break, Mr. Sunshine.”

He shook his head and started grabbing skates for the boys who came up to the counter practically drooling over you and unable to say anything other than their size without taking their eyes off of your profile.

“No way, I was late, I don’t deserve a break. Plus my shift is almost over anyways. You should take one.”

The skates rolled across the glass countertop and the boys continued to blink at you until Eddie flicked one of their foreheads and pointed to the rink, “Beat it, pervs.”

“Be nice,” you laughed, glancing over your shoulder at the boys retreating, causing one of them to trip and take the other down with him.

Eddie gestured to them, “Me? You’re the one out here taking down innocent men without even trying.”

“Shut up.” You knocked his shoulder with yours as you spun around, but smiled at the counter.

He leaned on his forearms and you did the same, and he stared at your profile for a little too long as he said, “Thanks again, for covering for me for being late.”

“No problem,” you smiled at him and then turned to look at the rink again, chin in your palm as you hummed along to the end of Holiday but then added, “I should have came and knocked when I didn’t hear your stereo this morning.”

Eddie looked down at the counter and grimaced, painfully aware of your bedroom window that faced his bedroom window and he mumbled, “Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”

Your shoulders shrugged, polo sleeve catching his as you turned to look at him again, “I don’t mind. I’m not a huge fan of silence anyways.”

He stared at your eyes, something in them duller from the words you’d just said.

Eddie didn’t know much about you yet, it’d only been about a month since your family had appeared next door one morning and you’d waved with a small smile on your face to him and Wayne. Came over and introduced yourself that evening with a plate of brownie squares.

He did know that you rode a bike with a little basket to work every day, that you sat outside at the picnic tables doing something for hours on the days you didn’t work. That you hung up pale yellow sheets on the clothes line in the moonlight as your radio trilled quietly next to you and your parents voices carried over into his open window.

So he swallowed and asked, “Any requests?”

Your eyes lit up again as you nodded and held up our fingers to list your demands.

“You gotta get some more Hall and Oates in your life, Munson.”

Eddie shivered and you laughed, adding on, “Oh and Queen. Fleetwood Mac! Whitney Houston!”

He moaned until your laughter subsided and you continued, “Oh, and you.”

“What?” He blinked at you as you smiled warmly at him. Looked at him in a way that made him think he’d never actually been looked at before, suddenly all too aware of the wrinkles in the shirt that smelled like weed and his hair all pulled into a low bun and frizzy.

“You, I request more of you,” you tilted your head, as you clarified, “Your guitar?”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat and blinked at the counter, “Right, yeah-“

“Are you in a band? I saw you hauling all sorts of…” You trailed off and stood up and nudged your hip against his and hissed, “Save yourself. Take your break.”

“Wha-“ The teen with the gum and size sixes was returning, and he didn’t need to be told twice. “I owe you. Big time.”

“Yeah you do, I like strawberry milkshakes and really expensive shoes,” you pointed at him but then smiled and waved him away. You turned your attention to the counter again and put on your best older sister kind of voice, “Darn it! Those didn’t work either?”

He was fairly certain you were an angel, sent down to earth to somehow outweigh the devilish goings on of his life.

So when he was sitting at the snack bar and watching you, thinking about how he was rudely woken up this morning before anything good could have happened in his dream, it was even worse when he was knocked in the back of the head and told he was drooling.

Steve flipped a chair around and straddled it, sitting across from him and yanking a fry out of the tray. He spoke around the hot potato, “You ass her out yeb?”

“Quit it,” Eddie groaned, yanking his fries back over to himself while he risked a glance back up at you. Watched as your hips swayed behind the counter while you put skates away and sang along to the music playing in the rink.

“God,” Steve snorted and pulled at a loose fry, “You’re down bad. I feel for you, man.”

“I know,” he moaned, head hitting the tabletop in defeat. He sat up and crossed his arms, watching you pull a teddy bear down for a kid who approached with four tickets and he knew you were giving it away for less than what was needed. He quietly admitted, “I had a dream. Last night.”

“Yeah?” Steve sat up eagerly, munching on a fry as he raised his eyebrows.

“You’re such a perv,” Eddie flicked his straw wrapper at him.

“You sicko,” Robin concurred without evidence as she sat next to Eddie with a large lemonade and a boat of popcorn.

Steve frowned when she smacked his hand away from the popcorn as he defended himself, “I did nothing, here. He’s the one who had a sex dream!”

“Shh!” Eddie swatted at him as Robin perked up, straw between her teeth as she asked, “Oh?”

“I didn’t-“ Eddie rubbed at his forehead, Steve and Robin together somehow worse for his head than the teens or pop hits, “It wasn’t like that. It was…a campaign. I fell asleep working on it, and she just happened to be…in my dream about it.”

“Yeah?” Robin asked eagerly as Steve frowned and asked, “That’s it? Did you even kiss?”

Eddie shrugged, “Not like, on the lips. I was going off to fight this…” he waved his hands around as Robin’s lips split in a grin and Steve’s nose wrinkled, “It doesn’t matter.”

“What was she wearing?” Robin asked, chin perched on her interlaced fingers as she batted innocent eyes at him.

“Don’t…” Eddie moaned, covering his eyes as his ears turned red.

“Was it…Return of the Jedi like?” Steve asked quietly, then added, “Because if it was like that dream, then you get a few more points back.”

Eddie opened his eyes to glare at him, “I didn’t have the Leia dream. Robin did.”

Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Listen. You both are nerds okay, I’m just trying to keep up.” He grabbed a fry and waved it around, “Is your warrior elf princess or whatever coming to the party tonight?”

“Is your lady coming tonight?” Eddie threw it back at him with raised eyebrows.

Steve rolled his eyes, perfect little curl over his forehead bouncing as he shook his head. “She’s not-“

“My lady,” Robin and Eddie chimed in together, loudly as Steve sighed.

“And bold of you to call her your lady, when you can’t man up and ask her to be,” Steve poked his forehead with a fry. “No guy who looks at a girl like you look at her should be over here talking to us when he could be over there, with her.”

You seemed to time it perfectly, coming onto the intercom just then, “Happyy Fridaayy! Don’t forget that here at Holloway’s we get that everybody is just working for the weekend. So grab one of our punch cards today! Every ten weekday punches you get a free snack pass! We also know that, everybody wants a new romance - well, Holloway’s is now pleased to offer Skate Date! Saturday nights from five to eight is couples skate. So to grab a piece of her heart, bring her to Holloway’s! We’ll get back to our regular skating, now, but don’t forget! No street shoes on the rink, laces must be tied at all times, kids under the age of five must have an adult with them, and no jumping over the walls. To skate here at Holloway’s, you gotta start from the start!”

Your voice crackled over the speaker, then a cowbell loudly played overhead and Eddie grinned.

He watched as you spun away from the mic and pointed directly at him, mouthing the words along with Loverboy.

📻 “Everyone’s watchin’ to see what you will do. Everyone’s lookin’ at you, oh. Everyone’s wonderin’, will you come out tonight? Everyone’s tryin’ to get it right, get it right.”

Steve stood up abruptly and said, “Let’s go. You’re asking her out.”

“Wha-“ Eddie sputtered as Steve yanked him up under his arms. “Get off me, man!”

“This is pathetic. She’s clearly into you too. Ask her out.” Robin snorted at Steve’s words while Steve straighted out his polo for him, spun him towards you and called out, “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

Eddie glared at him over his shoulder as he stumbled back towards the counter.

He stood on the opposite side though, like he was a customer, hands sweating at his sides as you smiled at him.

“I think that one was my best yet, what’d you think?” You asked before slipping your lips around the straw of your coke.

“Ye-yeah, it was good,” he cleared his throat, wincing at the squeak of it as he watched your cheeks hollow.

“I think Loverboy should definitely be on your evening rotation.”

Eddie winced, playing along and grateful you were easy to slip into conversation with, no matter how nervous he was. “I draw the line at leather pants, sorry.”

“Not a fan of leather,” you nodded, slipping your drink under the counter again, “Noted.”

His mind started to melt thinking about you in leather. Like in his dream. Leather battle vest laced up the back and corset like and-

“I mean…you, if you were wearing it, I’d…” He stumbled over the words and felt a billion degrees warmer than the eighty degree day when you grinned at him all knowing.

“Noted,” you said again, though this time you tilted your head at him before glancing down at the counter.

“Um, so you-“ Eddie tapped the counter, he spun his rings and rocked on the back of his heels before spitting out, “There’s this party tonight and I was wondering if you’d want to go?”

He watched your eyes sparkle, your mouth parted to answer when a customer came up and interrupted.

You apologized to him with a smile and helped the kid with their tickets and prize for the small arcade attached to the rink. He risked a glance back at the table to only find Robin and Steve sharing her popcorn and out right starting. He waved them away, mouthing for them to get lost when your voice made him freeze.

“So…” you drew it out, “This party…is it like a date?”

Eddie spun back to face you, face heated from the smirk on your lips and your gaze cutting to behind his shoulder. He had no doubt in his mind you were watching Robin and Steve do something insanely stupid like pretend to read invisible newspapers or have a wildly animated and over the top “conversation”.

He closed his eyes, and winced, “I mean, not if you…I’m not sure…”

“You’re not sure? If it’s a date? ” You asked and he opened his eyes to find you smiling sincerely at him.

Maybe you weren’t a princess or angel, but a witch, casting a spell on him, determined to have him make deals with the devil instead of preventing them.

“I’m sure that…” He swallowed and took a step closer to the counter, “I’m sure that I don’t think you deserve a shitty house party for a first date so no, it’s not a date. But I’d love to get to know you more. And I’m going, and I know you haven’t met too many people probably so maybe you could do that. And also just have fun. With me. There.”

He stared at you, watched you seem to inflate and deflate in a matter of seconds.

“I have a shift at Family Video after this,” you whispered to the counter, fingers fiddling with the hem of your polo. When you looked up at him, you seemed like a smaller version of yourself as you asked, “Maybe if it’s not too late and I’m not too tired, I could meet you there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, suddenly feeling like a thousand rocks were in his stomach. He had no idea you worked two jobs. “Do you…you ride your bike home after that shift? At night?”

“I get the car at night,” you shook your head no, explaining, “I bike home, drop the bike off, my dad gets home from work and I take that to Family Video.”

“Oh, okay,” Eddie gestured to you, “Well if you ever need a ride…I have a semi-reliable truck.”

Your smile was mind meltingly sweet as you looked down at the counter then back up at him again. He swore there was a choir singing when you made eye contact that time.

“Noted,” you said it softly, the third time the best of all. Like you were really taking little facts about him and noting them down.

“So,” he drummed his fingers against the countertop then started to back away, “I’ll see you tonight…hopefully?”

“I’ll be the one in leather…possibly,” you offered and flashed him an even more dazzling smile and he stumbled, turning his back to you as he tried to hide his grin.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?” He spun to face you, too fast, cheeks warm as you laughed.

“Where’s the party?”

“Oh shit!” A mom walked by with a small child, frowning and he bowed from the to pass, “So sorry, ma’am.”

You laughed as he returned to the counter and quickly scribbled the address on a ticket you passed over.

“Have a good rest of your day, Eddie,” your fingers brushed his as you took the ticket and slipped it in your back pocket.

He offered a discreet thumb’s up to Steve and Robin as he faced them again, and they fist pumped, and he floated back to the table on the sound of your laughter.

Maybe this Summer, working this shitty job, wouldn’t be that terrible after all.

📻 “She didn’t know it was his last cigarette.”

Eddie’s face, hopeful for you to come to the party that night, was all you could think about. Butterflies cracked out of cocoons in your stomach as you remembered how flustered he got from the mere mention of leather.

Allowing the hot Indiana summer night and boy making your sheets cling to your skin wasn’t worth lying in, you decided, especially just to do so while listening to them argue and ruin the giddy hope filling you.

So you climbed out of your window, as you’ve done most nights since moving to this odd town, sketchbook and pen in your hand and the image of Eddie’s hair all tied up today itching to come out of you and onto the paper.

The wet grass clung to your bare feet as you quietly snuck out towards the picnic table in the back field, the moonlight, crickets, and bats your only company.

Or so you thought.

Your hand flew to your chest in shock, your body warmed even more as you became increasingly more aware of what you were wearing and who was sitting in your spot to see you in it.

“Hey,” he spoke first, all shadows and a smile that looked sleepy even from far away, an acoustic guitar on his lap.

You didn’t know much about Eddie Munson yet, but you wanted to. He’d filled more of the pages of the book in your hand than anyone had in awhile. He had a story, one you were desperate to draw out of him, literally on the page, as well as to learn from listening to him tell it in a way only he could.

You knew he had two very close friends in the boy everyone called Harrington who worked at the theater and the girl, Robin, who loved to chat with you whenever she came in. Knew he had a group of boys that followed him around that he pretended to be annoyed by. Knew he brought food over to the girl Max and her mom. Knew he listened to music you didn’t necessarily care for, but loved when he plucked things out on his own guitar, even if you didn’t know for what genre. You’d heard of some rumors surrounding him and the town that you didn’t really believe, because of the things you already knew.

The most important thing that you’d learned about him, was that if he already intrigued you this much, he was dangerous - a risk to all of your plans that you weren’t sure you were willing to take.

So each step forward was a timid one, the summer breeze drifting by fluttered the hem of your shorts, and from the quick glance he gave down at your chest then back up, it seemed to have peaked your nipples as well.

“What’re you doing out here this late?” You asked quietly, though you were far enough away, and they’re loud enough, that you weren’t sure why you bothered to lower your volume.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he offered just as softly.

Now that you were closer, you could see he wasn’t wearing his typical uniforms - his literal uniform or his almost imperceptibly different daily outfit of a different but similar shirt and the same jeans. Tonight it was a cotton white shirt, that ached to be wrinkled by your fingers. There was something about it that made you long for your pencils, to sketch him for hours, like this was the most vulnerable you’d ever get to see him.

“Can’t sleep,” you shrugged, holding up your sketchbook.

“Same,” he nodded to his guitar he laid across the tabletop gently, his notebook, scribbled words taking up a majority of the page.

“You write your own lyrics?” you asked, eagerly taking more steps to close the gap between the two of you to catch a glimpse and Eddie promptly folded the notebook closed as you got within sight.

“Oh come on,” you teased, reaching past him for it, “Can’t I read it?”

Eddie looked up at you, down at your sketchbook, then in a low tone of voice that should be illegal, asked, “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Your thighs pressed together when, despite his confident delivery, the tops of his cheeks turned pink, daring you to take a bite out of them. You didn’t have a doubt in your mind anymore:

Letting yourself have Eddie Munson was dangerous.

“I don’t know you that well,” you shrugged, like you were sorry, taking a step back.

“You could,” Eddie offered.

It sat like a bubble waiting to burst between the two of you. His hopeful eyes and your butterfly infested stomach, waiting for the other one to blink first.

He looked back at the trailers when a particularly loud slam of a door made you flinch.

“How was work?” He changed the subject, body shifting to face you fully and smiling. “I mean your other work?”

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter sandwiched between the sticks and he leaned forward. His elbows on thighs covered in gray sweatpant material, cut with little care and revealing black ink on one of his thighs that dared you to get closer and inspect him.

“It was,” you cleared your throat and looked up at the stars, “It was fine. Typical Friday night rush. How was the party? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”

Eddie shrugged. “A party.”

“Not a fan?” You spun slowly, looking at the sky.

Eddie inhaled sharply as you turned slowly, your profile to him and his gaze on the hem of your shorts as he forced out a quiet, “Drunk idiots playing truth or dare and spin the bottle as adults, cheerleaders dating the jocks, still? No, not really.”

You hummed, head on the stars as you got an idea and timidly asked, “Truth or Dare?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I just hung out in the basement with Steve and Robin for most of it.”

He placed the cigarette between his lips and started to fiddle with the lighter. Your heart thrummed as you spun to face him fully and nervously laughed, “No, Eddie, truth or dare?”

You inched closer to him as he looked up at you, unlit cigarette between his lips still, and asked more than said, “Truth?”

Your stomach swooped a little, hoping he would have said dare but a little glad he hadn’t, not sure if you could have followed through. Your knee knocked his as you took a step closer, then closer.

Eddie’s hands caught your waist as you leaned forward and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. His breath grew shallow, chest rising and falling fast in front of you when his hand slipped between the thin shorts and thinner top, resting against your skin. You were close enough to see few freckles across his nose, smell mint on his breath and something woody and spicy in his hair.

Despite knowing it was dangerous, you were starting to not care.

His fingertips buzzed along your hipbone, sending shocks all the way up your spine, like a lit sparkler was cracking and fizzing inside your chest.

Eddie swallowed thickly as the tip of your nose brushed down the bridge of his, his hands flexing on your waist and the way his legs spread to make room for you to wedge between gave you a confidence you hadn’t had before.

“Do I make you nervous, Eddie?” Your question whispered in the centimeters of space between his lips and yours.

“Jesus,” he breathed it out through a rough chuckle, “More than you know, sweetheart.”

Your smile pressed your top lip to his bottom, a quick brush of your mouth against his that he sighed into.

“Good,” you murmured against his plush and pouty bottom lip that was ready to catch you and keep you there.

Then you turned and promptly walked back towards your trailer without looking back at him.

Your tingling lip caught between your teeth suppressed your giddy grin as he called out, “Don’t I get to ask you now?”

Maybe this Summer, in this town, wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

#amanda's fic recs #amanda's faves #eddie munson fic

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curiositydooropened · 2 days ago

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Keira Knightley as Elizabeth Swann and Orlando Bloom as Will Turner PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN TRILOGY (2003 - 2007) dir. Gore Verbinski

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curiositydooropened · 4 days ago

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When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.

Fic Teaser • Fic Masterlist • Navigation

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curiositydooropened · 4 days ago

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Wildfire • Masterlist

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Wordcount: 68, 504

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, lots of fire, Upside Down monsters and the like, drowning, weapons, murder, eventual smut, more warnings to be added as fic progresses. *See individual chapters for warnings.

Navigation • Masterlist

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Moodboard • Teaser • WIP Wednesday

Chapter One - Ember

Chapter Two - Spark

Chapter Three - Ignite

Chapter Four - Pyre

Chapter Five - Searing.

Chapter Six - Combustion

Chapter Seven - Inferno

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curiositydooropened · 4 days ago

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THE X-FILES || “Fight Club” 7.20

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curiositydooropened · 5 days ago

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Hi to everyone sneaking over here to show Ranged some love. It’s been quiet around here, but I promise I’m working on some fun things behind the scenes. Miss you all and love to see you in my inbox and notifs!

#thinking about running a WIP Wednesday soon

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curiositydooropened · 10 days ago

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The way in which this entire chapter had me OOEY GOOEY. I can't even begin to describe to you, but I will. Just read it, damnit. Everyone go read this and give Taylor all the deserved love.

There’s something grotesquely satisfying about the sound her converse make as they cross the tiled floor of a kitchen fit for a house on Cornwallis street. Meaning, one that isn’t chipped, dulled, or old and wise beyond its years like the tile in her kitchen.

Excuse me!?!?!? Delicious

smell strawberries on your breath. It somehow works with the brown sugar and coconut she can smell on your skin and she prays it lingers on her own

THIS

And then you hold your fingers up to her mouth and say: “Eyelash. Make a wish.”

Heh… this made me laugh cuz of the chapter I just sent you

“Oh my god, she’s broken,” Steve jokes, though his eyes convey his actual worry. He’s always fucking worried.

You nailed Steve Harrington.

Eddie hops off of the couch with ease and the grace of a fresh baby deer

HA! And Eds

Why are you on the floor in my bathroom?

LIKE??? Just the way this one question perfectly encapsulates all that the rest of the scene brought forth. Like… TAYLOR I can’t. Your brain. I haven’t the words.

“What if she likes guys and girls. That’s a thing.”

because most people don’t care and have already tuned out, but you’re still listening, eyes watching her.

😭 They’re blue, but not bright blue, almost gray. Melancholy. Yearning. Hungover again. Crabby, like a storm cloud hanging over her head.

SOBBING

“The question is, there’s a whole lot of fruit related cereals out there. Pebbles. Loops. That crunchy granola kind with the chunks of fruit in it.”

I love my Himbo so damn much

She’s Not Into Girls, Buckley, And You’re Only Going To Get Hurt - Get Out While You Can, Fairly Unscathed. It’s a working title.

I love you so much

“Ha-ha,” you sniffle and start on all of your morning tasks but without turning on a record.

I’m panicking!!!

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

NO, GIRL. SHE’S GAY AND SHE WANTS YOU.

Then, in the time it takes her to blink, it’s all over. There’s a chime above the door, you jump at the noise and stand up too straight, creating distance between the two of you like none of it ever happened.

NOOOOOOOOOO I WANT MORE

series masterlist | part two ->

📻 tracks: 01 - 07

6,246 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains mentions of alcohol, weed, vomit, nausea, and brief mentions of homophobia and cheating

Though oddly satisfying, she has absolutely no desire to know what sort of substances have combined to make the sticky floor so, well, sticky, instead choosing to focus solely on the nice way her head sort of vibrates and how maybe if she’s really really nice, Steve will run his hand through her hair.

She hums to herself at the thought as she leans against the counter littered with crinkled solo cups and a punch well past its prime, the wood resting against her hip thumps from the base of the music coming from the dimly lit living room. Bananarama fades into Kim Wilde and her lips twitch, the words of Kids in America leave her mouth under her breath as she starts to make the drink she was sent upstairs for.

📻“…I sit here alone and I wonder why. Friday night and everyone’s moving. I can feel the heat but it’s soothing, heading down.”

It’s interesting that she’s liked almost every song since arriving upstairs, and she wonders who snagged the stereo long enough to change the mix and make such excellent selections when a voice she’s positive rivals angels singing startles her from behind.

“Oh thank god, you passed.”

Robin spins to find the prettiest girl she’s ever seen, truly, honest to god, she thinks it might be a privilege just to get to look at you. She’s only ever had glimpses, brushes with heaven as you wandered down horrendously lit high school hallways and past her at movie theaters or main street, never giving her your full attention as you are now.

There’s this way you smile at her, like you already know her, and that combined with the slip dress and leather jacket you have on is making it really really hard to think a thought other than: wow.

“Wh-“ Her voice fucking cracks, like one of the pubescent twerps that cling to her and Steve and she hates how hot her cheeks are, no doubt the freckles that reside there are now stark against pink skin as she clears her throat. “Sorry, are you…were you talking to me?”

Well, shit, now you’re laughing and it’s the greatest sound she’s ever heard. Right up there with Nena, The Beatles, and Joni crooning out of her speakers when she’s lying on her floor and absorbing their magic. She doesn’t even care that the laugh is more at her than with her, though the way you do it has her thinking it’s actually the latter for once.

“Yeah,” you take a step closer, your hand extended, along with your name offered up. “I’m your new co-worker, or well, you’re mine.”

Robin shakes your hand and tries to remember all the advice Steve has ever told her, most importantly: to breathe. Which is a mistake:

You smell so fucking good.

“Oh my god, I love this color,” your fingers intertwine with Robin’s. They curl underneath hers to hold up her hand for a closer look and you gasp, all cute and perfect and charming, “It sparkles.”

You’re inspecting her nail polish, so dark purple it’s almost black, and Robin clears her throat again.

“Ye-yeah. So, um, what did I…you said I…passed?”

“Oh!” you laugh again, rolling your eyes, “Sorry, I’m always doing that. It’s like I can’t keep up with my own thoughts sometimes, you know? Anyways, yes. You passed.”

“I…what?”

You actually let go of her hand just to press both of yours to her cheeks and she thinks she’s entered some sort of other dimension. Which is, well, not unlikely in Hawkins. Though this situation she finds herself in doesn’t feel all too typical of what normally occurs when that happens. There’s usually more lightening and adrenaline pumping through her veins and everyone is wet-

“You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”

So, maybe? Because she’s sure it might be lightening and there’s definitely something pumping and she’s not wet in the sense that- ookkaay, really panicking now, because, hello? There are a lot of people around and again, this is Hawkins - her neighbors went to school with her parents in this very same town. The prom king works in the mayor’s office.

“I’m…what? You what?” Robin stutters out.

“Every single person Keith has hired has been so horrendously horrible and not a drop of good taste in music in their souls and I just can’t fucking stand to work with someone who will hate my music or I’ll hate theirs another day. And you,” you squeeze her cheeks and you smile that smile again, “My beautiful little angel, passed the test.”

So, yeah, cool, the world is probably ending because as you called her an angel she could smell strawberries on your breath. It somehow works with the brown sugar and coconut she can smell on your skin and she prays it lingers on her own as your hands drop and you point to the items in her hands.

“I watched you pour that. Lemonade and whiskey? Is it good?”

“I… d’ya wanna try it?” Robin offers it up to you, happy to finally find some sort of motor skills working.

Your fingers bump hers again as you take the cup and sip from it.

“I’m…I’m Robin, by the way,” she offers as you swallow.

Your smile dazzles her, so much so, she’s sure she’s got spots in her vision. Your tongue licks out over a plush bottom lip to catch stray lemonade.

“Yeah, I know,” you tease, “Oh hold on…you’ve got…”

Your hand reaches up as you take a step closer, then closer. The tips of your high heels tap the white toe of her converse as your fingers reach up to her face. You’re so close she could count each eyelash if she wanted to, can see blue sparkle and shimmer on your eyelids, can now tell the source of the smell of strawberry is not from your breath, but your glossy lips. They part as your fingers gingerly brush against her cheek, lemonade and whiskey mixing with the strawberry and having a very dizzying affect.

And then you hold your fingers up to her mouth and say:

“Eyelash. Make a wish.”

Robin blinks at you, her stomach the new home to what quite literally might be a billion butterflies.

Your eyebrows raise expectantly, beautiful eyes meeting her gaze before they dart down to her mouth when she blows the eyelash off of your finger tips.

A sigh leaves your body, and then the sound of your throat being cleared right after, as you take a step back when your name is called from the other room - all rowdy and testosterone filled and not at all how your name should be called. Not if she had anything to do with it, anyways.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Your smile hesitant and voice a little full of what Robin is wishfully thinking is hope.

Robin nods, unsure her voice will work anymore.

“Thanks for the drink…can’t wait to see your mixology skills in the daylight, Buckley” you sing as you twirl away with a glimmer in your eyes and a smirk on your lips before you shout into the next room, “You hollered, dear?”

Your dress swishes just below your ass as you walk away, and that’s when she decides that all that karma and shit people are talking about is true and she is in another dimension and it just might be heaven.

She fumbles with the door handle to the basement, and each limb feels heavier and heavier the further she sinks into the basement.

Eddie’s head dangles off of the edge of the couch to see who it is, brown waves cascading to almost the floor while an unlit cigarette is held tightly between his lips.

“Good lord, took you long enough.” He rolls his eyes as she removes the cigarette from his mouth and pockets it.

A clatter comes from her left then, balls scattering across green felt, then the other’s voice exaggerates, “Are you shitting me? You were gone for an hour and you didn’t bring down my drink.”

Robin continues to walk towards the chair she had been trying to absorb into before heading upstairs, fingers tingling and eyes wide.

Eddie sits up, narrowed eyes and a tense jaw, ever the protector on alert from the state she’s returning in after being around the douchebags that make up most of Hawkins.

“Why are you so quiet? What happened?”

Robin’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Oh my god, she’s broken,” Steve jokes, though his eyes convey his actual worry. He’s always fucking worried.

Eddie hops off of the couch with ease and the grace of a fresh baby deer and quickly makes his way to directly in front of her. His hands rest on his knees as he squats to get on her level.

“Hey,” his tone serious until she looks into his eyes. His lips twist in that way she knows means he’s about to say something stupid. “Did something cute walk by upstairs?”

Steve rolls his eyes and leans down towards the pool table again, muttering under his breath, “Forgets my drink because of a girl she’s never going to talk to-“

“For your information shitbird,” Robin’s voice discovered again through spite, “I did talk to her, and I didn’t forget your drink, she took it, and yes, she is very cute, more than cute, she’s-“

Eddie claps his hands in front of her to get her attention again, making her mouth clamp shut and her shoulders rise.

“Who?”

Robin says your name and the boys exchange a look.

The look.

The one that they always share when she gets a new crush and it’s obviously a bad idea and they’re seeing into their futures. Seeing their looming fate of pulling a red-rim eyed and sniffly nosed Robin out of her bed and removing the needle from the Nat King Cole record on its twentieth rotation before force feeding her milkshakes till she’s sick, but closer to her normal, pre-crush state.

Again.

“Robs…” Steve starts.

“Listen, I know, okay,” she interrupts. “But, like, I swear she was flirting. I couldn’t have been imagining it. I couldn’t have been.”

Eddie sits back onto the frayed couch, leaning forward and rummaging around in his metal lunchbox as he says, “Explain.”

She tells them everything.

Eddie’s now blowing smoke towards the ceiling and letting a low whistle out with a small chuckle.

Steve’s standing in the bitchiest stance she’s seen from him yet. A cocked hip and arms crossed and a frown on his face.

“She…I taught her that! That eyelash thing is my move!”

“I know!” Robin yells excitedly.

But her face falls when Steve’s features pinch.

“Robin…”

He hesitates and she sighs, collapsing back into her chair.

“Spit it out, dingus.”

Steve sits on the edge of the pool table and runs a hand through his hair. He looks at her with those stupid, sad, Steve eyes that make her unable to hate him even if she wanted to.

“She likes guys,” he says it simply, apologetically, and quietly.

Robin’s stomach rolls, the butterflies long gone at the thought of you in the back of his car doing stuff she’d never get to do with you, even if you did like girls. Thoughts of you kissing half the guys in Hawkins clouding her vision - that’s why the room is getting so blurry, no other reasons.

“Right…” she says, limply, and just as quiet.

Girls like you don’t like girls like Robin, it’s as simple as that.

“I’ll…maybe she changed her mind? That happens. Or maybe…maybe…” Steve hesitates then stands, “Drink? Something with a cherry?”

“Make it twenty.”

A thumb swipes over her forehead she can feel sweating under its touch, tender and soothing.

“Why…” her voice too hoarse to keep going plus the taste of cherries left in the sun for too long - sour and something that lingers and is distinctly bad - on her breath makes her stomach churn.

She forces her eyelids open to see a blue swoosh and a too white for them being used so much sneaker in front of her eyes.

The blue swoosh swooshes and her stomach spins, so her eyes squeeze shut.

She moans.

“Yeah,” he brushes a curl behind her ear as she realizes the hard floor underneath her is extremely cold and did she mention hard. “I’m gonna need some clarification on that why. Why are you on the floor in my bathroom? Or is it a more rhetorical and philosophical why like the ones you were asking me last night?”

Flashes of a moment in this very room, her hair clinging to her damp cheeks as she asked Steve why girls couldn’t like girls and he looked at her so heartbroken and then caught her hair as she heaved something bright red into the toilet the top of her head is now pressed to the base of.

She squints open her eyes again, looking up at the boy now looking out his bathroom door, through his room, and at his window with a small smile on his face.

“How are you using words like rhetorical and philosophical correctly this early after last night?”

Steve turns his attention back to her, he shrugs his shoulders.

“Guess those college courses really know what they’re doing, huh? Plus, I only had two,” he holds up his fingers just in case she forgot what that number means, “Cherrybombs. You had about seven I think.”

But then she hears the voice, the one that’s just beyond Steve’s open bedroom window in her own room, singing about sailors loving a girl named Brandy almost as much as they love the sea.

“Ohh,” she laughs, scrunching her eyes closed and turning her forehead into the makeshift towel pillow he must have thrown under her head at some point. “That’s why. Your girlfriend’s home for the Summer finally.”

“Quit it. You know she’s not my-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just your best friend. Just as platonic as me,” she starts to sit up.

“Exactly-“

“The girl you confessed you liked in a bathroom a little bit like this.”

Steve frowns at her, but then quickly looks at the window, the song almost over.

“I gotta go, but you can stay here and take a nap on my bed, get cleaned up, and then head home. We’re gonna…”

He trails off when she nods, swollen eyes hidden behind the heels of her palms and her voice comes out too hoarse and emotional for her liking.

“Right, right, I forgot about your tradition. I’ll get out of your perfectly styled hair. Looks good today.”

“Robin…” Steve hesitates. He looks at his window, then back at her with a smile, though a bit forced, his tone doesn’t leave room for argument, “You’re staying. It’ll be fine. A pool day is just what you need, plus, maybe you can get some advice from someone who isn’t me. But I gotta go, I did this whole…”

She waves him off, but grabs his wrist as he starts to get up, offering a quiet but genuine, “Thanks Steve.”

He kisses the top of her head and then grimaces, “Please shower, you smell like whiskey and cherries, and not in a good way.”

📻“I wouldn’t if I were you, I know what she can do. She’s deadly, man, she could really rip your world apart.”

Steve’s soul mate, the very much not platonic one (though that seems to be only clear to everyone but the two of them), slides her sunglasses up onto her head and looks at Robin. Eyes wide and eyebrows high on her forehead.

“She what?!”

Robin just finished the eyelash story. Again. She’s sensing a pattern with the reactions to it.

“I know,” Robin groans, her fingers drift lazily in the pool, doing nothing to cool her heated skin at the thought of your fingers touching her cheek. “It was…”

“Swoonable?” The love of Steve’s life grins in a way that’s all knowing and smitten herself and Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve sighs from the other side of her.

“Yeah,” Robin clears her throat, adjusting her legs and wincing as they squeak against the inflatable tube, “That’s one word for it.”

Robin frowns and looks up at the lilac tree near the end of the pool pessimistically. “But it doesn’t matter, because she likes guys.”

Steve smiles softly, sadly, at her, at least his pity filled eyes are hidden under dark Ray Bans.

“But…what if…” the thought trails off from un-platonic soul mate’s lips before her bottom one tugs between her teeth and she sits up in her tube more, water dripping and clinging to her skin exposed in the red bikini she has on that’s honestly criminal.

Steve shifts in his own tube, then stares at the sky.

Poor guy.

The temptress Steve’s now clearly avoiding looking at shrugs her shoulders.

“What if she likes both?”

Robin squints at her before she asks, “What?”

“What if she likes guys and girls. That’s a thing.”

“It is?” Steve asks at the same time Robin asks, “You really think so?”

“Oh my gosh, we really need to get you two out of Hawkins,” she says with a laugh.

Robin doesn’t miss the way Steve’s face falls, and she’s fairly certain the love of his life doesn’t either.

The sunglasses slide back over her eyes as she looks at Robin, speaking quietly, “Seriously, come visit me in New York. We’ll go out.” Then a bit louder as she lays her head back on the pool float, “But, for now, I say don’t rule her out. Steve and I can come over during a break or something and help you figure it out. It’ll be great, okay?”

Robin squeezes her hand.

She hopes Steve’s future wife is right.

📻“I wanna shine like the sun. I wanna be the one that you want to see. I wanna knit you a sweater, wanna write you a love letter. I wanna make you feel better, I wanna make you feel free.”

Honey and vanilla float through the air, each scent mixing with brown sugar and something coconutty every so often - seventy six seconds kind of often, not that she’s counting - whenever the fan blows just right.

It’s dizzying, the smells mingling with the sound of your voice singing quietly along to a variety of records. Only broken up occasionally by a soft curse word and a thump, or a bubbly “Welcome into Holland’s! Let me know if I can help you find anything - I know right? It’s the “Don’t Bee Cruel” Robin cooked up today. You should absolutely go get one, I’ve had like twenty.”

You’ve had two.

But each time your shoulders relaxed on your first sip, your hand squeezed her upper arm in excitement.

“Holy shit, Robs.”

Robs.

She honestly hasn’t let anyone ever call her that except Steve, but she doesn’t hate it when it’s coming out of your lips. One’s that are glossy and pink and smell like strawberries again.

You lean on the counter as she works on making you a third drink, talking excitedly in an overly caffeinated craze, “God, this is gonna be so awesome. If you make a themed drink each week around our sales and you’re pretty creative right? Took art classes a bunch? We could paint on the windows or I’ve been trying to get Keith to let me get some different lighting and paint on the ceiling tiles…hold on-“

Robin’s hand stalls with the drink she’s handing over in what she’s already determined to be your favorite mug - lavender colored, as big as a cereal bowl, with little daisies painted on it.

But your hand grabs her other one across the wood countertop with a gasp.

“You got rid of the purple?!”

Her cheeks warm at your touch, the way your fingers curl around hers and the way your lips pout, jutted out and begging to be kissed.

“Oh, um, yeah. I usually change them every few days. I’m sort of obsessed with matching them to my clothes or my mood or just because I chip them so much as like a super bad nervous habit so I…”

She trails off, remembering to breathe and to also not spit every thought out, because most people don’t care and have already tuned out, but you’re still listening, eyes watching her.

“So you…?” You ask, still holding her hand.

“Change them. A lot,” Robin finishes, lamely.

But you just nod, inspecting the new color. They’re blue, but not bright blue, almost gray. Melancholy. Yearning. Hungover again. Crabby, like a storm cloud hanging over her head.

Your finger brushes over a nail as you take the mug from her other hand, your brows furrowed together and head tilting quizzically as you ask, “You’re sad?”

Shit.

“Um,” Robin flexes her hands as she lets it slip from yours and shrugs, “I guess maybe I was when I painted them? I had on Joni Mitchell, maybe that rubbed off on my color decision.”

Smooth, Buckley.

A smile before you take a sip, like you get it, then a hum that’s searching, thinking, leaving your pursed lips. Foam rests on your top one as you ask, “What would you paint them now?”

“Pink,” she says it softly, without thinking, staring at your mouth. “I have one that’s not pink pink, a little shimmer in it, like flecks of red or gold or something.”

“Pretty,” you murmur.

Robin hums and then looks away, clearing her throat as she gestures to your mouth, “You have, um-“

You laugh, embarrassed, before you swipe at your lips and then tilt your head up for her to examine, “Did I get it?”

“It…” Robin begs her hand not to shake as it lifts, thumb swiping over the corner of your lips and lingering as she says even softer, “There.”

A sigh leaves you, not unlike the one you let slip at the party on Friday night, and for a brief and magical moment, Robin’s fingers are still curled under your jaw, her thumb against your lip and both of you aren’t breathing she’s pretty sure, and she’s not looking at your eyes because she’s still looking at your lips, but if she happened to glance up, she’d find you looking at hers too.

But a customer calls for help, and the moment is over.

Robin is sure your face looks disappointed to go.

She’s sure she can’t be crazy.

That she’s not imagining this.

Which is what she’s telling Steve over a milkshake and turkey burger.

She smacks his fingers as they reach across the table.

“Quit it. Onion rings are for friends who offer advice.”

Ever the athlete, Steve sees her defense and sets a play in action. Waiting for his opening in the scuffle, his other hand yanks one free seamlessly.

He grins as he bites into it, speaking around the too hot onion and fried dough lolling around in his mouth, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout. I gab you advise.”

Her nose scrunches.

“Close your mouth, heathen.” She swirls her whipped cream down further into the untouched shake. “And ‘just do it’ isn’t advice, it’s a shitty sneaker slogan.” Steve rolls his eyes as she takes a breath, only getting started, “And might I add, pretty hypocritical when it’s coming from the man who quite literally won’t do it.”

“Oh,” Steve swallows, he slurps a giant sip of cold coke before he smacks his lips together. “I assure you, I’m doing it all the time.”

The idiot literally winks. Robin’s eyes narrow.

“How are we friends?”

Steve snaps and points at her.

“That’s it. That’s the advice.”

Robin blinks at Steve, who goes to take a bite of his own burger, like that’s all he’s going to say on the matter.

She throws a straw wrapper at his nose.

“Don’t act like I know what that means! And don’t you dare speak with burger in your mouth.”

Steve rolls his eyes and licks ketchup from his finger and makes a big show of chewing then swallowing.

“Do you even know if you like…” he trails off when two idiots in letterman jackets walk by, then sit right behind them, so he turns his head to the ceiling and finishes, far quieter, “Froot Loops? The cereal?”

Robin’s turn to roll her eyes. “What?”

“I love cereal,” Steve places a hand on his chest, still speaking in a hushed tone, “But it took me awhile to find the right kind of cereal. I had to shop around.”

“You know I can’t really shop for cereal in Hawkins, dingus.”

“Right, but you already know what kind of cereal you like. Fruity.”

Robin rolls her eyes again. Steve keeps going.

“The question is, there’s a whole lot of fruit related cereals out there. Pebbles. Loops. That crunchy granola kind with the chunks of fruit in it.”

“Please tell me you’re arriving at a point here soon?”

“This new…brand,” Steve winces, squinting his eyes as he tries to round to home plate with this metaphor, “Could be a kind of fruity cereal you don’t even like. Sure the box’s got pretty colors and a snazzy logo, but do you really like the taste of it?”

“Did you just say snazzy?”

Steve holds his burger up to his lips and shrugs.

But she think on what he’s getting at, and it’s a shock to her, truly it is, when what he’s saying sinks in and makes one hundred percent sense.

“I need to…find out more…about this…cereal?” Robin asks, softly, clarifying.

Steve nods, takes another large bite of his burger and shoves it in his cheek, “Take it out of the bag and really look at it, taste it, figure out what kind of bowl it looks best in-“

“I got it.”

Steve nods to her plate.

“I get an onion ring now, right?”

📻“Isn’t she lovely? Isn’t she wonderful?”

Turns out, getting to know if she actually likes this cereal is easy. Easy like her Steve cereal. Easy like Eddie O’s.

You’re excited to tell her about your favorite foods and colors, pet peeves and subjects you struggled with in school. Your dreams for your future and everything in between.

The problem is, Robin is not the only one who wants to take cereal you off the shelf to bring home.

A fact she already knew, but ever present and creating a growing gaping giant canyon between her and you. The name of said canyon?

She’s Not Into Girls, Buckley, And You’re Only Going To Get Hurt - Get Out While You Can, Fairly Unscathed.

It’s a working title.

But the thing is, no matter how large the canyon becomes, there’s you, building up the rock and making a path to cross it. Though wobbly, and thin, and signs urging her to make sure she’s prepared for the tumultuous journey - it’s crossable. It’s there.

One minute you’re laughing with a guy who’s got swoopy Steve Harrington like hair, squeezing a manly bicep and batting your lashes, and the next, you’re grabbing Robin’s cheeks or booping her nose telling her how obsessed you are with her. The more days she spends with you, the words “what if she likes both” float through her brain, lay anchor and remain solidly at the forefront of her thoughts.

She could work with liking both.

At least she thought she could, until this morning.

Robin never showed up to Scoops early. Largely in part because of the Steve Harrington of it all - until she started to find him not so bad and realized she could laugh and goof off with the idiot who stole her first real crush. But even when her and Steve started to get along, Scoops Ahoy filled her with a mountain of dread, knowing she’d have to face another day of mundane tasks, sickly sweet ice cream that somehow smelled horrendous on her clothes and hair after a shift, rude customers and unpaying sampling tweens.

But Holland’s was different. There was you, of course, but there was also the promise of music that didn’t suck and remind her of pirates. Coffee and pastries. Calm customers who wandered the aisles and hummed along to songs they knew but couldn’t quite recall the lyrics. People who lingered in the coffee shop and read their newspapers or books despite it being Summer.

She liked the quiet of the start of the mornings here too.

You weren’t a morning person like her, and she enjoyed watching you blink tired eyes at her as she wandered in and the way your smile was sweet but sleepy. Sometimes you’d yawn and your shirt would lift a little as you stretched. Her favorite part was when she’d slide a steaming mug over to you and you’d start to come to life after a few sips. The way you’d always close your eyes as the record player’s scratch would crackle out of the speakers, the soft thud of the needle meeting vinyl, and then quiet instruments and music would fill the store. And by the end of your drink, the record’d be just finishing and you’d put on something much more upbeat, you’d start chatting with her, and-

Okay, so maybe like ninety percent of the reason she comes early is because of you.

This morning however, the shop windows are still dark and you’re nowhere to be found. Robin frowns at her reflection in the door as she searches her backpack for her key she’s never needed to use.

The metal tumblers click as it unlocks, the faint chime trills as she pushes open the door. She flicks on light switches as she passes to the back of the store where her coffee counter rests.

Every step of turning on machines, measuring out scoops of freshly ground coffee for the first pot of drip, putting away clean dishes left to dry the day before are all interrupted after a few seconds by glances up at the front door.

Each tick of the clock pushing closer and closer to eight only makes her frown deepen, until she sees you hurriedly walking up the sidewalk. Her shoulders relaxing as you enter until she sees the look on your face.

You’re brushing under your eyes, keeping your head down as you drop your things behind your desk at the front of the store.

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse and you clear it and fumble with the cash register and continue, “I’m late.”

“I won’t tell,” Robin tries to joke but your sleepy smile is less sleep and more on the verge of ‘I’m just trying not to cry right now’, so she starts making you a drink immediately.

“Ha-ha,” you sniffle and start on all of your morning tasks but without turning on a record.

Robin feels like this is an emergency now, because while she doesn’t know you completely, she knows that for someone like you to not turn on music, things have got to be pretty bad. You seem like the kind of person that falls into an album like her when she’s sad - and the only time she can’t do that is when her feelings are too big, too strong, that not even the shared pain or understanding struggling artists lend with their lyrics and art is enough.

She holds your favorite mug in her hands full of cocoa and marshmallow and cinnamon and she hesitates as she rounds her counter, watching you frown at a clipboard. But she takes another step then another until she’s in front of you and sliding it across handmade posters and signs taped to the wood tabletop encouraging guitar lessons, new releases, and a sign up for a battle of the bands at the Summer carnival.

“Everything okay?” She asks softly.

Your face is still tilted down towards the mug, but she watches your chin wobble as you let out a shaky exhale.

When you look up, your normally bright eyes are muted in their color, glassy as you point to the mug and don’t answer her question but instead say, “This smells so fucking good.”

Robin smiles, lingering next to the counter as she lets her fingers trail over some of the used vinyl up front because it’s on sale, eyes on her converse that are littered with doodles as they shuffle her weight, unable to sit still while she wonders who’s made you so upset and how can she fix it.

“I…” you cut yourself off as you swallow a big sip, eyelids fluttering as you lean forward on the counter, hands cradling the mug. You keep your gaze on it as you shake your head back and forth slowly, contemplating something. Finally you look up at her and she swears all the air leaves her lungs when she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Robin just shakes her head no, gaze returning to the records, spinning one of her rings around on her finger as you keep talking.

“I don’t either, well, I did, when we met at that party I did.” You come over to where she is, abandoning the coffee so you can flip through the stack next to her. Your shoulder brushes hers with every movement through the stack and Robin takes a deep calming breath as you continue softly, “He was an asshole. Still is.”

You spin around, crossing your arms as you lean against the table and mutter, “God he was a good kisser though. Good lips. Better hands, you know how it is and I just…”

She’s gonna throw up, right here on the vinyl.

Your fingers rub at your temple as you laugh, coldly, “I fall for it every time. Every time I break up with a guy and I go on some other dates and he comes crawling back, begging for another chance, and I give it to him and then it all blows up in my face. Every single time.”

Your voice wavers and your chin ducks to your chest, the strap of your baby blue sun dress slips down your shoulder as you sigh then confess, “I caught him cheating. Again. Making out with Grace Roberts. Right out in the open at the diner. I…” you laugh and lean your head on her shoulder as you admit, “I dumped a strawberry milkshake on his head.”

“Good,” she says, miraculously able to speak with no air in her lungs, “Though a guy who’s stupid enough to lose you deserves something far nastier and harder to get out than a shake in my opinion.”

Your head lifts as she says it, laughing and mumbling in agreement, “Mm, like gravy. With chunks of meat in it.”

“Exactly,” she says softly, now looking into your eyes.

The conversation is so wildly unromantic, but there’s this energy between you two. Bodies turned opposite directions, facing different walls, yet your heads are turned towards each other, both of you waiting for something tight between you to snap.

Robin doesn’t even think as her fingers slip up your shoulder and fix your strap, pads of them buzzing as they brush along your skin. Her breath hitches as she watches goosebumps rise to the surface in their wake. Your eyelashes flutter together, your chest seems to move up and down with extended time between each rise and fall, like it’s taking more of your focus and energy to take deeper breaths.

The tick of the clock feels like it’s counting down to something she doesn’t know what. You look at her hand still on your shoulder and swallow, loud enough between the lack of distance between your faces. Voice soft because it can be as you murmur, “Your nails look like a Stevie Wonder album cover.”

Robin glances down at the burnt orange with red sparkles as the thundering of her heart makes her feel like she might pass out. She painted them last night, after her shift with you where you sang loudly along to Stevie and twirled around the shop and sang into her whisk at one point.

She flexes her hand against your strap and let’s it fall, her knuckles trailing down, grazing your arm as she pulls out some of her Steve Harrington charm lessons from a scrambled egg of a brain and asks, “Yeah? Which one?”

You shiver at the question, following her fingers before your gaze lands on her mouth. Your lips part as your head tilts while you think. She watches your hand twitch next to hers now resting next to it on the box of records as you say, “The one with…”

Robin thinks she’s dreaming as you trail off and lean closer, eyes still on her lips as you whisper, “Isn’t She Lovely…”

But it did happen.

What if she likes both.

#robin buckley fic #amanda's fic recs #amanda's faves

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