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munsons-curls · 2 years

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Black Dahlias

Pairing: Ghostface!Eddie Munson x F! Reader (18+)

Contains: 18+!! Heavy, graphic smut. Rough, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex (M/F receiving), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink if you squint, possessive!eddie, mean!eddie, slight innocence kink. Minor ghostface!steve. CANON DIVERGENT.

Trigger warnings: DUBCON, knife play, stalking, panty theft, drinking and drug consumption, emetophobia, allusions to sexual assault and child abuse, graphic depictions of murder, violence and gore. <-PLEASE HEED THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!

A/N: happy All Hallows’ Eve!! 🎃 thank you so so so much to T @hotchs-bitch for leaving me 112 comments on this Google doc despite having her own 17k word WIP. I love u.

Somebody’s watching you.

Your eyes dart around the open courtyard, scanning the area for anything, anybody that stands out, but the unease rolling in your stomach dissipates as quickly as it arrives.

In the distance, you spot a tall figure lighting a cigarette under the awning of the drama block. His dark, curly hair sits at his leather and denim clad shoulders, ringed fingers bringing a cigarette to his mouth. He’s initially a cutting figure, intimidating and looming but you find yourself drawn to him in a magnetic way.

You meet his eyes briefly, your attention ripped away when a girl with short, dirty blonde hair rushes past you, splashing you with her converse. She windmills to a stop and begins apologising profusely, running back to you.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, I’m so sorry.” She rasps. “I totally didn’t even see that stupid puddle and now you’re soaking!”

“No harm done.” You smile, downcast. “I was already wet.”

She looks you up and down, her eyes widening at you soaking through your clothes. “I’m so sorry. Do you have, like. A ride or something? How long have you been waiting here?”

“Since class let out. I’m just waiting for the rain to clear to walk home.” You smile.

“Okay. Forget it. C’mon. You’re coming with me.” You’re being dragged away by a well-meaning hand before you can protest, leading you to a dark red BMW. “C’mon!” She insists when you drag your heels, pulling you down the hilly path to the car.

You curiously look back for the figure in the distance, but he’s gone by the time you manage to pull free of your new friend.

“I’m Robin. And that head of hair you see is Steve.” She says, motioning to the driver in a green uniform vest.

You greet Steve quickly and he mock-salutes you with two fingers, offering you a tight smile as Robin ferries you into the back of the car, quickly taking her place in the passenger side. She shakes out her hair, water droplets splattering Steve.

He squirms and wipes his face before starting the car. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes, Robin. I’ve told you—if you want rides from me, the least you can do is be on time.”

Evidently, Robin bringing in strays isn’t new to Steve, he doesn’t seem at all irritated by an unknown girl dripping rainwater in the back of his BMW. He’s more irritated by the wait.

“Vickie needed help with a special project! Besides, class actually let out fifteen minutes ago, so technically we’re both late.”

You stifle a laugh in the backseat, and your driver’s eyes flit up to yours through the rear view mirror. “Who’s your friend?”

“That. Is actually a great question.” She muses. “We just met and I couldn’t stand to leave her out in the rain. I didn’t get your name.” She turns around to face you. “Did I?”

She seems harmless enough, a little frazzled and chaotic, but rumours about this town put you on edge. The cult-like unsolved murder of Chrissy Cunningham two months ago still sits like a layer of smog over the town, a simultaneous refusal of the townspeople to acknowledge it—or let it go.

You know the guy accused was cleared. How or why—you’re not privy to yet.

You will be soon enough.

You smile and tell Robin your name.

“Are you new to town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Steve asks.

“Yeah, my dad took a job at that new state lab, so I transferred in.”

“I see. And where am I taking you lovely ladies today?”

Robin’s face crinkles and she rolls her eyes, a silent plea to ignore her friend and his overt-chivalry. “Do you have the video for Nance’s?” Steve nods. “Then we can go straight there.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m sorry. Where are we going?”

“Our friend Nancy hosts a movie marathon every Friday with a few other friends of ours.” She adds proudly, “Courtesy of Steve and I — we work at Family Video, over at the strip mall on Franklin and Marsh.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. You’re gonna love it, it’s great!”

“Oh, no. No, I really appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to intrude, I don’t think your friend would be too happy about somebody just, y’know. Waltzing in.” You chuckle.

“Oh, trust me. You don’t know Nancy. She loves playing hostess, and she’ll love you. Don’t worry.” Robin reassures you, pulling down her visor mirror.

Steve hums, agreeing with Robin. “She’s right. Half of Hawkins practically has a key to the Wheeler’s. Just, y’know. Don’t tell Ted.”

You smile awkwardly, settling in a little better in the backseat. You don’t interject in the conversation much, Robin thankfully takes care of that for you as she rambles to Steve about Vickie and her new boyfriend.

You’re content to let the heaters warm your skin, and to watch the rows of houses go by, cautiously relieved at the possibility of some new friends after two months of loneliness.

At the Wheeler’s, you introduce yourself politely to Mrs Wheeler, offering a smile to the distracted man in front of the TV. Steve looks at you, mouths, “Ted.” And you nod in understanding, suppressing a laugh.

Mrs Wheeler hands you a warm towel and ushers the three of you down into the basement.

“Nothing too scary.” She says pointedly, looking at Steve. “If I have to sleep in the same bed as my twelve year old son again, there will be hell to pay, Steven.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise. Nothing too scary.”

You follow Robin and Steve down into the basement; cozily decorated with throw blankets, cushy rugs, a sofa and a loveseat bracketing a TV on the far edge. Sconces and low lamps light the space, illuminating the group huddled in front of the TV.

“Who’s ready for Halloween II?” Steve exclaims, fishing out a VHS from under his windbreaker.

“Ah, so he lives!” Says a theatric, but deep voice behind you. “You’re twenty minutes late, Harrington.”

You let the voice wash over you before you turn around. Your breath hitches when you match the voice to the same figure who was lighting a cigarette under the gym awning just a little while ago.

You study him now, up close. Shoulder length, curly hair, sharp bone structure. High cheekbones and an angular jawline, a strong neck, full, red lips and most disarmingly, big, brown eyes. He’s intense up close, but it’s not an intensity you necessarily have a desire to run from.

His brow raises at your inquisitive gaze—you’ve been staring. “This one of your strays, Harrington? Or is this Buck’s doing?”

Steve gestures vaguely before walking away, leaving Robin—Buck—to make your introduction before joining Steve too. You pull your towel closer to your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin under an intense gaze.

He extends a large hand, chain link bracelet falling around his wrist. “Hey. Eddie.”

You take his hand, warm and large, in yours, letting his fingers wrap around the back of your palm firmly. Your voice is hoarse when you tell him your name and he laughs. A throaty sound that emanates from his chest, a grin taking over his face.

He has dimples.

“Yeah, I know.”

Your heart skids to a stop. “You do?”

“Yeah? Buck just told me.” He replies, looking at you quizzically. He wraps his hands around your upper arms, manoeuvring you so he can slide past, his chest pressing against your back. His leathery, piney scent drifts to your nose. “You comin’?”

You nod meekly, watching him take a seat on the couch, legs spread apart as he adjusts his hips and sinks down in his seat. Fondness spreads through you at the awkward, oddly charismatic way he carries himself. He lays an arm over the back of the couch leisurely, opening himself up as Nancy winds the VHS.

Magnetic as he may be, there’s a shroud of something around him, something dark that extends past his appearance.

You make a resolution not to find out, to get through this year without mishap, but when Nancy takes the last viable seat, you’re left to take a seat next to the guy you promised to swear off.

Eddie stiffens when you take the seat next to him, awkwardly tensing and stealing looks. Robin offers you a comforting smile as the movie starts, and while you stay firm on wanting as much distance between you and Eddie as you can manage, the heat between you slowly builds, and the distance becomes smaller. The pull towards each other becomes heady until you’re pressed up against one another, your shoulder tucked into Eddie’s arm, your head under his chin.

You feel his heart rate spike at the jumpscares, matching yours, but where you wear fear and apprehension on your face—Eddie wears excitement.

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

It’s a thought that crosses your mind multiple times a day, every day for around ten months now. It starts as a fleeting occurrence, something you can chalk up to anxiety, but as the days pass, the rolling unease in your stomach, and the pressure on the back of your neck becomes more insistent.

Somebody’s watching you.

It’s near constant; following you at home, through the school hallways, free periods, the mall. It’s worse at night. With fall on the horizon, the days are shorter, and in the dead of night, you feel as though there are eyes on you, crawling up your body like little fire ants.

Curtains and blinds don’t help. The feeling is heavier when you can’t see what lurks outside.

A heavy thump from downstairs tears you from a deep sleep, the sound grabbing you by the chest and slamming you into consciousness. You sit idly for a few seconds, allowing your brain to catch up and your heart to settle down before you brave breaching your covers.

You glance at the clock.

02:22.

It’s not until you’re several shaky steps towards your bedroom door that you realise what the sound was.

Somebody closed your front door.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, making sure you’re wide awake. You reach for the door with trembling hands and step outside into the lit hallway—you can’t sleep in a dark home when you’re alone.

“Dad?” You call out.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing for his voice to call back so badly, you almost imagine it. He’s not due back for another five days, and when you lean over the bannister to look at the entryway, and don’t miraculously see his shoes—your blood runs ice cold.

Somebody was in your house.

There’s an idiom associated with horror movies.

When you hear a strange noise, going to investigate is an almost sure fire way to get yourself killed and have your face plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. But your feet carry you downstairs anyway, curiosity outweighing rational thought. You at least want to know if you need to get the hell out of your house, and with no escape upstairs, you’re safer downstairs.

The floorboards under the stairs creak with your weight as you pad down to the front door, double checking the lock. You slowly check the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen when a chilling thought occurs to you.

You freeze.

The door closing could have been a person going out.

Or a person coming in.

Ice freezes down your spine, cracking your resolve as your heart jumps to your mouth. Suddenly, the kitchen phone rings and you yelp, body recoiling at the sound.

“Hello?”

“You want to play a game?” A voice leers.

“What?”

“I’m just messin’,” replies a more familiar voice. “What are you doin’ up this late?”

“Eddie?”

“No, the fuckin’ Grim Reaper.” He deadpans. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. What are you doin’ up’?”

“Nothing. Just needed some water.” You reply absent-mindedly, filling up your glass.

You’re here, you might as well.

The water replenishing your dehydrated body kicks your brain into gear, a thought occurring to you. “Wait. Why did you call me if you didn’t know I’d be awake?”

“I saw your lights on.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean, you ‘saw my lights on’?”

“Relax, 21 Questions. I’m doin’ a run for one of my regulars and I was in your neighbourhood. Thought I’d drive by and see if you were all good since you were so tetchy about a week alone. Saw your lights on—gave you a call. That okay?”

You smile at his gruff gesture.

You’ve learned that about Eddie in the past ten months. He’s well-meaning, but every sweet gesture is undercut by a layer of sarcasm and gruffness. You don’t blame him for his coldness.

Despite moving to town two months after Chrissy’s death, you were quickly made privy to everything that happened, and the aftermath, you saw for yourself. Eddie, despite being cleared, still subjected to whispers and dirty looks, branded a devil worshipper and a cult worshipper and a murderer.

Graffiti on his locker, snide comments in the halls, even his business took a hit. His only saving graces were Hopper, who’d cleared him, his Uncle Wayne and your group of your friends—and to a lesser degree—you.

“Of course that’s okay.” You reply.

He makes a non-committal noise. “You doing okay, though?”

A part of you wants to tell him you’re scared, maybe have him blow off his weed run and come keep you company. There’s a safeness with Eddie, but you decide against it.

Your voice pinches when you speak. “Yeah. All good.”

A moment of silence stretches between you, almost like he doesn’t believe you. He breaks the silence finally.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” You finish and slide the phone back into the hook.

You replenish your glass of water, content to explain the slamming sound away as yet another coincidence—maybe as a dream your brain confused with reality when you were coming to.

As you set the glass on the kitchen island, your eyes catch a glimpse of something behind the roll of tissue. You slowly reach forward, moving the tissue out of the way to reveal a single flower with thin, dark maroon petals and a pink centre.

A black dahlia.

You pluck it from the countertop with a shaky breath, examining it under the light, and drop it when you feel a pull at the back of your neck, the feeling of somebody’s eyes on you returning again, making you feel uneasy.

You don’t spare the flower, nor the window behind you a second look, the glass of water left on the marble as you grab a knife and walk firmly to the couch in the living room. You draw the curtains and switch on the TV, flick through until a rerun of a movie plays on mute in the background, lulling you into as deep of a sleep as you can manage in the circumstances.

But somebody’s watching you.

——————————————————————————

You drag your body through the hallways the next morning, eyes weighed down like dumbbells and head fuzzy from the lack of sleep. You let your head rest against the cool metal of your locker to offer you some relief as your eyes close, succumbing to your exhaustion.

“Hey!” Nancy’s voice chirps. She looks at you perplexed when you jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blink heavily and pull your locker open. “No, it’s fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Did you stay up late studying for Mr Haskell’s?” She asks, propping her hardback textbooks against her hip.

Shit.

“God, I wish. I actually forgot.” You sigh, grabbing your binders.

Your peripheral registers something falling out of your locker and drifting to the floor as you take out your things. Nancy’s quicker than you, balances her books on her hip and bends to pick up the item, your heart skidding to a halt when you see it in her hand.

Another black dahlia.

You feel the blood drain from your face, your stomach dropping and fingers going numb.

He was here. You’re being followed.

You feel that ominous feeling return, the feeling that you’re being watched, the crowd in the hallways offering you no solace. It feels like walking through a group of people with an invisible stab wound, nobody any the wiser of your impending doom except for you.

Nancy spins the flower from the stem, a smile taking over her face as she extends it to you. “A dahlia… nice. Who’s the guy?” She asks in a sing-song voice.

Your voice feels far away when you answer her. “There’s no guy.”

“Sure. She says sardonically. “You have flowers in your locker but no secret admirer. I want details.” As she walks away, she nods as an acknowledgement to somebody behind you.

You squeeze the flower between your hand just as a strong pair of hands pat, or rather, jostle your shoulders.

“What’s this I hear about a secret admirer?”

“Christ, Eddie. You almost gave me a heart attack.” You mutter, stuffing the flower into your pocket.

His eyes narrow as he scans your face. His gaze is intense, but it offers you an odd kind of relief— his exuberance oddly cancelling out the nauseating fear clouding you.

Leaning against Nancy’s locker with his hands in his pockets, he asks, “Why so tetchy? You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He leans in, looks down at you with a gaze that makes your skin prickle, a feeling you’ve had often during your friendship.

He taps your shin with his foot. “You know, you’re cute when you lie.”

Your breath hitches. He smells like leather and pine, and he’s tall and broad and warm, and if you leaned into him just a little, you know that some of your tension would at least melt away.

“Really, Eddie. I’m okay.” You smile, squeezing his hand.

You retract it quickly, Eddie stiffening when Carol saunters past you, accidentally tripping over Tina’s leg to bump into you with a sickeningly sweet, “sorry, honey.”

Your first instinct is to push her right back. You’d love nothing more than to pull out a chunk of her hair after what she and her asshole friends did to you. You’re smarter than that, though—she’d paint herself as the victim and you’d end up in detention with a serious mark in your permanent record.

You roll your eyes, muttering a defiant, ‘bitch’, under your breath.

“What was that about?” Eddie asks, jerking his chin towards Carol and Tommy.

“Nothing.” You clip.

He narrows his eyes expectantly, giving you yet another opportunity to reveal to him what he already knows.

Around a month ago, after a fight at a party, Steve had ended up crashing at Eddie’s for a few days after being arrested—courtesy of his ex best friend Tommy crying over a busted lip. Hopper had reassured Steve it was for appearances, that he’d be free to go as soon as his dad picked him up, secretly knowing that Tommy had most likely deserved the right hook.

Mr. Harrington though, had kicked Steve out after making his bail. It was then Steve had told Eddie about the incident at the party, about how Robin had called him absolutely furious after Tommy had tried to force himself on you.

He’d gotten a knee to the balls from you, Robin and Nancy piling on, and a right hook from Steve, but the damage had been done. By the next morning, Tina and Carol had worked their magic, branding you as the whore who tried to steal Carol’s boyfriend.

Eddie watches Tommy and Carol keenly now, an expression on his face that you’ve come to see more often recently. It’s as though the warmth drains from his eyes, leaving behind an unfeeling presence before he snaps back.

The warmth returns to his eyes as quickly as it disappears, working its way to you as if by an invisible line. “You can tell me.” He says softly. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Your chest constricts. “Eh. Apparently, I’m a whore. It’s whatever.”

His jaw ticks again. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re about as pure as they come.” He marvels, gaze lingering on your lips. His hand absently brushes some hair behind your ear, and he freezes, letting it hang awkwardly.

You huff, slapping his wrist away. “Okay. Yoda? You sound like an idiot. This isn’t the 1800’s—women have and enjoy sex, you know?”

He snaps back into his detached ruse, leaning against the locker to play with his rings. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, suggestive lilt to his voice.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“Dude, you’re nasty.”

“Maybe.” His eyes darken before he inhales deeply. “Listen, I got a free period, so I’m gonna run. I have a business meeting that is most urgent and requires my utmost attention.”

“Eddie-“

He’s already walking away, his broad back heading for the doors at the end of the hall. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll be back by lunch, Sweetheart.”

You smile to yourself and reach back into your pocket, having temporarily forgotten about your present. You wish you could hold onto that feeling of safety and happiness that Eddie gives you a little longer, bottle it up and use it for when your anxiety reaches its peaks.

Being around Eddie always has that effect on you, try as you might to push it down.

——————————————————————————

“Turn on the news.” Nancy hisses through the crackly phone. “Now!”

“Christ, Nance. Do you even know what time it is? It’s barely light outside.” You grumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Forget about the time, just turn on your TV!”

“Okay! Okay, gimme a second.” You groan.

You rush downstairs for the TV remote and flick through the channels until you get to the news. On the screen, police and ambulance sirens paint the scene red and blue, police tape cordoning off a house just a few blocks from yours. You turn the volume up and catch the last few words from the reporter.

“—Tragedy rocks Hawkins once again, as the bodies of two teenagers, Carol Perkins, and her boyfriend Thomas Hagan were found butchered in the early hours of this morning.”

The words go off like a bomb in your ear, the floor giving out from under your feet as you slump down on the sofa, shakily clutching the remote.

“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy fucking shit.” You murmur.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Your voice sounds tinny when you speak. “They were murdered?”

“Butchered.”

“God, I know I said I wanted to see her head on a spike but this is awful. I can’t believe somebody would do that.”

A shiver runs down your spine at your proximity to the victims—despite your vitriolic hatred for the both of them, Carol and Tommy are—were—people you saw everyday. You can’t say anybody deserves to be butchered.

“Can you meet Robin, Jonathan and me at my place in an hour? We’re gonna go get some answers.” Nancy asks.

“Isn’t that a reporter’s job? Or the PD?” You ask, alarmed.

“I wanna major in journalism, that basically makes me half a reporter already. Just meet at my place in an hour. Bring sensible shoes.”

Any room for negotiation goes out of the window as the line goes dead. You set the now clammy phone down on the hook and stay rooted in spot, staring blankly at the TV as the news reel plays out in the background.

“—Police and Fire were called to the scene at around 3:00am when Perkins’ parents arrived home to a fire. Upon their arrival, they found their home in disarray and the two teenagers dead. Hawkins PD are still combing the scene for evidence and are expected to make an announcement later this evening. One thing is for sure though, it seems that death and tragedy are never too far where Hawkins is concerned.”

You’d completely forgotten about the dark cloud that had been looming over Hawkins this past year. These new killings seem especially insidious with the anniversary of Chrissy Cunningham’s death approaching in just a few days.

Becoming cognizant of Chrissy, you want to reach out to Eddie to ask him how he’s doing following this news. You’ve no doubt that this time of year is likely to dredge up some horrific memories for him—it’s only been a year since he was labelled as the town pariah—ostracised through no fault of his own.

This won’t help.

He’ll be subjected to looks in the street again and whispers as he walks by, as though he’s a stain on the town. He’ll be scapegoated. Again.

You want to reach out to Eddie for him, sure. But there’s also a selfish undercurrent to your thoughts; Eddie’s an increasingly comforting figure in your life and you need him to knock you back on track, especially if Nancy’s going to be critiquing your journalism skills this morning.

A hit of something to get your head right.

You hit three on your speed dial, put the coffee on while the line rings and make your way upstairs.

His voice crackles through the phone and has the strangest effect by offering you almost-immediate relief. “Who the hell is this?” He grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

It makes your heart pick up pace.

You stifle a laugh. “Eddie, it’s me.”

He moans, and you picture him with mussed hair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His voice is still thick when he talks; though, much less irritable this time. “Mornin’, sunshine. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t see the news?”

“Nah. Not yet at least. Late night. What’s going on?”

“It’s Carol and Tommy. They found their bodies this morning, they were killed.” You whisper the last part in a hushed tone, like verbalising it will somehow bring the curse to you.

“Wait, what did you just say? They were murdered?” You hear rustling on the other end and assume Eddie’s making a mad dash to the living room in his boxers to turn on the TV. “Do they know who did it?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet—“

“—Hey, man. Turn that up?”

You pause in your doorway, brows furrowing. “Who are you talking to?”

“Harrington—he got into another pissing match with his dad a few nights ago, told him he could have the couch while Wayne was at work.”

“Christ, dude. They’re saying they were butchered.” Steve says, muffled in the background.

You straighten the edges of your bedsheets and start to pick out the sensible shoes Nancy requested, zoning in on another pair you’ll inevitably have to loan to Robin.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I thought you already knew. I just…wanted to check in.”

Eddie pauses before he speaks hesitantly. “Check in?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s coming up to a year since all of that stuff happened, and I can’t imagine this is gonna be easy for you, y’know? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A surge of warmth spreads inside him. Rarely does he feel truly content or peaceful, especially as of late; he has enough emotional baggage to last a lifetime. But he does feel blessed to have sporadic moments of lightness—short—but always with you.

“You sayin’ you care about me or something?” He murmurs, no doubt careful to avoid Steve’s ears but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You snicker, your eyes falling to your slightly open underwear drawer. You go to close it with an absent-minded push of your hips when your eyes catch something.

Your heart plummets like a lead weight, a shot of dread piercing your chest.

“Hello? You there?” Eddie calls out, but your hands are trembling.

Stuffed in your underwear drawer, deliberately wrapped inside a pair of white cotton panties, is another black dahlia.

“Eddie, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You squeak.

His voice shifts. “You okay? Something wrong?”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” You clip, the phone landing with a thud against your mattress.

You reach for the flower, gingerly unwrapping it from the white cotton only to reveal a small note tucked under the stem. Nausea claws at your stomach and invades your throat, leaving your head tingly and eyes spotty.

Black sharpie against red paper reads;

“The things we do for love. Be seeing you soon, my flower. I have some business to take care of first.”

It's as direct a threat to you as you’ve had so far, but there’s an insinuation there too. An icy thought sends chills through your veins. You may be responsible for Carol and Tommy’s deaths which is in itself a steel weight, but this note doesn’t indicate any sign of the violence stopping.

If anything, it connotes the opposite.

You can’t explain the paranoia and the flowers away, can’t live in the content grey safety of denial anymore. He was here.

In your room. Rifling through your underwear drawer. Watching you sleep.

Could he have touched you?

Are you the business he has to take care of?

Your stomach rolls, and you run to the bathroom to empty your guts into the toilet, gagging until the remnants of last night’s barely-there-dinner are gone and you’re shivering and cold on the tiled floor.

You’re hit with the feeling of somebody watching you again, pressure tugging at the back of your neck like tiny threads under your skin. Your eyes dart out of the window but you don’t see anything.

Or anybody.

You never do.

——————————————————————————

Your investigation with Robin and Nancy turns up nothing except more disturbing information, which you grimly conclude could well predict your own demise. You’re running on fumes, paranoid and scared for your life, the walk up the stairs to get into school seeming like a chore.

“Tommy went first.” Robin tells Eddie the following morning.

“What?” He asks, dodging Robin’s attempt to snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. She tries again, but he dodges again, manoeuvring you to walk between them.

“Yeah. We overheard Hopper and Callahan over the radio. He was shot in both knees first, tied to a chair, gagged, then stabbed. His insides…on the outside.”

Eddie’s face contorts, not so much in horror, but in mild disgust as he exhales a cloud of smoke. It seems Tommy had enemies in just about every circle except for his own; and despite your best intentions not to think it, you conclude that somebody finally decided to take matters into their own hands.

“And Carol? Stabbed in the back, chest, and neck. Gutted and tied to a tree. Can you believe that shit? This guy is serious.” Robin continues.

She’s managed to dig up a rubber band from inside her pocket and snaps it against her wrist, each slap against her skin housing a migraine deeper in your temple.

You wince.

“Careful, Buck. Almost sounds like you admire him. Besides, how do you know it’s a guy?” Eddie asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Statistics.” Nancy interjects, clicking her locker shut. “Violent kills are almost always executed by men. That, and the fact that it would take a pretty huge guy to hog-tie Tommy, and then string Carol’s dead body up on a tree.”

“Alright.” You feel nausea rising in your stomach again. Slamming your locker shut, you squeeze your eyes closed. “Can we not? I feel sick.”

“You look it.” Robin deadpans, raising her hands in defence when you, Nancy and Eddie cut her a look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a you-look-awful way, I’m just saying you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, gently turning your face to his. “Yeah. Have you been sleeping?” He asks, cigarette tucked between his lips. His thumb runs over the delicate skin under your eyes. “You look so tired.”

You tense up at the sudden contact from Eddie, who, despite being notoriously tactile, isn't somebody you’d ever describe as affectionate except maybe with Dustin and the kids.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness to melt into his touch, his warm skin and icy rings, but your eyes dart to Robin and Nancy who share a wry look. You become aware of the droves of people staring and whispering as they go by too, and suddenly your throat feels tight.

“I’m fine.” You clip, prying yourself away from his tender touch and he reacts by awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets, hurt by the sudden change.

He knows it’s because people are staring, he just hadn’t expected you to care. You can’t handle the eyes on you—not when there’s somebody breathing down your neck.

The rational part of you knows that it’s because you’re in such close proximity to Eddie, who’s been re-subjected to dirty looks and hostile whispers since Tommy and Carol died yesterday. It seems that despite his name being cleared in good faith last year, the people of Hawkins merely needed a reason to scapegoat Eddie again, all too quick to spit the words devil worshipper and cult leader his way.

Eddie brushes the looks off, his jaw tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, shoulders tight like a coil as he takes a deep drag of his cigarette.

“Fuckin’ morons.” He mutters under his breath. “A serial killer walks the streets of Hawkins but sure…” He mock lunges at a group of lowerclassmen who flinch and disperse down the hallway, earning more looks from passersby. “Let's all gather around to stare at the freak.”

“Mr. Munson,” Higgins’ voice booms, his eyes falling to the cigarette in Eddie’s mouth. “You can either put that out, or I can put it out for you—and while I do relish in giving you detention—I no longer wish to see you roam these halls for yet another year. I’m frankly sick of seeing your face.”

“Oh believe me. The feeling’s mutual, asshole.” Eddie grumbles, a begrudging appeasement on his face. He theatrically plucks the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out against the metal rim of the bin behind you. “Guy’s a pain in my sack.”

Robin’s cackle is cut short when a sudden buzz crawls over the student body. It takes over like a swarm of bees, students yelling and clamouring in the direction of the football field. In the distance, you see Argyle and a pale Jonathan cut through the crowd, right as Mr Higgins receives a radio transmission and pushes through the horde himself.

You narrow your eyes, your group pulling Jonathan and Argyle to the side of the stampede. “What’s going on?”

“Dudes, they found another body.” Argyle tells the group.

The news hits you with the subtlety of a crashing train, leaving the words ricocheting in your ear. You fight to keep your composure, doing the maths in your head to figure out where on your shadow’s roster you fall.

“What? Who? Where? How? How do you guys know?” Nancy asks in rapid succession, grabbing Jonathan and Argyle with a hand each.

“I was walking down to take pictures out on the football field for the yearbook, and saw what I thought was a doll or a scarecrow or something. Just hanging from the goalpost.” Jonathan pants weakly.

“Yeah. Got closer and realised it was a real person. A lady.” Argyle adds, shaking his head.

Eddie huffs, leaning against his locker. “A lady?”

“Tina.” Jonathan corrects. “Somebody already tipped off the cops—Hopper pulled up right as we saw her body. She was in her pyjamas, you guys. All covered in blood.” He runs a stressed hand through his hair, bending to put his hands on his knees. “I think I’m gonna throw up.” He wheezes.

Argyle rubs his back sympathetically, while Nancy kicks herself into high gear. Rifling through her locker, she grabs her school newspaper notebook and best ballpoint pen—the kind she reserves for sleuthing and writing speeches—and turns heel.

“I swear, if you want something done right…” she mutters and she’s a flash of a perm as she scurries away, joining the now well-informed student body of the attraction outside.

The gaggle eventually dies down and gets filtered into the gym, squashed together like sardines in a can; some taking up the bleachers, some using the benches, the lowerclassmen claiming the floor as their sitting space.

Eddie tucks you into his arm on the sidelines where the rest of your friends sit in an effort to conserve space. He balances his copy of Lord of The Rings on his knee, the spine snapped, edges frayed and tattered, various motor oil stains soaked into the paper with rows and rows of annotations littering the page.

At best, it's well-loved—at worst, it’s unreadable—but it’s one of Eddie’s prized possessions and it shows.

Higgins’ voice through the speaker silences the hustle of whispering students, rumours and gossip dying down almost immediately.

“All classes are henceforth suspended until further notice. When prompted, please collect all important belongings from your lockers and proceed to leave in an orderly fashion. Police Chief Hopper also has an announcement to make—please remain where you are for now.”

Cheers for class suspension are cut short when Hopper swiftly implements a strict citywide 9:00pm curfew.

“Any citizens reported to be out after this time will be brought in by an officer and questioned before release. It is vital you heed this curfew as it has been put in place for your own safety. Please report any concerns directly to the Police Department or call 9-1-1. Thank you.”

A resigned groan makes its way through the crowd as students filter out, Tommy’s old friend group uncharacteristically quiet; haunted by the news. It tracks—the only discernible pattern so far is that the killer has a vendetta against their group of friends.

It’s your own entanglement that doesn't track.

“So. What’s the rundown?” Robin asks Nancy as you make your way down to the parking lot.

Nancy looks pale. “Tina was cut from chin to stomach through her nightgown.” She says, shakily. “But there’s more.”

Your blood runs cold. “More?”

“Yeah. It’s not confirmed yet, but I overheard Hopper telling Higgins they found another body this morning on the other side of town. They said the description matched Fred Benson.”

“The guy who did the student paper with you?” Eddie asks.

Nancy bristles. Her relationship with Fred had soured last year after he insisted on covering Chrissy’s murder, putting Eddie at the forefront. Nancy had refused—then fired him.

“Yeah.” She goes on. “Parents didn’t even know he was missing.”

Nancy’s words only stand to remind you that you too could be murdered and strung up like a carcass for the town to see—and nobody would be any the wiser until it was too late.

You should tell somebody. Anybody. But your mind stops you, a terrifying thought crossing your mind. Telling your friends could put them in danger too. Taking out entire friendship groups seems like a day’s work for this killer, and if anything happened to your friends, you’d never forgive yourself.

“I’m gonna wait for Will and the rest of those guys, make sure they’re okay, but we’ll reconvene at Nance’s?” Jonathan asks.

“Wait—you heard Hopper. There’s a curfew.” You say.

Nancy shrugs. “Safety in numbers. C’mon.”

Eddie pats your shoulder as he lights another cigarette. “I’ll catch up with you guys later—I left my briefcase inside. I’ll bring the beer to Nance’s.”

“Somebody’s gotta tell Steve, does he even know what’s going on?” You ask.

“I’ll take care of it.” Eddie says, voice thick with smoke. “I gotta swing by Family Video anyhow, it appears Keith is in the market for my recreational sleeping aids.”

Argyle gestures to Eddie who gives him the affirmative—and you shake your head. A serial killer walks the streets and your friends are making sure there’s enough weed at an unmandated ‘gathering’.

“Be safe?” You call out to Eddie.

He kicks his leg, gives you a mock salute. “Always am. You too.”

——————————————————————————

“Well. I’m just saying, y’know. There are certain rules when it comes to slashers.” Jonathan mumbles through a mouthful of chips.

“Is that what this is? A slasher?” Steve asks, adjusting in his seat.

The basement air smells like weed and cheap beer, the sourness of the salsa that Robin opened twenty minutes ago cutting through the stench. Your stomach is already in pieces with worry, talk of a slasher movie and the dank air does little to quell your nerves.

“Yeah. I mean. Think about it.” He munches. “You got a guy in a mask goin’ around, killing a bunch of teenagers, hanging them up on goalposts?”

Argyle’s content to listen, offering a grunt of agreement here and there, but he pipes up. “Yeah. Plus, y’know the whole haunted past in a small town thing. No offence, my dude.” He says to Eddie.

Eddie raises his brows, shakes his head. No harm done.

“So, these rules then. Let’s have ‘em.” Steve says. “What do you got?”

“Well. The first is that everybody’s a suspect. Everybody. That’s a given.”

“Yeah. No shit.” Steve nods, huffing a laugh.

Jonathan stands up, his eyes wide. “Now the rules to surviving a slasher movie—well. That’s a whole different ball game.”

“Go on.”

“Rule number one: never have sex.”

You catch Eddie’s eye from across the room. It’s something you’d noticed pretty much the day you met; oftentimes you’d be engrossed in something, or just happen to look up at Eddie to find him already watching you. His gaze makes your skin prickle with intensity, blood warming under your skin.

Despite being in a room full of people, your looks always seem like they’re reserved just for the two of you, an invisible string tying you to him and pulling you closer despite the physical distance remaining the same.

“—Big no.” Jonathan continues. “Sex equals death. Slasher and horror symbolism in general relies heavily on the innocent virgin as a survivor trope. Promiscuity guarantees death.”

Eddie’s gaze lingers on yours, his elbows perched on his knees, chin tucked into his chest. He looks good in this light, full lips casting a shadow, his eyes transfixed on you. You lose your nerve and look away, but can’t fight the desire to glance at him again.

He’s still watching you with almost drunken eyes that you attribute to the beer, though you know he can handle his alcohol.

“Number two: no drinking or doing drugs. It’s an extension of number one—the sin factor. It’s a sin!”

“Oh great. Guess we’re all fucked.” Steve mutters, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s bullshit, man. This isn’t a slasher and no serial killer is going to know if you’re a boring, sober, virgin.”

Eddie finally averts his gaze, picking at the frayed denim on his jeans. “Byers, you know I make my living supplying recreational substances to those in need.”

“—And Steve has deflowered every legal girl who likes men, all the way up to like, Fort Wayne.” Robin snorts, raising her drink.

“Well—not exactly.” Steve squints. “But they both make a good point. By your so-called rules, Byers; Eddie and I would’ve been the first ones to go.”

You shake your head, feeling a massive tangent coming and decide to cut out while you can. The thought of going home to an empty house fills you with dread, especially with the recent uptick in dead bodies. You can’t sleep, not when your ears pick up the smallest noises and twist them into sinister scenarios.

The wind howling through the gaps in your windows sounds eerily like somebody screaming, the floorboards settling make you see an intruder out of the corner of your eye.

You’re exhausted.

Nancy follows you upstairs, turning you by your arm. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“Yeah. It’s a little much down there.” You inhale deeply now that the air is thinner and fresher.

“You know what they get like when they drink.” Nancy laughs. “Do you wanna stay over tonight? Robin was thinking about crashing and I don’t love the idea of you at home by yourself with everything going on. Just stay with me until your dad gets back.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. “Actually, would you mind? I don’t really wanna be by myself.”

“Yeah!” She laughs. “Of course. I can take you to grab your stuff in the morning.”

“Thanks, Nance. I gotta double check the alarm and locks anyway, so I’ll go grab my things now.” You smile, turning to grab your keys from the bowl on the credenza.

“You sure? It’s late.”

‘Rule number 3,’ Jonathan continues downstairs out of earshot, ’never, ever, under any circumstances, say you’ll be right back.’

“It’s a few blocks away.” You reassure her. “I’ll be right back.”

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

You feel a tug on the back of your neck when you get to the top of the Wheeler’s cul-de-sac. It becomes more insistent as you turn left on to a densely tree-lined street, which, dimly lit as usual, is eerily silent. With the exception of you and your friends, it seems the residents of Hawkins are abiding by Hopper’s mandate.

You brush the feeling off and slide your keys between your fingers, picking up pace. By the time you get to your driveway, your heart is in your mouth and you’re almost at a full sprint, nearly slipping on the corner of a flowerbed.

You’d devised a plan on the way home.

Check the alarms, downstairs windows, upstairs windows, grab your bag from the closet in the hallway and pack as you go. Simple enough.

But somebody’s watching you.

Your trembling hands make you fumble and miss the lock a few times, the key bluntly jamming against the metal. You’re finally in, about to twist the lock when a hand aggressively swipes at your arm and drags you backwards.

You yelp, stomach swooping in pure terror, blood pounding in your ears.

He’s here.

You come face to face with a bloodshot Jason, whiskey heavy on his breath. He looks desperate and frenzied in just a pair of chinos and a white polo—it’s freezing out. His presence offers you an odd sense of relief, you can tell from his appearance he’s not about to hurt you and he doesn’t pose any immediate danger.

He seems scared.

He pulls you in close, his vice grip making your skin pinch.

“Let go, Jason. What the hell is wrong with you, why are you outside my house?”

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?!” You snap.

“About the company you keep.” He slurs darkly. “You’re not new anymore, but you weren’t here when it went down. When Chrissy died.”

You squirm, attempting to free your arm, but Jason’s grip is vicious in his trance-like state. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

He’s here physically, but his mind is elsewhere. “It’ll be a year tomorrow. And it’s like she was never here. Like she never existed.”

Your heart sinks for him, a loss so large, so young is sure to rock anybody. But you know the other side of him—the side that radicalised half the town into hunting down Eddie. That almost killed Lucas and Erica when they tried to help.

“Look. Jason. I’m sorry about what happened, but that doesn’t explain why you’re grabbing my arm.” You grunt, trying to break free. “What does this have to do with me?”

He jostles you, shaking you hard enough that the pain radiates up your arm like a vine. “Everything! This has everything to do with you! Your friend? Eddie? I know they cleared him, said that he had nothing to do with it, but I know the truth. I know what he is.” He says, words dripping with disdain.

In a surge of defensiveness, you drag the serrated edge of your keys across his skin, drawing a little blood.

“You bitch!” He sneers, snatching his hand away. “You’ll regret that. You’ll regret not listening to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; don’t say I didn’t tell you what he was!” He angrily stalks off, disappearing into the tree line.

When you’d first moved to Hawkins, rumours of golden girl Chrissy dying at the hands of a satanic cult had intrigued you. Dustin had filled you in on the rest and after meeting Eddie and the rest of his innocent D&D group, you knew those rumours were a work of fiction.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts from a few feet away. He gestures in the direction of the tree line. “Was that Jason?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, gingerly touching your arm.

Eddie closes the last few feet between you, jogging to you as you open your door. “What did he want?”

“Said he saw me walking home, wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Eddie looks at you incredulously as he steps inside. “Looked intense, you okay?”

“Yeah. All good.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to the raised welts on your forearm, your hands paler from the lack of blood flow. He gently holds your wrist and brings it up to the hallway light to examine the marks.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” You sigh resignedly. “He was drinking, and he said some stuff about Chrissy’s death anniversary, I think he was just… a little out of it. Got a little overzealous.”

“Overzealous?” Eddie asks, getting closer to you. “He left a paw print. Y’know I swear, guys like him think they can get away with anything—“

“—Yeah. But I’m fine, Eddie. It looks worse than it is.” You place your hand around his and squeeze reassuringly. “Really. I’m okay.”

“You sure?“

“I swear, Eddie. I’m all good.”

Your peripheral suddenly plays a cruel trick on you, making you jump at the impression of somebody in the kitchen.

Eddie finally lets go of your hand, laughing at your reaction. “You okay? You’re really jumpy.” He asks, rubbing your shoulders as you walk into the kitchen.

“There’s a serial killer in town, Eddie. Why aren’t you jumpy?” You deadpan. “Is that why you’re here?”

He chuckles self-effacingly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Nancy told me you took off to grab your things and I didn’t want you to have to walk by yourself with all that stuff.” He stops you from reaching for the window with a hand on your hips, walking around you instead. “Here, I got it.”

He extends his lean body to twist the window handle, his t-shirt riding up to reveal his toned abs. Red welts—scratches—mark his stomach and a twinge of jealousy creeps up your chest when you think about how he may have gotten those marks.

“Hey!” Eddie says, snapping his fingers. “Where do you keep goin’, you good?”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks, snapping you back into reality. “Of course. I have my knight in shining armour, don’t I?” You say sardonically, rounding the island to go upstairs.

You’re halfway through the hallway before you realise you’re not being followed by Eddie; he’s since taken to standing in the doorway with a look that you can’t read.

“What is it?” You ask.

He slowly steps towards you. “I know you’re kidding, but for what it’s worth—you never have to worry about that stuff when you’re with me.” He says softly, his voice thick. “You’re always safe with me. I hope you know that.”

You share a look in the dimly lit hallway, and you don’t know what this thing is between you—the thing where you know each other best, and look out for one another, and make one another feel safe, but where touches and looks linger for longer than they should.

You don’t have a shadow of a doubt colouring your answer when you reply, knowing wholeheartedly that you believe it.

“I know.”

When you get back to Nancy’s though, the night has taken a turn for the worse. The kids sit in the living room with the rest of your friends, everybody huddled up together around the TV as the breaking news reel plays.

“What’s going on?” You ask, setting your bag by the door.

“They found another body.” Steve tells you in a hushed voice, mindful of the kids but it’s useless—they’re watching the same thing you all are.

“Higgins.” Nancy explains, approaching you and Eddie. Out of earshot of the kids, she says, “they found him tied to the same goal post they unhooked Tina off of today. His eyes were gouged out and he was stabbed in the neck. He bled to death.”

Three victims. Three victims in one day.

Nancy mirrors that thought, but all you can think about now is how much longer you can outrun the shadow breathing down your neck, seemingly getting closer every day.

——————————————————————————

Breakfast is a bleak affair.

Mrs. Wheeler does everything to make sure you eat, encouragingly puts out a spread that most people dream of, while Mr Wheeler grumbles under his breath. You watch the boys, El and Max stuff their faces with pancakes, syrup dripping down their chins, but after the morning news, you can barely stomach anything.

Youre realising after watching the morning news, that it’s becoming a twisted kind of routine to wake up and expect the news of another murder.

Today’s victim: Andy Clayton.

Jason’s best friend and yes-man; found hacked to pieces, fibres of his letterman jacket found in his stab wounds from the brutal kill. You stick close to Nancy and Robin for the rest of the day, but when you come back from investigating, you find a chilling surprise on the Wheeler’s doorstep.

Nancy giggles and ducks inside with Robin, leaving you with your gift. Four black dahlias tied together with a length of twine, a note folded in half between the stems.

“I promise it won’t be much longer until we’re together, my flower. See you soon.”

Your head instinctually whips around, your eyes scanning the street, but it’s dead silent save for the occasional passing car. You turn back to the house, ice flowing into your veins as you realise you’re a sitting duck, and staying here would put everybody else in danger too.

The Wheelers, the kids, Robin.

You tuck the note into your pocket along with the four flowers and grab your bags, lying to Nancy that you’ll be back. Your first stop is going to see Eddie to ask for some company at the police station. You make the walk to your house, drop your bags in the trunk of your car and make the seven mile journey to Eddie’s trailer.

The sun sets on your way there, casting the sky in blooms of oranges and pinks, the landscape so much more vibrant in Hawkins than anywhere else you’ve lived. Eddie’s beat up van isn’t anywhere to be seen, but the lights inside his trailer are on, you knock once out of politeness and come in anyway after finding the door unlocked.

Not that Eddie ever remembers to lock his doors.

Inside, he’s still nowhere to be seen, the only thing interrupting the silence is the hum of the energy saver light bulb in the background and the sound of a dog barking outside.

“Eddie?” You call out, clicking the door shut behind you. “You home?”

You’re met with more silence.

You glance at the small clock above the hat-lined wall.

5:30pm.

Tentatively, you take a seat on the pull out couch that Steve and Wayne have taken to sharing by now, using the time you have to contemplate how best to broach the subject of your stalker with Eddie; where to start, how much to say.

Your legs start to tingle from nerves and pent up anxiety, forcing you to your feet.

You pace the length of the living room and to the kitchen and back again. Your stomach knots and unknots, a surge of nervous energy lodging in your throat and dissipating throughout your chest.

Absently, you walk into Eddie’s room—a bomb site on a good day. As you close the door behind you, something large and black swooshes against the hook, a large coat or a cloak of some kind, probably for his Hellfire Club meetings.

You should talk to Eddie about rebranding that soon.

You smile fondly as your eyes travel over his poster lined walls, the acoustic guitar perched in the corner, the magazines on top of his nightstand. The second drawer of his nightstand catches your eye, ajar slightly because of something caught between the drawer and the frame.

You look closer, eyes narrowing when you pull a length of twine out from the drawer. You examine it curiously, holding it up to the light when a thought occurs to you.

With a hesitant hand, you reach into your back pocket to pull out the dahlias you’d received earlier that day, comparing the twine to the one in your hand. Your brows furrow as you bring both pieces of twine together, joining the two diagonal edges to fit perfectly.

It’s a dead match.

You pull out his drawer in a daze, head growing fuzzy as you rummage through his things. It’s a coincidence—it has to be. There has to be an explanation.

Ice flows into your veins when you find five black dahlias tucked neatly into a roll of newspaper, red square note paper next to it. Your head rushes with blood, the room spinning as you try to somehow refute what’s in front of you.

This can’t be what you think it is. It can’t be.

You gag and run to the kitchen to empty your stomach in the sink. It’s fruitless, your stomach turning up nothing, leaving you to dry heave and clutch the counter.

No. No, no, no.

Your hands tremble, blood rushing in your ears and pumping through your body to drive you into high gear, to get the hell out.

You dart for the door, grabbing your bag and keys, and slam face first into a black wall, your hands taking the brunt of the impact, the shock forcing you back a few steps. Your bags and keys fall on the floor, the blood draining from your body when you look up at a cloaked figure with a white mask.

You tense up, making peace with the fact that this may be your end but still hold out a small amount of hope that it isn’t who you think it is behind the mask.

Then the figure speaks, says your name in that familiar way that sends shivers up your spine.

Eddie.

Your knees buckle and you trip backwards, the pressure inside your head increasing until you can hear a high-pitched whine. Shakily holding out your hands in front of you, you see them stained crimson, an unknown person’s blood licking your skin.

It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to darkness.

——————————————————————————

A horrible weight surrounds your head and there’s a ringing in your ears when you come to. It takes a few seconds for your mind to catch up, but when it does, you jolt in your seat, your movement restricted by something binding your hands and mouth.

You start to hyperventilate.

“Hey. Hey. Calm down.” Eddie says, crouching in front of your chair, sporting a busted lip, a bruised eye and bloody knuckles. “Fuck—Calm down, I need you to breathe, okay?” He rips the tape off your mouth and you struggle against the ties, but he pulls the chair in by its arms.“Hey! Breathe. C’mon—just match my pace, alright, you’re gonna pass out again. Fucking breathe.”

He exaggerates his own breathing rhythm now that you can see his chest in just his t-shirt to let your breathing fall into tandem with his. You let yourself breathe, focusing on the air expanding in your lungs, but terror still grips you.

Eddie watches you carefully, like you’re a cornered animal, his mask pulled up, hair matted to his forehead. “I’m going to cut you loose so we can talk, okay? M’gonna explain everything, but you can’t run. Can you do that?”

Images of Carol and Tommy, Tina, and the rest of his victims flash before your eyes. Eviscerated. Bludgeoned. Gutted.

You nod, not daring to look down knowing that the rope, the chair and your skin are stained with fresh blood.

“Good.” He breathes.

He brings a bloody hunting knife to your wrists, lodges the flat edge between you and the rope, and cuts upwards, slicing you free. You plant your shaky feet to test the waters, and launch yourself forward into Eddie’s chest, knocking him out of the way to start running.

“Goddamnit!” He grunts.

You make it a grand total of two paces before Eddie easily whips you around, pinning you against the wall. His nostrils flared, he reaches into his back pocket, brandishing the knife again. A scream dies in your throat as he places the glinting silver’s blunt edge against your neck.

“I didn’t want to use this. But I told you not to run, didn’t I? Didn’t I?!” His voice thunders inside the trailer, and you flinch backwards, hyper-aware of the knife at your throat.

The change in his demeanour makes you feel insignificant, like you never mattered to him. That realisation makes a lump catch in your throat. “You’re… you’re—“

He nods slowly, wide grin splitting his face. “Yeah. I am.” He replies mockingly, flipping the mask back on. “What did Jonathan say? Ghostface?”

A part of you thought—hoped—that he would try to deny it. You’d believe any explanation he’d give you if you tried hard enough, because accepting anything else would be easier than this.

Than accepting that your best friend is a serial killer.

“Jason… man, the bastard knows how to fight,” Eddie laments, licking his busted lip behind the mask. He clenches and unclenches his bruised hands, silver rings stained with blood. “Pulled my fucking cloak off and everything—but what are you gonna do? I had a knife. He didn’t. Bled out on my clothes but he knew it was me.”

You don’t want to hear this. You can’t hear this.

You look desperately for an escape, eyes darting until you spot something that makes your stomach swoop violently, grief ripping through you at the prospect.

Steve’s white Nikes, covered in blood.

You turn to Eddie shakily, eyes wide. “Did you kill Steve?”

He softens, trailing the knife over your cheek. You’re as still as you can be despite your body feeling like it’s vibrating, knowing too well that the smallest of movements could kill you.

“So sweet. So naive. My flower.” He whispers. “You think I strung Tina and Higgins’ big ass up on those goalposts myself?”

“No…. He—Steve?” You blubber, another wave of grief washing over you. You’ve just lost two of your best friends in the space of five minutes and you don’t have the time to think about the implications. You just need to make it out alive. “Why? Why did you do this? Why did you kill those people, Eddie?”

“Because there’s only so much a person can take. I mean, a year passed since Jason sicced his merry brigade of uptight Catholics on me. They all got to move on, get college scholarships, access to trust funds and opportunities to get out of this shithole. Me? I was gonna stay here and rot.” He seethes. “I tried my best to keep it under control. To push my urges down. But then I saw Carol bump you in that hallway, and I remembered what Tommy did to you at that party. That’s when I decided to end it.”

“How do you know about that?” You shudder.

“Harrington told me everything. Y’know for someone who secretly loves killing, he protested far too much in the beginning. Though, in his defence, I think he was a little cooked after the whole Russian torture thing. It was a perfect plan, really. I killed the people on his list—he killed the people on mine. Solid alibis. No connection.”

“I never asked for this. For any of it. You don’t get to pin your sick little indulgences on me, Eddie.”

He flinches, recoils at your words. “But I did it for you. To keep you safe. Why don’t you get that?!”

Salt falls from your eyes, trails down your face until your cheeks and neck are wet, a lump in your throat. “Are you going to kill me?”

He stares in awe at the pulse visible under your neck, lightly traces his knife over it. He may not even dignify your question with a response; all he would have to do is press in and you’d bleed out right on Mr. Munson’s orange carpet.

“I told you that you’re always safe with me, do you remember that?” When you ignore his question, he uses the knife to tip your chin up and takes the mask off. “Answer me.”

His eyes soften when he waits for you to answer, as though hanging onto your words for desperate validation. You get a glimpse of the Eddie you know—knew.

Your Eddie.

“Yes.” You reply truthfully.

“So how can you ask that? How could you possibly think I’d kill you?”

“Then why stalk me? Why send me the flowers—the letters—if I wasn’t next on your list?” You sob. “You must’ve known what I’d think, that I was scared. Why did you do that?”

“Because I love you.” He whispers reverently, closing in on you. His eyes soften, and when he says those four words, it’s Eddie. Eddie, despite the blood spatter on his neck and arms. It’s why it takes your breath away, because you can’t disregard it as the ramblings of a madman.

There’s some truth to it—even if it is sick.

And you hate yourself more for wanting him.

He sheaths the knife in his back pocket, closing the distance between you. “Do you have any idea…how long I’ve wanted you? How I’ve had to keep tabs on you from afar because I was afraid of what you’d think about me? I’ve wanted you since the day you moved here, way before we ever even met.”

You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this.

Your palm makes a cracking sound against his cheek, leaving a blooming red mark on his face. “I hate you.”

His lips brush against yours. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I fucking hate you, Eddie. You broke my trust.”

“I know.”

Your fists beat down on his chest and arms, throwing punches against a solid chest. He grunts and takes the brunt of your beat down silently, your palms picking up the blood from his soaked t-shirt. It’s only once you’re reduced to tears that he stops you, encircling both of your blood-stained wrists and pulls you close to his chest.

“I hate you.” You repeat in a small voice.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking down at you.

He looks more like himself now, the version that makes you laugh, and loves to read, and has a rich imagination. The Eddie who makes your breath catch in your throat. His gaze is heated, loaded with the challenge of your hatred for him, as though he’s waiting for you to prove it.

His lips are plump and red, the divot on his chin pronounced.

“You really hate me?” He whispers. “Because I’ll let you go. You can go to the police, have me arrested, I don’t care. I just want you.”

You launch yourself at him, crushing your lips against his for a burning, all-consuming kiss. Your knees buckle at the long-awaited contact, his lips full and soft, yet demanding when they slide over yours, capturing your mouth with a bruising intensity. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him so forcefully that it makes you mewl, the soft contours of your body moulding against his harder ones, blood soaking into your pale pink dress.

You pull away, panting for breath. “I hate you.” You chant. “I hate you. I hate you.”

He kisses you harder.

Your hands tangle in his hair as his lips devour you, hungry tongue meshing with yours. He moans in pain when you suckle his bruised bottom lip, the sound going straight to your core. He frantically reaches to touch as much of you as he can, presses his body against yours to make your chest heave with pleasure.

You pull away, looking at him hesitantly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He pleads, voice cracking. “Don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.”

“I am scared, Eddie.” You whisper, a tear escaping your eye.

“I’m sorry, baby. I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you. I just wanna take care of you. Make you feel good the way you deserve. Will you let me do that? Can I show you? Please?”

Despite your fear, you’re warming to the idea that he’s still the Eddie that checks on you in the middle of the night, the Eddie that once drove an hour at 3:00am to pick you up from a party.

You swallow. “Yes.”

His warm eyes sparkle, capture your lips in another heated kiss. He moans desperately into your mouth as your lips slide over one another, panting as he firmly runs his hands up your hips, trailing up your ribcage and to your arms. He pins your hands above your head, stretching your body out and shoves his knee between your legs.

You break away from his mouth in pleasure, the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing against your panties. Your mouth falls open, head lolling back against the wall.

“Oh, you needed this, huh?” He says darkly, rocking his knee between your legs. “You like me. And you hate yourself for it.”

You chase his mouth but he dodges, a wicked look on his face. You fist your hands in his shirt collar and pull him down to capture his full lips between yours again, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Eddie groans, his mind immediately jumping to how you’re capable of drawing blood for him too, even if it is his own. His cock twiches. “That’s my fucking girl.” He murmurs, dragging his thumb against his lip to wipe the blood. “You’re not as innocent as you look, huh?”

You wrap your hand around his large wrist, bring his hand to your own mouth to smear his blood on your lips. His eyes gleam, cock painfully hard. Your gaze falls to his lips, bruised and bleeding, blood in his mouth and on his chin.

“Go ahead.” He smiles knowingly.

You let the tip of your tongue trace the blood on his chin and lick upward until you trace the seam of his lips. He swallows your next breath with a bruising kiss, your lips coming together in a frenzied, sick heat, the taste of copper and warm blood coating your tongue.

He squeezes your hip with a large hand, brings you down to grind against his knee, the act debasing but you don’t care. Eddie makes you crazy, his broad build, his possessiveness; his dark side.

“C’mon. Let me see that pretty face when you cum. Go ahead. Cum on my thigh like the sick little thing you are.” He murmurs, looking down at the mess you’re leaving on his jeans. He roughly forces you to look down, his hands framing your face. “Look at that. Look at the mess you’re leaving. Soaking fucking wet and I haven’t even touched you yet, do I make that cunt leak, baby? That all for me?”

“Yeah, Eddie. For you. For you.” You chant.

“Atta girl. Cum for me now. Cum on my thigh.” He coos, rocking his leg up into you. “Let go, c’mon.”

The coil in your stomach wraps tighter around itself, Eddie’s rough words making you throw your head back in a silent moan as you finally come undone. He holds you close to him, an arm around your waist to help you ride out your orgasm, your arms around his shoulders, held in a tight embrace as he continues to grind his knee into your pussy.

“Oh that’s it, that’s my pretty fucking girl. So good for me, doing exactly as I ask you. So fucking good, baby. Just breathe—you got it. Good girl.”

His words somehow prolong your orgasm, your pussy convulsing around nothing, until all you can do is dig your nails into Eddie’s shoulders and cry.

When you come down, you’re languid, but renewed, wanting more. Both of your eyes are blown, heady with lust, and Eddie brings your mouth back to his, unable to stay away.

Cradling the back of your head, he licks into your mouth and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, hungry for more as you mewl into his mouth, scrambling against the wall. You tug at his t-shirt, pull him closer by his belt loops, and he moans at your show of control.

Sinking to your knees, you keep your eyes up and on Eddie as you watch him register your movement, his brows furrowing with exertion. He plucks his blood-soaked t-shirt off his body, drops of crimson staining his abdomen and his hands now.

You look up at him with wide eyes. He’s intimidating from this angle, tall and broad, but still lithe; ink and blood covering his pale chest and arms. You trace the scratches on his lower abdomen, shivers erupting on your skin at the realisation of how he really got them.

You kiss the still-red marks, tonguing over his v-line and lower abdomen, bluntly scratching at the smattering of hair that leads below his jeans.

He cups your chin tenderly, leaving behind blood. “Tommy begged for his life. Begged me not to kill him, but I did anyway. Made him bleed out right by the pool while Carol watched. For what he did to you.”

You should hate this. You should get off your knees and leave. But you can’t. Not when you’re one orgasm deep and you’re wet between the legs. Not when you’re about to worship this man.

You kiss his hand, then his stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses over his abs, tracing the tip of your tongue over the red scratches. You move over, scratching your nails down his stomach to mirror the other side, leaving angry red marks.

Why should Carol be the only one to get to mark him?

He hisses through his teeth, hands hovering over your head hesitantly as you lick over the fresh marks with more kisses. “What? You jealous?” He laughs.

You answer him with another swipe at his v-line, red claw marks imprinting on his skin. The tent in his pants begs to be touched, and when you rub over his hard cock through his jeans, his thighs tremble.

“Can I suck your cock, Eddie?” You ask innocently. “Please?”

“Jesus fuckin—“ He grits out, bracing against the wall in front of him. “Go ahead, baby. Take my cock out, lemme feel your mouth.”

You bite back a smile at his eagerness as you undo his belt, shakily pulling down his jeans and boxers together to free his cock. You swallow, your skin heating at the sight of his cock; average length but the girth takes you off guard, his tip red and leaking pre cum.

He looks at you knowingly, like he knows he’s going to destroy you when the time comes, but until then, he’s going to bide his time with your mouth. He groans breathily when you stroke the length of him, using both hands to twist and pull, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

“Shit, shit, shit. That’s it. Squeeze a little tighter there—ah—fuck. Oh, that’s it, baby.”

You sweetly suck on his tip, licking up his pre cum. Eddie’s abs twitch when your tongue swipes over the vein on the underside of his cock, and you make a mental note to tease him with that. His hips jerk forward on instinct, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth, his hands hovering over your head.

“Like that, Eddie? Am I doing a good job?” You ask, kissing his tip.

“Yeah, baby. Such a good job like I knew you would. Need a little more.”

You work way down the shaft, laying wet, open mouthed kisses on his heavy cock, languidly slapping his tip against your tongue. Eddie’s chest flushes with exertion. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his expression darkening when you take his hands and direct them to your head, silently asking him to take control.

“Show me what you want, Ed. Do it exactly how you wanna.” You murmur letting his cock slap your tongue.

You stay like that; mouth wide and tongue out for him to take the lead. A splitting grin takes over his face as he nods, gently gathering your hair on top of your head.

“My best girl.” He whispers.

He thrusts into your mouth slowly at first, tentatively testing the waters, but as your warm, wet mouth invites him in for more, his thrusts get deeper and more aggressive. Tears prick your eyes as his thick cock reaches the back of your throat with each rough thrust, his hands pulling your head forward.

“Fucking Christ, your mouth. So pretty with your lips stretched out around my cock, on your knees for me.”

You nod as he punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust that makes you gag around him, and you feel him twitch in your mouth, spit and precum messily trailing down your chin, covering his balls and thighs in a slick sheen.

He wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah… you’re my filthy little girl, aren’t you? Love taking my cock any way I’ll give it to you, huh?” He lightly slaps your cheek, feels the vibration against his cock and throws his head back in pleasure, his hair a halo around his head.

“So pretty, so fucking pretty—my angel. My pretty little angel. A little wider—shit—just like that.” Eddie whines incoherently when you reach up and massage his balls, slick with your saliva while he holds you in place and fucks your mouth. “Thank you, baby—fuck. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tears stream down your face, but you’re drunk on the taste of him, your pussy throbbing with his words and needy voice. You’re galvanised knowing that on your knees, you’re capable of reducing a man as powerful and terrifying as Eddie to this.

A whining, whimpering, mess.

He withdraws from your mouth with a drawn out groan, his cock twitching in front of your face. You glance up at him, a flush spreading from the centre of his chest to his neck, his ears and cheeks bright red, lips swollen from biting them.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, dragging you up by your throat—not even with enough force to reduce your airflow—but as a possessive gesture, a means of control.

He disregards the mess on your face and kisses you in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues and heavy breaths, his cock pressing against your tummy. He swallows your moans and whimpers with a light grip on your throat as he takes the breath from your lungs.

“Let's get you off your feet, what do you say?” He rasps.

You nod, hooking your arms around his neck as he sweeps you off your feet, dark gaze burning yours. He throws you on his creaky mattress, leaving you to crawl upward as he stalks towards you like you’re his prey.

Shoving your knees apart, he strokes your calves, laying gentle kisses on your now sore knees. “You trust me?”

You take a beat, making sure to run the scenarios through in your head. “Yes.”

He reaches for a knife from his bedside table, and your skin turns red hot, equal parts desire and terror mixing like a cocktail under your skin.

“Eyes on me, okay? Just relax.” He coos, kissing your forehead. “Not gonna hurt you.”

He settles between your legs, and despite you being the one fully clothed out of the two of you, you feel vulnerable but safely kept. He scrapes the blunt edge of the knife gently down your neck, circling your pulse point. It scratches against your collarbone as he continues its descent down in your skin.

You close your eyes as he hooks it around the neckline of your dress, and you feel him stall, remember his words.

Eyes on me.

“Good girl.” He breathes when you force yourself to look at him.

With a sharp tug of the knife, he cuts a jagged line down the centre of your dress, starting at your neckline and ending just above your belly button. You startle at the sudden movement and jump slightly but a hand on your hip holds you down. Slowly, he takes the two halves of the dress and rips with his bare hands all the way down until it falls open at your sides.

“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect.” Eddie rasps, trailing the knife back upwards.

“Don’t tease, Eddie.” You whine, shivering at the cold.

“Patience, my flower. I like to draw things out.”

You stiffen, the reminder of his extra curricular activities reminding you of who he is. He dips down and places a sweet kiss on your lips to absolve you of your worries, then with a tattooed hand, drags the knife between your breasts, then to the left. The sheets in your hands are the only traction you have as he circles your nipple with the knife, flicking the bud with the metal.

“One wrong move…” he reminds you. “One wrong move, and this could end terribly for you, couldn’t it?”

You whimper, nodding.

“Good thing you trust me. Better thing that I love you.”

He trails it down your stomach, watching the goosebumps appear on your skin as he travels south, the muscles under your skin jumping at the touch. The cold metal reaches your panties, scraping over your covered mound, and despite the imminent danger, you feel yourself dripping for him.

“You’re doing really good, baby. Proud of you.”

He goes further still, careful to always use the blunt edge of the knife, but with the weapon out of sight, you’re forced to hyper focus on the sensation, figure out which part is where. You cry out when the cold metal bumps against your puffy clit through your panties, your hips bucking.

Eddie laughs throatily, a wide grin on his face. “Oh, was that good? You liked that, didn’t you? My depraved little angel.”

“Yes, Eddie. Please, I need more.”

“That’s right, you do. Well done.”

You feel tension against the waistband of your panties before it snaps, your panties cut off at the legs. Eddie pulls you up roughly, dragging your panties off you and leaving you fully exposed and open to him. Gathering them in his hand, he brings them to his face, inhales deeply as his eyes roll back into his head.

”Fucked my hand over n’ over again with the panties I took from you. Wrapped around my cock pretending it was you, whispered your name when I came. You know that?”

His words make you squirm and he laughs knowingly. Gripping your chin gently, he tells you to open up so he can slip your panties into your mouth. The salty sweet taste of you floods your mouth, your slick coating your tongue and the cotton.

“You keep nice and quiet for me, I swear I’ll make it worth your while, baby. Can you be good for me?”

He’s in control and he knows it and it makes you writhe in pleasure. You nod eagerly, pussy fluttering at the prospect of what he has planned for you.

He slaps your cheek lightly again. “Good girl. Nice and quiet, yeah?”

He yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles and brings your legs to wrap around his waist, turning you as he lays on his back, moving up the bed.

“C’mon, baby. Come sit on my face, gimme that pretty pussy.”

You hesitate, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but he takes your hands in his, pulls you forward until you're straddling his waist. “C’mon. Let me taste you, baby. Please?” He coos.

Hooking two arms around you, he moves you up until you’re hovering above his face, the change in dynamic making your insides clench.

“Please, baby. Just wanna taste you. Please? Let me kiss that pretty pussy?” He whines, tugging on his cock.

You tentatively lower yourself onto his face, the only thing visible to you now, his upper face. He latches onto your pussy immediately, sucks your clit between his plump lips and your hips buck, trying to put some distance between you and the source of your pleasure. He moans loudly into your pussy, thick tongue and full mouth messily kissing your cunt, strong jaw anchoring you.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me… could get drunk on the taste of you, so fucking wet, dripping down my face—my God.” He whines, hooking his arms around your legs to keep you flush to him.

Your legs tremble around his face—his face—blissed out and so full of concentration. You lean down and push the hair off his forehead, and he moans in pleasure, sucking your clit harder as you pull slightly on his scalp.

“That’s it, baby. Grind on my face, use my tongue. Make yourself cum for me, baby. Grind on me.”

Your heart beats erratically as you slowly work your hips in circles on Eddie’s face, moans and whimpers muffled by the panties in your mouth. His hands reach up to squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples almost painfully and pleasure sparks at the base of your spine.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Make me proud. Cum for me.” He encourages, flicking your clit with his tongue. The sound of Eddie’s mouth and your wet pussy fill the room as you chase your release, melting into him while pleasure washes over you in waves.

You cum with a silent scream, head thrown back and focus on the feeling of Eddie’s hands on your tits and mouth lapping at you. You come crashing down, electricity crackling at the base of your spine as you pull on Eddie’s hair.

You fall onto your hands with blood thrumming in every single nerve ending, your hair sticking to your neck with exertion. Eddie lays a messy kiss on your clit before lifting you off him and gathers you in his arms.

He checks your face for signs of concern, but you’re utterly blissed out. Unpicking the panties from your mouth, he wipes the saliva from your chin to kiss you. You’re boneless in his arms, trusting him to hold you up, sweaty body flush against his as his mouth moves over yours. He consumes your being, wanting you from the inside out, your entire body vibrating with need, more so when you feel his cock jump between your legs.

“You’re so hard, Eddie. So thick.”

He swears under his breath as you tug at his cock, heavy and warm in your hand. He grips your throat, a smile making its way onto your lips as he regards you with a knowing look.

A look that he knows you’re his. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

He spins you around, your back flush to his tattooed chest and grips your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror in front of you. You stroke him languidly, feeling his sticky precum coat the tips of your fingers while his fingers spread your pussy lips.

“Look at yourself.” He urges, kissing your cheek. “Look at how wrecked you are, spread out and naked for me. Look at how good we look together, my flower. Look.”

The sight in front of you makes your knees buckle. Next to Eddie’s guitar, is your reflection, blissed out with your hair matted to your face, legs spread wide while Eddie’s ringed fingers rub your clit. Behind you, Eddie watches the reflection, his tattooed chest and abdomen littered with scratches and bruises.

Both of you are stained with blood, handprints marking your throat, your hips, your tits, actual remnants of a crime on your bodies, mixing with sex.

“Keep your eyes on that mirror, baby. Whatever you do, do not take your eyes off that mirror. You got that?”

“Yeah, Eddie. Anything you want.”

He lays a kiss under your ear to soothe the sting of two thick fingers plunging into your pussy, your head lolling back. The slick coating your thighs and pussy makes it easy for him to slide in, the sting soothed by the pleasure of him hooking his fingers inside you.

“Ohh, I know you like that, don’t you, my girl? That feels good inside my pretty baby’s pussy, huh? You wanna close your eyes but you can’t, can you?” He coos mockingly, lightly slapping your cheek. “No, you can’t. Because you said you’d do anything I want. So you’re gonna stay right here…and I’m gonna finger this pretty little cunt to get you ready for my cock.”

“Eddie…” you whine, palming his cock. “That feels so good, your fingers… so thick.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He withdraws his fingers and plunges them deep inside you with each word, drawing out your pleasure like a length of elastic; tension building and building precariously close to a snap. The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as his pace increases, a furious work of his wrist leaving you hanging onto his arm for dear life.

“Cum, baby. Come on, gimme another one, I know you can do it. Do it for me, baby, let me feel you squeeze my fingers.”

“Gonna cum, Eddie…so close.” You whimper.

You watch his biceps flex and his shiny, slick covered fingers as you come undone. You’re decidedly full, but not full enough, fluttering around his fingers wildly as he talks you through your release. Your eyes go hazy with ecstasy as you fight to keep them open, to watch his onslaught like you promised you would.

“Good girl, good fucking girl. Pretty eyes on me, yeah? Just breathe baby, you’re doing so good. So fucking good squeezing me like that. So pretty.”

When your heartbeat comes down, he kisses your cheek, holding his ring and middle fingers up to the light, your slick stretching between his fingers.

He brings them to your mouth. “Suck.” He says simply, gasping when your tongue presses against his fingers to lick the taste of yourself off him.

“Sweet?” He asks.

You nod around his fingers.

“Well done, baby. We’re not finished yet, though.”

With a large hand on your upper back, he pushes you down into his pillows, the smell of him surrounding you like a haze. His sheets are rumpled, but a welcome reprieve, they smell like him and in a way, it’s like laying on him.

Eddie’s large hands angle your hips upwards just slightly, the rest of you still face down on the mattress. You feel the blunt head of his cock slide up and down your slit, your sloppy cunt making him slip.

A sharp crack lands on your ass, making you jump, the pain soothed by a cool relief as Eddie massages the skin, pulling at it posessively. He squeezes you hard enough to leave bruises but it only spurs you on, the sick thought of Eddie possessing you, marking you—owning you—makes you drip onto his sheets.

“Eyes on me, remember?” He rasps from the exertion of controlling himself. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

He braces himself over you with toned arms, his legs bracketing yours as he pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, agonisingly slow. His broad chest flushes a deep crimson.

You feel him slide right back out of you, and try again, his lips between his teeth. “God fuckin’ damn it, you’re so tight, pushing me right back out.” He pushes in again, and you watch him mesmerised. “Let me in, angel, c’mon. Let me inside you, gimme that sweet cunt. C’mon.” He grunts.

Every inch stretches you out, punching the air from between your lungs. You’re completely immobilised and at Eddie's mercy, trembling as he sheathes himself inside you.

You gasp when he buries himself to the hilt, impossibly full and dizzy with pleasure. “Oh my God, Eddie, that’s deep. You’re so fucking deep inside me—so fucking big.” You sob, fluttering around his cock.

He drops his entire body weight on you, pushing you further into the mattress, deliciously constricting your airflow. He pulls your arms out in front of you and interlocks his fingers with yours.

You feel his chest vibrate when he speaks, a deep, quiet rumble that kisses the shell of your ear. “Yeah? That deep enough for my baby’s pussy, hm? Stretch you nice and good?”

You watch the carnal expression on his face as he slowly starts to grind into you, the angle bumping that spot deep inside you that makes your clit jump. You’re sensitive and pliant under him but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in close and snapping his hips, muttering filthy words into your ear.

He pushes a thumb into your mouth. “Such a warm, wet, perfect cunt. The things I did for this pussy, to make you mine—God.” He grits. “You make me fucking crazy you know that? This pussy makes me crazy.”

Every inch of his body presses against yours, your skin moulding to his, sweat slicked and sticky, both of your thighs covered in your slick.

“Love your cock, Eddie. Love how you fuck me. Please, Eddie. Want more, please.” You whine, pulling his hair above you.

He builds his pace steadily, his hips snapping into your while he sets a brutal rhythm, pressing you further into the mattress. The hot friction of your nipples rubbing against his sheets and his cock set your skin on fire.

You barely register Eddie angle your hips up all the way before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you up—flush against him.

“That’s better. Look at you—fucking ruined on my cock, aren’t you? Who else can fuck you like this? Who else makes you this fucking pathetic and desperate?”

“Nobody, Eddie. Nobody. Just you, only you fuck me like this.” You choke out, legs trembling.

With an arm around your waist to keep you steady, he hooks the other around your neck, effectively putting you in a light headlock. You’re so close to your release, so dizzy with pleasure that you’re on the verge of passing out. Your head lolls against Eddie’s shoulder and your eyes roll back, your face a sight with fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

The lack of airflow increases the pressure inside of your body, fire pooling low in your stomach, making you drip .

“That’s it, that’s it, there you go, there you fucking go. You like it when I choke you don’t you, my filthy little girl. Gonna make you cream all over my cock, want it soaking my thighs and balls, baby. Give it to me.”

You can barely form words, settling for a litany of, “Yes, yes, yes. Right there, Eddie, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop. Not until you’re crying. Now c’mon, gimme another one, let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze my cock, c’mon. Make me proud, pretty girl, cum for me.”

You hang on for dear life as he fucks you right into another orgasm, your legs trembling and pussy convulsing around him, but he doesn’t let up. Pounds you right through your orgasm, skin slapping against skin, finally letting go of your throat so you can breathe again.

“Good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, that’s it. There you go, just breathe—you got it. Just feel it, you got it, c’mon, keep going, keep going.”

White spots your vision as you ride out your orgasm and Eddie finally allows you to fall forward, draping his body over yours immediately. You pull at his hair to bring him closer, slowly grinding yourself against his cock as you come down, a panting, sweaty mess, drowning in bliss.

You angle your head to kiss him lazily, his lips leaving your mouth tingling, tongue licking into your mouth.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really fucking intense, Ed?” You tease against his lips.

“Why? You hear somethin’?” He chuckles, kissing you deeply.

He pulls out of you, tugging at his slick cock as he turns you over onto your back. You’re both dishevelled, and desperate, chasing a higher and higher release.

You spread your legs and invite him to use your puffy, sensitive pussy, your thighs and hips covered in juices. He slides in easier this time, grinding all the way into the hilt so his pelvis bumps your clit, while his pick chain dangles in your face.

You whine, gripping the sheets for an anchor as he starts to drive into you with a rough snap of his hips.

“Eddie…” you whine. “Feel so good, so deep.” You whimper.

“Yeah?” He grins, dimple splitting his cheek. He presses his hand into your stomach, withdrawing his cock almost all the way out and slamming back inside again. “Right here? You feel me there? Nice and deep inside this pretty angel cunt, made for me to fuck, isn’t it?”

“Just for you, Eddie. Just for you.” You chant.

Your slick smears everywhere, coating Eddie’s lower stomach and happy trail, his pelvis and balls, everything a filthy, sticky mess and you’re in heaven.

You fist your hands into the pillow next to you, spot a flash of black and white. Pulling on the material, you reveal another mask, and your heart swoops nervously, your body stiffening.

“You’re okay, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of—here.” He reassures you, slipping the hood on. It takes your breath away, having to reconcile Eddie’s body with the mask, but when he grinds his cock deep inside you, you snap back. “Just me. Just Eddie.”

You reach for his shoulders and spread your legs to invite him closer, wanting to feel more of him. Eddie smiles behind the mask, knows the reaction you have to it—to him—to the implications. He hisses at the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, cock twitching at your possessiveness.

“You like that don’t you, baby? I know you like seeing me with the mask on, I can feel you fucking creaming on my cock. Makes you horny doesn’t it, knowing I killed for you? You’re twisted. Filthy.”

You whine for him incoherently, feeling the muscles in his back flex and contract as he fucks you deep and fast, his creaky bed matching his rhythm. The mask cuts off Eddie’s breathing, makes it hard to inhale properly but finally having you under him, writhing and moaning his name the way he’s dreamed of makes him whimper.

“Wanna see you, Eddie. Please. Wanna see your face.” You cry, reaching for his mask.

He dodges your hands, pins them above your head with his stronger ones. “Tell me you’re mine first.” He grunts. “Tell me you’re fucking mine.”

“I’m yours, Eddie. I’m fucking yours, I’m all yours.” You offer freely, squeezing his hands.

He slides the hood off, forehead shiny with sweat, bangs matted to his face as he drops his entire body weight on you, pinning your hands again.

“That’s right. Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to fuck. All mine.”

You’re dizzy with pleasure, taking whatever he gives you, your pussy squelching with each brutal pass of Eddie’s thick cock. “All yours, Eddie.”

“Tell me I’m yours.” He pants needily, using his body to drive you forward.

“You’re mine, Eddie.” You sob, raking your nails violently down his back to prove it. “You’re mine. You’re mine, Eddie.”

His cock jumps inside you, both of you closer to your release. “That’s right. You could try to forget any of this happened. But we both know, baby. You love this too much.”

“God—Eddie. Please. Please, please…”

“Please what? You losin’ your words, now? So drunk on my cock filling you up, you can’t think straight?” He slaps your pussy lightly, clit puffy and sensitive.

He grips your throat, making your head fall back and tongue loll out of your mouth uselessly. In a moment of pure possession, he lets a trail of his saliva drip into your mouth, kisses you deeply and thoroughly until you’re seeing stars and on the precipice.

“Good thing I can think for the both of us, huh? Dunno what you’d do without me, my dumb little angel. Need me to protect you, don’t you? I know, baby, I know. I can give you what you need, don’t worry.”

You’re reduced to blissful silence as Eddie bridges the gap between you and your release, his own, right on the edge as well.

“Gonna come, Eddie. So close, please, please, make me cum. I love it, I love you. I love you. I love you—Eddie, fuck.” You sob, hanging onto his back, crescent shaped welts marking his skin.

“Gonna make you mine, baby. Gonna make all this worth it. All of it, just a little more, yeah?” He pants, rhythm turning sloppy.

“Yeah. Make me yours, Eddie. Please. Wanna be yours.”

He drops his entire body weight against you, your stomachs pressing together as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy, baby. Make you mine forever, yeah?”

You nod, biting down on Eddie’s shoulder as you cum, locking your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. You convulse around his cock, pulling him impossibly close. Eddie moans into your neck as he reaches his release, teeth sinking into the skin below your ear as he cums deep inside you, his balls nestled against your ass.

He thrusts shallowly inside you, shuddering as you both come down, sweating and entirely ruined. Brushing the sweaty hair off your face, he kisses you deeply, pulling away with dopey eyes.

“Proud of you, baby. You did really good. Thank you.”

Your eyes grow heavy, and you’re content to lean on him on the way to the cramped bathroom, have him wash the blood off both of your bodies. You register it against the white porcelain of the bathtub as it circles the drain.

It takes a few weeks and slowly but surely, Hawkins returns back to normal. A week-long procession of back-to-back funerals are grim, your guilty conscience making you sick, but the sicker part of you wonders what else you could have Eddie do.

Two weeks after Andy Clayton’s funeral, you sit in the backseat of Steve’s BMW and watch the houses go by. You narrow your eyes, tapping Eddie on the shoulder once the white house comes into view.

“That’s the house, Eddie.”

“You sure, Sweetheart?” He asks, squeezing your hand.

“Positive. Jenny told me she saw it happen, Father Elijah with that little boy.”

“Alright. You heard her, Harrington. Let’s go.” He inhales sharply, getting out of the car.

You join them outside, tugging on Eddie’s hands, stopping him as he goes to put his mask on. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, baby?”

“Always am.” He smiles, bending down to kiss you.

——————————————————————————

tags: @fezcoismypimp @urlocaltwink @cottoncandywings @stardancerluv @hoe-for-fictional-men @momsaysimpunkrock @southside-serpent-bae @umm-megan @cozyyellowcardigan @binanas @imasimptoowth @adamdrivershairfluffer @a-laura @rosecolorgardens

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fics #ghostface eddie #amber writes

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wheels-of-despair · 6 months

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Boys Are Idiots Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman gets partnered up with Steve Harrington for a science project. Which means she has to TALK to him? And be NEAR him? Eddie Munson is NOT a fan. Contains: Jealous Eddie, Oblivious Steve, Annoyed Evil Woman, Terrified Hellfire. Words: 1.6k

"Alright, see ya," you say with an awkward smile, going the opposite direction of your new project partner outside the classroom door.

You head for your locker, spin the dial, and pop it open. A Polaroid of you and Eddie falls out. You scramble to pick it up off the floor before someone can step on it and ruin his pretty face. When you stand upright, the boy himself is in front of you… but he's not looking as happy as he is in the picture you've just rescued.

"Why were you talking to Steve Harrington?"

"And hello to you too, Edward," you say brightly. "Hold this." You hand him the picture and start searching your backpack for tape. "We're doing a science project together."

"Why?"

"Because he's smart and popular and I thought maybe some of his extreme coolness would rub off on me," you deadpan.

You take the picture from Eddie and tape it back where it belongs, on the inside of your locker door, and glance at him. He is not happy.

"Or because we got randomly paired up, take your pick."

Eddie crosses his arms and leans against the wall of lockers as you swap out books for your next class. You're not sure why this bothers him so much, but you see a storm brewing on his face.

"We're just partners in a high school science class, we're not engaged, calm down."

He rolls his eyes, and you slam the door.

"K, gotta go, see you at lunch," you say quickly while leaning over for a peck. Your lips meet his, and the issue is forgotten.

Until the next morning, in the parking lot where you always loiter by Eddie's van until the bell, when Steve Harrington gives you a little wave on his way inside. You return it - just a single wave and a half-hearted smile to your classmate and his girlfriend - and Eddie turns to see who you're waving at. His body tenses.

"Relax," you grumble, giving him a playful shove. It catches him off-guard, and he bounces against the side of his van before stabilizing himself.

"He's an asshole," he says simply.

"He's been nothing but nice to me," you counter.

"He's just another rich prick who thinks he's hot shit because he gets to drive Daddy's BMW around town."

"I'm sorry it's not as cool as your trash-filled van," you tease. Eddie's face turns red. That may not have been as funny as you intended. You wrap your arms around his waist and look up mischievously, in hopes of de-escalating your insult. "But I bet him and Wheeler couldn't achieve what we did in here last weekend, in that puny little thing."

Eddie smirks at the memory. Saved by the--

The bell rings. You peck Eddie's cheek and drag him into the building, and that's that.

Until you're spotted talking to Steve on your way out of science class a few hours later. Eddie is waiting at your locker when you get there, glowering in Steve's direction.

You roll your eyes and spin the combination dial on your locker. This is getting old.

"Can you not be a dick, please?"

"How am I being a dick?"

"You know exactly how you're being a dick." You trade out your books with a little more force than necessary. "Now quit. It's not cute."

"It's not cute that Harrington's trying to make a move on somebody that doesn't belong to him."

You turn to him with raised eyebrows and bubbling rage.

"Oh, I belong to you now? Am I your property? Do you have papers confirming your alleged ownership?"

Eddie doesn't respond, so you slam your locker door and head to your next class without looking back.

He's still tense at lunch, but he didn't hide out in the woods to avoid you, so he must not be too upset.

Until you have to break it to him that you and Steve need to hit the library this evening.

"Wanna stop by Family Video on the way home?" Eddie asks, sliding his bag of pretzels toward you. A peace offering.

"Uh… can't today," you smile apologetically as you take a pretzel. "I have to go to the public library."

"Okay," he crunches… suspiciously. "Want me to drive you?"

The boys start to protest, because this change will surely impact their afternoon plans, but Eddie silences them with a wave of his hand and awaits your answer.

"Uh…" you nibble a side off the pretzel. "I'm going with Steve, actually."

His face hardens.

"Don't start," you ask of him. "It's just a stupid science project. I would much rather be watching movies with you, than scouring encyclopedias and cutting construction paper with him."

"I bet that's not what he wants," Eddie scoffs.

"Seriously?" you ask. Are you really doing this? Eddie fixes you with his best glare, and you instinctively match it. You're doing this. "He's with Nancy. I'm with you. And up until very recently, I was quite happy with that arrangement."

Eddie seethes. You finally break eye contact and turn back to your lunch, although you've lost your appetite. Is this about Steve making a move, or Eddie not trusting you?

"What are you even doing with him in the public library that can't be done here?" The way he says it makes you clench your fists.

"You caught me, Eddie. We're actually going to his house to test the effectiveness of various condom brands. Wanna come watch?"

A hush falls over the Hellfire table. You and Eddie glare at each other. And then, in the blink of an eye, he's out of his chair and storming through the cafeteria doors. You close your eyes and breathe out heavily, trying to calm yourself. When you open them again, the whole table is staring at you.

"Shut up," you snap at no one in particular, and begin cramming your - and Eddie's - stuff into your respective backpacks. He'd left everything behind; his lunchbox, his backpack, his jacket.

Loaded down with an overfilled backpack on each shoulder, you head toward the door without another word. You could've sworn you heard somebody mumble "I hate it when Mommy and Daddy fight" behind your back, but you don't have time to murder anyone today, so you decide to let it slide. For now.

You have a list of places you plan on looking for him, but he's at your first stop: the van, in its usual spot in the back parking lot. He's perched on the bumper, facing the road; cheeks red, arms crossed, glaring at the ground. You reach into the pocket of the jacket that he'd left behind.

"Forget something?" you tease, jingling his keys to get his attention.

"Fuck you," Eddie grumbles without even looking up.

You're not mad. You don't have a snarky response. You just want things to be okay. You wish you hadn't teased him about Steve Harrington. You wish you'd never been partnered up with him. You wish you didn't even know his stupid rich-boy name.

"I'm sorry."

He glances at you, then drops his gaze back to the ground.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," you clarify. You let the backpacks slide onto the pavement. "Not a fan of this jealousy thing, Eddie."

You put his keys back in his jacket pocket and hold it out to him, but he doesn't take it. You take a cautious step closer, drape it over his shoulders, and retreat.

"You've gotta stop acting like I'm gonna leave you for the first jock that learns my name."

"Everybody else would," he mumbles at the ground.

"Everybody else is a cunt."

He smirks a tiny smirk, and finally looks up at you.

"Really, though," you assure him as you take a step closer. "You've got nothing to worry about. With him, or with anybody." You take another step toward him, and he parts his legs so you can stand between them. You close the distance. You're so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. You want desperately to wrap your arms around him, but you hold back. Not yet. "Why would I want a Steve Harrington when I've got an Eddie Munson?" You cup his face with your hands, and his eyes close.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. You have nothing to worry about. Say it with me." You squish his cheeks together.

"I've got nothing to worry about," he mumbles with you, through his squished cheeks.

"Good boy," you praise, leaning down to peck his still-puckered lips. When you stand, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hold him close. He buries his face in your chest, but doesn't hug you back.

"You still mad?" you ask, stroking his hair. One day, you'd probably laugh about the condom comment. Today was not that day.

"Not at my girls," he mumbles into your breasts.

"What about the rest of me?"

He shrugs.

You reach for his hands and bring one to rest on each of your back pockets. "How 'bout now?"

"Hmmm…" he hums into your chest, thinking about it. He gives your ass a squeeze, then he lifts his hands and smacks you on both sides. "Yes."

"What can I do to make it up to you?" you smile, knowing he's almost over it.

"Tell me you want me," he mumbles.

"Of course I want you, you idiot."

He looks up at you and bats those beautiful eyelashes. "Only me?"

"Only you." You kiss the top of his head, then move to sit on the bumper beside him. "I don't want any of those idiots. You're my idiot, and I'm keeping you."

"What if you find someone who's not an idiot?" he asks quietly.

"Impossible," you grin. "All boys are idiots."

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman #i'm not thrilled with this #but they're both entitled to be big dumb buttheads sometimes i guess

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redroomreflections · 4 months

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Not Easily Broken Chapter 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

2/10

Note: Yes, it's getting finished besties

W/c: 3.8k

You’re late. You’re really late. Not even just an ‘oh I got stuck in traffic I’ll be there late”. You’re the “I hope my daughter doesn’t hate me and harbor those feelings the rest of her life late.” As you bob and weave through traffic in your BMW SUV you curse to yourself. You feel stupid. Very stupid. There’s no way you can ever make up for this but you can certainly try to.

As you pull onto the street of what was once your home you squint just a little to see how many people are still there. You can see the cars lining the street start to dissipate as you pull into the driveway. Natasha is on the porch talking to one of the people you recognize from Emma’s dance class. She spots you, rolling her eyes and angling herself, so you’re not in her vision. Parking the car, you look over to the passenger’s seat where Emma’s gift is wrapped in yellow paper (her favorite color) and a bright pink bow. You turn the car off with a sigh. You really did it this time. You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach over to grab the present and exit. You walk slowly up the pathway marveling at all of the decorations that Natasha has put up for Emma’s fifth birthday.

Five. Your baby girl is five and you’ve missed her birthday party. One Natasha had gracefully invited you to. Briefly, your mind flashes back to the mornings where you and Natasha would wake the little girl up with breakfast in bed. Mini pancakes, strawberries, her favorite juice. You would go the whole nine yards for her. Now you’ve done everything but that. You reach the edge of the steps with a small wave to Natasha’s guests.

“Kerry, Doug, nice to see you again.” You give them a tight smile hoping to appear calm even though don’t feel that way.

“I’ll call you,” Natasha says bidding them goodbye. She doesn’t speak until they’re down the path and in their car. She trails her eyes over to you still in your work clothes with an apologetic look on your face. “Unbelievable.” She scoffs turning to go inside the house. You follow after her with an apology at the tip of your tongue. She starts collecting the trash she sees around the living room.

“I’m sorry, I got sidetracked at work,” You begin.

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” She shrugs. Pushing her hair behind her ear she glances at you. “I’m not the one turning five and I’m not your wife.” Something about the last part of that statement strikes you right in the heart. The divorce has been finalized for eight months now. Eight months and you’ve barely seen each other. Only during pickups and drop-offs. Even then you barely speak. Hearing her voice is...nice. Even if she is angry with you.

“I know but I’m really making an ass of myself,” You shake your head. “Where is she?”

“Backyard,” She answers.

“She must hate me,” You mutter more to yourself.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Natasha walks to the kitchen and again you follow. “She’s just really confused on why her Mommy said she would be here and wasn’t.” She gives another wave to one of the last guests and they trickle out of the house.

“Yeah,” You say following closely behind her. She stuffs the trash into the bin carefully.

As she stands to her full height you take a second to look at her. She’s gorgeous. Her hair flows behind her back longer than she’s ever let herself allow it to. Her eyes are just as expressive and beautiful. God, you’ve missed her.

You open your mouth to speak but you’re interrupted when a familiar figure steps into view. Richard Matthews. An agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Natasha’s new partner. He accompanies the Avengers on missions every now and again. You’re not exactly sure why but he’s always paired up with Natasha on missions and it never really bothered you until now.

“Everything’s all set with the kiddos,” Richard says to her. He completely ignores you and you can’t really tell if that’s intentional. The way he steps into Natasha’s space makes you think they’re closer than she’s letting on. “Emma’s having a blast with the new American doll I got. Says she’s gonna sleep with it tonight.” He smiles down at Natasha. “Will you be okay here? Ryan helped me with a lot of the backyard so there’s not much else to clean.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Natasha nods glancing over at you. She can see how uncomfortable Richard makes you feel. “Thank you, Richard.” She raises her hand to rest lightly on his bicep. You narrow your eyes. Clearing your throat they both look towards you.

“Oh, y/n, I didn’t see you there.” Richard feigns innocence.

“I’m sure you didn’t, Dick.” You say with every ounce of disdain. You can see Natasha’s lips quirk in amusement but she quickly hides it.

“Well, I’m gonna go.” He says before giving her a kiss on the cheek. He lingers before walking past you towards the front door. You two don’t break eye contact until he’s gone.

“That guy is a real tool,” You roll your eyes.

“He’s nice and he’s a part of the team.” Natasha shrugs. She steps over to the sink to do the dishes giving you the idea that this entire conversation is over. You want to ask her if she’s seeing him. If he’s more than just her partner. You’re not entitled to any of those answers and Natasha won’t be afraid to tell you.

“I’m just gonna go,” You wave the gift in your hand heading towards the back door. Once you’re out there you finally exhale. From the porch, you can see the giant pink bounce castle that both of your children are currently playing in. You go down the steps content to watch them for a moment. It’s Ryan who spots you first. Before all of this, he would have scrambled out of the bounce house to meet you halfway. Instead, he just stands there.

“Mommy!” Emma breaks you from your trance flopping onto her bottom. She slides out of the bounce house to run into your arms. You catch her twirling around in your arms. “You came!”

“I did, baby girl.” You kiss both of her cheeks.

“You missed my party though,” She reminds you.

“I know, Mommy’s so sorry,”

“It’s okay,” Emma forgives you. She wraps her arms tightly around your neck again.

“I got you something,” You jiggle the box in your hand. She leans back to inspect it her eyes widening. “Let’s go ahead and open it.” You let her down to stand on her own two feet. She takes your hand dragging you over to the picnic table on the other side of the yard. She’s small so it takes her a minute to sit correctly but when she does she beams up at you. Her socked feet swing underneath the table as she waits for you to hand her the present. You place it in front of her and take your spot next to her. She doesn’t hesitate to rip into the paper tossing the bow somewhere in the grass behind her. You can hear the sound of someone sliding out of the bounce house and you look over to see Ryan stepping closer.

“Hey bud,” You greet.

“Hi,” He says softly. You raise an arm beckoning him over to come to give you a hug. He presses himself against you as you hold him close. “I missed you.” He mumbles into your neck. Through this entire divorce, your relationship with him has been strained. Everything has been strained.

“I missed you too.” You whisper back. You give him a soothing kiss on his head. He doesn’t let you go as you both watch Emma to see her reaction.

“Wow!” She says pulling the last pieces of paper from the gift. She turns the box over and over in her hands. “I got a watch!” It’s not some fancy watch. You’re not that out of touch with reality. It’s an Apple watch. The most she can do on the thing is take pictures, use the phone features, and use a calculator. She loves it all the same as she hugs the box to her. After hearing what Richard got her you were apprehensive about it being enough. Sitting here watching her cherish this gift you know you picked correctly. “Can I call you on it?” You nod. “Every night?” You nod again. “Cool!” She cheers.

There’s a squeak coming from the back door and you know Natasha has come to the back porch.

“Can I go show Mama?” She asks you.

“Go, show her.” She turns from the picnic table rushing over to Natasha to show off her cool new present. Natasha looks down at the box and then back to you with a raise of her brow. She doesn’t share in Emma’s excitement but she tells the girl how cool it is.

“How are you doing?” You turn your focus to Ryan. He shrugs. “You sure?” He nods silently.

“Ryan, come on, it’s almost bedtime,” Natasha says. “I want to check your backpack before the night is over.” She ushers Emma inside.

“Guess we better go and check those backpacks.” You say rising to your feet. Ryan clasps your hand in his and you both move to walk inside of the house. It’s there Natasha is setting up Emma’s watch. “Patience, Printsessa.” Natasha scolds lightly. She presses a few buttons on the screen.

“Can Mommy stay for bath time?” Emma asks innocently. Your eyes fly to Natasha’s. You haven’t done that in a while.

“Please?” Ryan joins in. Natasha’s resolve is broken as she gives a meek “yes.” The children cheer in unison.

Guess you’re staying for bedtime.

This takes almost two hours to get both children through their nightly routine. Emma is more reluctant to fall asleep as she doesn’t want to miss you leaving. You tuck her into bed with a kiss and a promise to see her again soon. She pulls the American girl doll under the covers with her. You wait for her to fall asleep before leaving her room. Ryan is next and he’s much easier. He climbs into bed all on his own with his back turned to you. He’s conflicted and you being here is not making it easy on him. You sit on the bed beside him. You press a kiss to the back of his head.

“I love you,” You say before reaching over to turn off his lamp. You exit his room leaving his door cracked. You amble down the hallway to the stairs. You find Natasha in the front room gathering all of Emma’s new presents that she would put into their proper place later.

“Thanks for letting me stay to tell them goodnight,” You say awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” She dismisses tossing the last of the toys into a pile. The house is pretty much clean now save for the leftovers she has to put away. She’s not kicking you out as you follow her down the same path into the kitchen.

“Natasha,” You begin. stopping yourself when you realize you don’t really have anything to say. “Thank you for inviting me. I know you didn’t have to do that. I feel like a jerk. Especially with how things have been going.”

“How have things been going?” Natasha busies herself with pushing the leftovers into whatever Tupperware they can fit into. She curses turning to look for a lid for this particular bowl. “Where is it?” She searches.

“Bottom right cabinet,” You inform her. She pauses before moving over to search the cabinet you gave her. She finds what she is looking for and turns back to the food.

“Things have been going good.” You continue your earlier conversation. “Work is work. My mom is doing well. She sends her love. I can’t complain.” You watch her stuff the fridge full.

“Well I’m glad things are going well for one of us,” She slams the door of the fridge a bit harder than intended. “Not all of us are able to abandon our motherly duties.”

“Natasha, I’m trying my best here.” You say immediately knowing what she means.

“That’s what pisses me off the most,” She says exasperatedly. “They’re so good with you just trying. They don’t care how many times you mess up. They don’t care if you don’t do something. They don’t care if you’re having a bad day and you’re doing everything to make them happy. They don’t care if you don’t show up for their goddamn birthdays but it’s me that get’s the brunt of the madness and the anger.” She slams her hands against the counter. Running her hand through her hair, she shakes her head. “Do you know Ryan got into a fight at school the other day? He’s been...angry these days. I’m considering seeing a therapist with them.” She nods to herself. “Emma’s been giving me hell too. I wouldn’t allow her to watch tv one night because I dislike them having so much free time. She threw a tantrum.” She swallows thickly. “She told me, she told me she hates me and that she wishes she could come live with you.” The unshed tears in her eyes break your heart into a thousand pieces. “So, yes trying your best doesn’t really fly with me.”

“Natasha, I’m,” There’s no amount of apologizing that could take that hurt from her. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll take them out for dinner and we can talk.”

Natasha sighs. She knows this isn’t something that can be fixed with a simple talk. She lets her tears fall freely. You hate that this is what you’ve done to your family. Stepping around the counter you reach out to her. It’s reminiscent of that night all those months ago when you left. All you want to do is make it better. Make her feel better. Your emotions are conflicting as you bring your fingers up to caress her cheek. She stands stock-still closing her eyes at your touch. You rub your thumbs across her cheeks clearing away the tear tracks.

“I’m sorry,” You say and she lets out a sob.

“You’re not sorry,” She shakes her head.

“No, Natasha, I’m sorry,” You say firmly. You’re hoping she can hear the sincerity in your voice. She opens her eyes searching your face for a lie. You get lost in the forest of her eyes. So trusting and loving even with all of the pain you’ve brought your family.

You don’t know who makes the move first. Your lips meet tentatively. There’s a hint of familiarity that comes from nine years of marriage. The kiss is soft and sweet. Her lips glide over yours in a slow, languid motion. It’s not lacking in passion. Quite the opposite actually. Her mouth is hot and wet and hungry for you as your tongues meet. Taking in her flavor, you moan. She tastes like leftover cake with a hint of toothpaste. You pull back slightly to suck her bottom lip into your mouth. You nip it gently and the moan it elicits from Natasha only spurs you on. Her arms come up to wrap around your neck pulling you closer as you push her gently towards the counter. Her back is pressed against it as you kiss her harder. You spend a few more moments wrapped up in each other. Your hands roam her body tracing over every curve.

The need for air becomes too great as you pull away to trail kisses down her neck. You lick at her pulse point before giving it a soft bite. She moans a bit louder tensing under you. You’re moving fast and hurried as you push her tank top over her breast. You move the cup of her bra to expose her nipple taking the rosy bud between your lips. You give it a hard suck and she gasps loudly. Her hands push your head closer to her as you swipe your tongue across her nipple. Your right-hand slides down to trace the front of her jeans.

“Please,” She says in her lust-filled haze. You flick the button of her pants open skirting your fingers under the waistband of her underwear. She’s wet. So wet. You slide your fingers through her folds collecting her wetness. On one particular slide, you bump her clit causing her hips to jump. You trace her opening and she’s panting now. When your fingers slip inside of her she lets out a yelp. You push until you’re at the second knuckle. You can hear the sound of her arousal and it is music to your ears. Natasha has always been loud during sex and this is no exception. You abandon her breasts to return your lips to hers.

“Shh, baby, you don’t want to wake them,” You whisper into her ear. She nods shakily as she tries to fuck herself on your fingers. You thrust harder sending her reeling as she reaches blindly behind her for the counter. “Good girl,” She flutters around your fingers, and god damn you want to stay like this forever.

“Harder,” Her breath is airy and hurried. She’s close. You listen thrusting into her harder, faster, deeper. Her brows are knit together as she chases her orgasm. You can feel the way she tightens around your fingers.

“He doesn’t fuck you like this does he?” You breathe close to her ear. “Doesn’t take care of you like I do,” The moment is over faster than you know it. Suddenly Natasha is pulling away and pushing you away from her. It’s like a bucket of ice-cold water has been dumped on you as she takes a huge step away. She’s buttoning her jeans and wiping at her mouth as you try to catch your breath. “What? What happened?”

“You can’t be serious?” She says. “You think I’m fucking him?”

“Natasha,” You drop your hands to your sides. She pushes her shirt down over her breast and you immediately miss your closeness.

“No, no, you cannot be serious.” Natasha turns to catch her breath. “You don’t have the right,”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to assume. He was close to you, kissed you.”

“On the cheek,” She whips her head to look at you. “He comes over sometimes to help with the kids. They like him. That’s not any of your business if I was fucking him or not by the way. You lost that when you served me with the divorce papers.”

A wave of anger washes over you. Swiping your hand across the counter you cause all of the glasses she dried earlier to crash to the ground.

“Fuck,” You yell. The glass resting at your feet satisfies you. It’s a representation of how you’re feeling right now. Natasha jumps back avoiding the glass from touching her. She looks down at the mess in surprise before looking back at you. You both wait in anticipation for one of the kids to come down. They don’t.

You rush out of the back door to sit on the steps. You bend so your head is between your knees. The blood rushes there and you cough hoping to catch your breath. The backdoor creaks. A comforting hand is placed upon your back as Natasha comes to sit next to you.

“Breathe, y/n.” She hums. You’re having a panic attack. She sits with you so patiently as your breathing becomes normal again.

“I’m not good for them,” You say. “I’m just like him.” You whisper brokenly.

“No, y/n, you’re not.” Natasha lifts your chin to look at her. “You’re not.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said,” Natasha interrupts. “You’re nothing like him. I only wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me.” The admission sits between the two of you.

“Fuck,”

She returns her hand to her lap.

“I can’t…” You struggle. “It wasn’t making sense. Any of it. It doesn’t make sense. One minute we were happy and the next we weren’t. We became too much. I couldn’t make you happy anymore. Emma told me during her bath that she hears you crying at night when you think she’s asleep. I never meant to do any of this. I never meant it, Tasha.” You cry. You mean it. You ran. You did what you do best and ran.

“I know,” She says solemnly. “You never asked me if I was happy.” You lift your head to look at her questioningly. “You said you couldn’t make me happy anymore but you never asked me. You never ask you just assume. I’ve always been happy with you. Back during our days in the tower, when we got married, when we were pregnant with Ryan.” She names. “Even when we weren’t having sex and not communicating and fighting all of the time. I never once thought that we would end.” You’re surprised by that. All this time you thought you were doing the right thing for everyone and now you don’t know if it was the right thing at all. “Couples have rough patches. Tony and Pepper did. Thor and Jane. Clint and Laura. They got through it. I thought we could too. When you handed me those papers -- my entire world stopped, y/n. I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought maybe you found someone else. I thought so many things. But that I didn’t see coming.”

“I’m sorry,” It’s your turn to cry now. “I didn’t want this.” You shake your head. “I fucked up.” You say.

“Is this because you think I’m sleeping with someone else?”

“Partly,” You admit. “I have had some time to think and I just… I thought I was doing what’s best for us. You’re right I didn’t ask you. I assumed. I pulled away. I’m so sorry, Natasha. I never stopped loving you or wanting you. Even though all of that.” Natasha’s breath hitches through your admission.

“Then why?” She asks. “Why did you leave me?”

You don’t have a single answer. “I thought you were better off without me.”

“How could you ever think that?” She asks. You don’t have an answer for her.

“I have to leave in the morning,” You say. The moment is broken and though Natasha thought you were getting somewhere it’s clear you haven’t. She moves to stand and you catch her wrist. “Come with me. It’s a week in Florida. Come with me. You and the kids.”

“Y/n, we can’t just leave in the morning.” She says. “The kids have school and I have work.” You deflate. Of course not. You shouldn’t have asked. “But we could meet you there Friday night? Gives us time to pack and get everything in order with their teachers.” She’s giving you a chance. You stand to look at her. “The moment we come back we’re in therapy. All of us.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” You promise.

“Don’t break my heart again,” She begs quietly. “I don’t think I’ll survive this time.”

“I won’t.” You pull her into your arms. Standing here with her you wonder how you ever thought you could be without her.

---> next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you #black widow x female reader #natsxaddiction #natasha romanoff smut #redroomreflections #angst

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dragonmama76 · 1 year

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Beginnings Part 2

read Part One, and Interlude first. Part 3 is done!.

Eddie was the opposite of calm. He was terrified well beyond rational thought and he had one intention. Survive. By any means necessary. When he jumped out of the boat and pressed the edge of the broken bottle against his attacker’s throat nothing could have stopped him. Except. “Steve, this is Steve!” Steve. Steve who he had wronged. Steve who he had bullied. Steve with the perfect life that maybe wasn’t so perfect. And he stopped.

************

Eddie’s cup runneth over. His public display of dominance had been more than enough to establish a reputation that he was not to be fucked with. He didn’t even need to torment Steve to keep the memory alive, but Eddie continued his menacing glances and subtle jabs nonetheless. Because he could. Because it was fun. It was that feeling you get when you’re five years old and you’ve just completed some kick ass move like jumping off the swing at it’s zenith and you shout to your parents, “Look at me! Look at me!” His own parents had never looked. They had never been there to begin with. But now. Now everyone was looking at what he had done and it felt so fucking good. He couldn’t be too obvious since the basketball team had rallied around Steve, keeping him out of bounds most of the time, but he still found sly little opportunities to flash his knife or murmur a not so subtle threat when Steve came near. It was enough to keep his high feeling fresh.

By the time the school year was over, even local drug dealer Rick Lipton had heard of him. When Eddie decided that manual labor didn’t fit his new image, he proposed they begin a business relationship and Rick was quick to agree. He knew that Eddie could handle himself if there was trouble and having a dealer embedded in the high school made sense. Eddie spent the next two years dealing at school and weekend parties and while he wasn’t exactly accepted, no one messed with him and he only rarely had to display his feral nature to the jocks that ran the school. In the meantime, he convinced the theater teacher to sponsor an after school club for his gang of nerds. Mr. Hughes didn’t know what Dungeons & Dragons was, exactly, but it felt dramatic and he was happy to oblige. If only Eddie put as much energy into his academic responsibilities as he had done with his social life he would have been out of High School in a quick minute. But he was too busy enjoying the life he created for himself to consider the consequences.

Senior year, Steve pulled up to the school in his BMW feeling pretty great for the first time in his high school career. He had an amazing girlfriend, basketball was starting soon, and best of all there would be no more run-ins with Munson. It wasn’t that he was scared of him, exactly. After that day in the cafeteria Freshman year Munson had backed off for the most part. Sure he still glared at him and whispered threats and flashed his stupid knife, but for the most part Steve was able to avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist. It helped that they never had any classes together. And while the freak had managed to be at every house party Steve attended, he preferred alcohol over drugs anyway so they had zero interaction. And beyond that, Steve now knew there were much scarier things in the world than a high school kid with a knife. No, he wasn’t afraid, it was just…a lot. Munson was obviously still a live wire waiting to strike and Steve had to be vigilant. He had put up walls and created a persona of his own to balance out the bully that still dogged him and it took a lot of effort to mask his more vulnerable, sensitive side. Most of his energy went to creating the character of King Steve that everyone now expected and that he hated.. He had done things he regretted, that shit show with Jonathan Byers for example, and he had willingly lost friends in the process, good riddance to Tommy H. and Carol, but he was trying to scale back the arrogant jock attitude and be more himself, especially with Nancy.

His guard was so low that when he sauntered into his first class ready to take on the world Steve was completely blindsided when the freak, himself, pushed past him to grab a seat in the back. Steve could feel the pinpricks of tears forming. He couldn’t do this. Not again. Not when he thought he was finally free. He bolted from the room and straight into the bathroom before anyone could really register he was gone. Shit. Shit shit shit. He was pretty sure someone up there hated him these days. He had fought an other-worldly creature no problem, but it was still Eddie Munson who had the power to make him run. This year was officially going to suck.

Eddie watched Steve run from the classroom and grinned. He still had it, baby. Maybe his second senior year would actually be fun.

Steve’s senior year was anything but fun. Steve graduated. His parents didn’t come. His ex-girlfriend didn’t come. A bunch of middle school kids came and cheered for him and that was nice, but also kind of embarrassing. This was apparently his life now. The brightspot? Eddie Munson’s name wasn’t called. Not that Steve was listening for it. Eddie Munson could go to hell as far as he was concerned. But he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved not to have to share this day with him.

Eddie watched from under the bleachers as Steve Harrington received his diploma along with the rest of his class. Whatever. Fuck him and his perfect hair and his perfect life.

Eddie was definitely pissed to be doing Senior year for the third time, but there were still moments of joy like when he gathered new freshman sheepies. His original group of freshmen had finally graduated without him, but he still had Jeff, Frank, and Gareth and now he was ready to induct a new crew. They were a little wary, and if he didn’t know better he’d say they looked kind of shellshocked, sort of like some of Uncle Wayne’s friends who had been to ‘Nam. With Eddie’s outlandish personality and dramatic welcome they opened up eventually. He liked the curly hair kid, Dustin, the best. God that kid never shut up, though which, depending on the topic, could be annoying.

Right now Eddie was extra annoyed because the topic he wouldn’t shut up about was Steve Fucking Harrington. Was that guy going to haunt him for the rest of his life?

“Eddie, you’d like Steve if you knew him. I asked him and he was kind of weird about it, but he says he didn’t really get to know you in high school and I think that’s a shame because he was bullied really badly and I bet you could have helped him and protected him.”

“What are you talking about, kid? King Steve was never bullied a day in his life.” Eddie scoffed.

“No, he was.” Lucas nodded sagely. “He said that the only reason it didn’t totally destroy him was that he had the basketball team on his side. That’s one of the reasons I’m doing basketball. You got to have people on your side. That’s what Steve says.”

“Steve says,” Eddie mimicked, “Jocks can’t be bullied, they ARE the bullies.”

“That’s not true. I’m not a bully.” Lucas muttered.

“Yeah, well you’re more nerd than jock.”

“Steve’s a nerd too.” Dustin insisted, “He just doesn’t show it, but he watches Star Wars with me all the time and he has a huge collection of Spiderman comics stashed in his bedroom. Even Robin calls him a dingus. Do you know Robin? I think they should date but she says they are platonic with a capital P. I think that’s crap with a capital C. They’ll get their shit together eventually.”

“I….don’t know if I know Robin?” Eddie’s head is starting to spin. “So who bullied King Steve?”

“He won’t say, but it started freshman year. He gave us a big talk before school started about being safe and staying in a group. I guess the kid, like, followed him around and would push him and stuff. And one time he even pulled a knife on him. That’s crazy right? He said he was afraid to go to school for all of freshman year. It’s awful because Steve had, well he wouldn’t want me to say, but he doesn’t have great parents so home sucked and school sucked. I wish you guys had been friends. And then maybe he could have been in Hellfire or something. He’s great with a bat and I bet his character…”

Eddie couldn’t listen anymore. His brain was on overload. Had he really done all that to Steve? Actually caused him pain?

Well. Fuck.

“Roooobin,” Steve whined, “Are you even listening to me?” They were behind the counter at Family Video rewinding tapes while they waited for even one customer to come in to relieve their boredom.

“I AM listening, Steve,” she reasoned, “But I think you’re letting your jockish prejudices get in the way of rational thought. Hellfire is just a group of nerds who role play and I know Eddie can look all scary and intimidating, but he’s totally not a bad guy. We were in band together last year and he’s honestly just a big goofball. Yeah, he’s loud and okay, a drug dealer, but I know for sure that he doesn’t sell to underclassmen so you don’t have to worry about that. The kids are fine with him.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Steve glowered, “And…well, I’m afraid that if he knows the kids are associated with me that he’ll, like, take it out on them.”

“Why? What did you do to him?” Robin glared and Steve knew she thought there was some bullshit King Steve incident in their past and all of a sudden it was too much. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her how weak he had been, but also this was ROBIN and he couldn’t stand the idea that she thought of him that way.

“NOTHING!” he burst out, “I did NOTHING to him EVER.” And suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Tears pooled in his eyes and it felt like something was going to burst out of his chest, like that gross Sigourney Weaver film Robin had made him watch. He sank to his knees and pressed his hands to his eyes.

“Okay. You’re okay, Steve.” Robin hunched over him. She placed a firm hand on his chest, “I've got you. Breathe with me. In and out. You’re safe. I’m here and you’re safe.”

Steve managed some gasping breaths and could feel his heart rate coming down. Right. This was Robin, his soulmate, he could tell her and she would understand. “It started the first day of freshman year…”

Eddie didn’t end Hellfire early, even though he felt nauseous and increasingly distracted. He owed it to the group as their DM to see it through so he pushed his feelings aside and let the kids get through a tough battle before calling it a night. “Okay, that’s it for now. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Y'all got rides lined up?”

“Yeah, we’re getting picked up,” muttered Mike, “He’s probably already out there waiting.” “Alright then, chariots may wait no longer. Scram!” Eddie hurried everyone out the door and quickly cleaned up the papers and books sprawled on the table. As he made his way out he could hear the kids chattering away about the most recent developments in the campaign and as he burst through the gym door he heard a sharp whistle. “Can we please let’s go before your parents kill me for missing your curfew? I’ve been out here forever waiting for you guys to be done.” Eddie knew that voice. He looked up straight into the eyes of Steve Harrington. He was dressed in his regular polo and jeans, hair perfect as always, leaning confidently on the hood of his BMW, but as Eddie caught his eye he saw the boy flinch and round his shoulders. Christ Almighty. What had Eddie done?

Eddie didn’t even remember driving home. He was at school in his van and then he was fully dressed in his bed. Over and over his mind replayed the events of the last four years. He wasn’t a stranger to reminiscing about his days as the Freak who humbled the King, but this time he tried to remember that Steve was a flesh and blood person, a kid, really, like Dustin or Mike or Lucas. A kid with real feelings and problems who, maybe, didn’t deserve to get picked on for entertainment. And wasn’t that the thing. Eddie had never stopped to consider that what he was doing might have been just as bad, or even worse, than what had been done to him. Maybe Harrington had deserved it? By his junior year he certainly seemed like a real asshole. But also, Eddie never really remembered seeing Steve initiate any of the prickish behaviors his sports ball friends liked to engage in. Now that he thought about it, he remembered a few times where Steve hung back and helped pick up dropped books and papers or check that a kid was okay after having been tripped in the hall. Eddie groaned. This wasn’t the first time he’d messed up in his life, but it felt like the most important.

Eddie didn’t get out of bed for three days. His uncle tried to coax him out with favorite meals and rented movies, but Eddie couldn’t face him. Uncle Wayne still thought Eddie was a good person and that was decidedly untrue. On day three he decided that he needed a new plan. He wasn’t even sure of the ultimate goal but he knew that step one would be making sure that Steve was okay.

“Robin,” Steve hissed. “He’s out there again.” Steve was staring out the front window of Family Video trying to look like he wasn’t staring out the window at the man casually leaning on a telephone pole across the street. He knew it sounded crazy, but he was pretty sure that Eddie Munson was stalking him. It was nothing he could prove because it was always in public but increasingly when he was out and about he would feel eyes on him and when he turned to look, Eddie would be there. Yeah, alright, he was always doing something totally normal like buying groceries or having a smoke. And sure, Eddie never approached him or glared at him the way he did when they were in school which, honestly felt weird. And even weirder, a couple of times when Eddie noticed Steve noticing Eddie, he had smiled abashedly and fluttered his fingers in a little wave. If Steve had to define it, he would have to say that Eddie was 'reverse bullying' him. Was that even a thing? Maybe he was just fattening him up with his pretty smiles and doe eyes like a lamb being fed before he was slaughtered. It was disconcerting to say the least.

Robin gave Steve a sympathetic shrug. She had been appropriately outraged when he had given her the details of his run-ins with Eddie but it was still hard for her to see him as anything other than the loud funny guy from band. “Just ignore him. He lives in this town just like us so you’re bound to see him now and again. And, so far at least, he’s been good to the kids. Maybe try to let it go? And speaking of band, did I tell you what Vickie did yesterday?....” Steve turned away from the window to concentrate on Robin’s latest installment of the life of her crush. Let it go. Okay. He could try.

Eddie watched as Steve turned away. He had learned a lot from watching him these past months. Steve was kind to cashiers, patient when he was rung up incorrectly, and flirty in a dorky kind of way that never paid off. He was always carting Eddie’s Hellfire kids places like the arcade or the diner or the mall two towns over and it seemed like he did it out of the goodness of his heart. He was a hard worker, staying late at work to clean thoroughly and lock up. He was a good friend to Buckley, dancing with her and running around when the store was empty. Eddie could see why Dustin thought they were more than just friends. From the outside, Steve seemed to be just fine, but Eddie watched and he saw more. When he thought no one was paying attention, Steve looked sad. He flinched at loud noises. And at night he went home to an empty house where, Eddie knew, he had to be lonely. Eddie wasn’t so naive as to think all Steve’s problems stemmed from a stupid kid in high school who wouldn't leave him alone, but Eddie felt responsible for adding to his pain. He felt lost, except for one thing. Every so often he would catch a glimpse of Steve with Robin or Dustin and his face would light up with the most painfully beautiful smile. It was like looking into the face of the sun after a long rain and Eddie couldn’t catch his breath gazing at him. “I see you Steve Harrington and I will do whatever it takes to keep you smiling. I goddamn swear it."

———————-

More to come. Tell me what you think!!

Taglist: @goodolefashionedloverboi @background-noise-headache @phirex22 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lilpomelito @thaliaisalesbian @liesatemyocean @seilahtitania32 @nightmareglitter @writtenbyancientskeletonhats @dammitjim02 @newagemyth @slaalgumacoisayay @batxsignalsx @beawritingbooks @vacantwatchers @hallucinatedjosten @i-less-than-threee-you @bookworm0690 @dino-nuggets-posts @a-gae-af-racoon @my-chemical-sexuality-crisis @whalesharksart @uses-of-anger @epiclazershark @anaibis @kakashimeansplan @that-agender-from-pluto @novelnovella @jackiemonroe5512 @emly03 @shoujo-goddess @zaphodkilledthespeedforce @what-is-life-but-an-empty-void @riverofrainbows @pottenloved247 @strangersteddierthings @a-little-unsteddie

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #the party #ongoing #angst #no happy ending yet #but it's coming...i think

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fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow · 1 month

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what cars i believe the batfamily drives. my only qualifications are that i work in an auto parts retailer. this is purely based off vibes realistically they probably all drive teslas.

dick drives an early 2000s toyota corolla that he loves to death. he refuses to get a new car until this one dies. (which will be never because it’s a toyota)

jason in my head doesn’t have a car license but if he did drive a car it would be a toyota hilux or ford raptor ranger.

tim drives a newish hyundai i30 or a mazda2. idk why but in my head he drives a cute little hatchback.

cass definitely drives a slick black sedan. maybe a lexus or a mazda6.

steph drives a sedan honda civic because i’ve never met a civic owner that wasn’t girly pop or a upper class asian man.

duke either drives a kia rio OR a mitsubishi lancer OR an older model RAV4.

damian when he gets his first car it’s gonna be a mercedes or a bmw. probably a hatchback or sedan. i’m not sure of model tho.

bruce drives a either a audi, lexus or mercedes. maybe he has one of each. they’re probably all sedans and then he owns like one SUV.

#this is the extent of my car knowledge #enjoy this #or not #this is so niche 😭#i’m australian so some of these cars might not even be common in america #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #bruce wayne

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famwhy · 1 year

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Right Way Up (03)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: I know Steve's initials are on this chapter but that doesn't mean this chapter is focused on him, just a head's up.

prev part. masterlist. next part.

03. bring unto me altruism

trait: s.h.

"YOU know him?"

Your gaze wandered over the top of the BMW, breaking away from the (very sturdy-looking) back of Billy Hargrove to instead lock eyes with Steve Harrington—the latter of which had his own optics thoroughly narrowed in your direction.

"Huh?"

"The new guy—" he scoffed out, and you watched as his lips tugged down, brows furrowed very harshly, "—do you know him?"

Ah, shit. You have got to stop slipping up, Y/N.

"No." The response came out quick—and you turning around to face Billy again came quicker. He was still walking off—skinny jeans making it almost impossible to ignore his figure, very clearly outlining his... ahem just as they had in the show. "I certainly wouldn't mind getting to know him, though."

"Ew, gross."

"Oh please, like you can talk."

"I can talk, actually, and—hey! Where are you going?"

Midway through his sentence, you had started off towards the school, strutting after the dirty blonde with just as much feigned confidence in your walk as he.

It was rude to walk off halfway through a conversation but that was probably the least of your worries right now. You had a plan and if you wanted to execute it, you couldn't let Billy out of your sight.

"Y/N?"

"Just heading to class, don't worry. Walk Nancy to her first period then head to yours, 'kay? I'll be fine."

What exactly were you doing? Simple—remember the other day when you had no clue where you were going and had to rely on Steve to get you to your classes? Well, today, you could follow Billy Hargrove and, with any luck, you'd end up finding the counselor without having to ask for help and sounding suspicious.

Although, the last of anyone's guesses as to why you were acting peculiar would be that you came from a whole other world; one wherein they were all characters on a screen with almost three-quarters of them being completely irrelevant to the plot and, therefore, not even paid the littlest of attention to by the audience.

Still, better to be safe than sorry.

You had many more worries running rampant in your mind, all loud and overwhelming, grand and all-consuming—almost to the point where you had bumped into the defined back of the 80s bad boy; a defined back which, all of a sudden, wasn't moving like it was just moments ago.

Why did he stop?

The answer to that question was written clearly on the solid plate stuck to the blank, beaten door before you: COUNSELOR.

Your ears perked up as a jingle sounded from the metal knob, a strong, slightly-tanned hand wrapped firmly around it.

The door refused to budge.

"Ah shit," came the steady curse of the broad male. His body had shifted after that, and even an idiot could tell that he was about to turn around, so you did what any sane person would do—you flung yourself to the side and crashed your butt against one of the chairs snugly tucked against the wall.

Ouch... you'd think the chairs next to the guidance counselor's office would be a little more comfy to land on.

If Billy had found your actions at all weird, he showed no signs of it—choosing, instead, to plop himself down on the seat next to you; pink lips pulled into a straight line and ocean-blue gaze as cool as steel. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then Billy's glass panes were sure-as-hell foggy beyond belief because you hadn't grasped a single glance at his soul.

But... you still knew what it looked like, the shattered crystals left behind in the wake of his past, ready to prick whoever dared come near with their razor-sharp edges—and that thought had your heart squeezing painfully, both in sympathy and guilt; sympathy for his unfortunate circumstances and... guilt for knowing so much about this boy who hadn't a single clue that you existed before... well, any of this.

"'S there a reason for your staring, princess?"

You blinked, all of a sudden being the recipient of a grin that didn't quite seem to reach the eyes of the sender.

"Huh?"—damn, caught lost in thought again—"Oh! Uh, you're my new neighbour, right?"

He arched a brow.

"Cherry Lane?" You added. "My brother told me someone moved in and you don't look like anyone I know."

His mouth stayed sewn shut and you chose to keep going.

"I think I saw you get out of your car earlier too, there was a California tag on it, is that where you used to live?"

Again. No words. Though, this time, his lips pulled taut and any sign of that previous expression had vanished.

"I always thought the Golden Coast was pretty." You weren't an idiot, you saw the change in his expression—the shift in his gaze—but you didn't let it stop you, continuing to speak with a small, gentle smile, "I'm thinking of going one day."

His eyes had softened a little at that, and he parted his lips—looking as though he was about to speak—when, all of a sudden, a sound reverberated through the near-empty hall, and he closed them once more, raising a brow before sending a pointed look your way.

You felt it coming, the rumble deep down in the pits of your stomach, but you were helpless in stopping it—in containing it—and it arrived before you could even blink—

—a low growl.

Your fist rose up, a light cough leaving your mouth as your gaze awkwardly drifted to the side. "I, uh, didn't eat this morning."

Silence.

Then—to your utter surprise—soft, mirthful chuckles flooded your ears, causing you to whip your head around so fast, you almost sprained your poor neck. Beside you was a sight for sore eyes; one that resulted in your jaw dropping all the way to the floor and your eyes practically bulging out with how much they'd widened.

Billy Hargrove—the Billy Hargrove—was laughing.

His soft, golden curls bounced with each bout of snickers that left his mouth—beautiful, azure eyes crinkled and barely visible past his squinted lids—and yet—they still looked just as striking as usual, as mesmerising and jaw-dropping as on TV—if not, more so.

And then, it really sank in.

You made Billy Hargrove laugh.

And it wasn't some fake, obligatory giggle—nor was it that little, psychotic laugh he did when hysteria clouded his usually-cold gaze—no, it was full-blown, genuine laughter. And you caused it.

That thought had your chest swelling with a lot more pride than it probably should've—

"What's up with the tattoo?"

The question left his mouth much more comfortably than his previous words, flowing out with a small, slightly-smug quirk of his lips, and it took you a moment to register the fact that he had stopped chuckling, his gaze having drifted down—specifically, towards your wrist.

You trailed his gaze, finding yourself being met with the three, thick lines that had been there since the day you arrived in this world and—unsure of why they were there yourself—you shrugged. "Dunno, I think I got it while blackout drunk once."

Something about your response must've been funny because he officially chuckled for the second time since meeting you. "I didn't know you country folk knew how to party that hard."

Now, you might've not been from Hawkins yourself but... something about the way he said that had your eyes narrowing slightly in his direction, and you sprung up from your seat, the underside of your thighs suddenly being greeted by cold air.

"Watch it. We can party just as hard as you Calis."

Your pupils grew shaky as you stood there, watching the next set of his actions with a tingling feeling deep down in your stomach.

One hand on his denim-clad knee, defined biceps flexing as he slowly rose up—your eyes rising with him. And as he took a step closer to you—lips twitching further up with a glint in his eyes you couldn't quite discern—you found yourself starting to slowly lose your breath, hands growing just the slightest bit clammy with the sudden blaze of active nerves you were struck with.

"Yeah?"

You gulped. "Yeah."

You felt hyper-aware as a rough, sun-kissed hand slid around your waist—fitting perfectly against the curve of your back, slowly dragging you closer, and sending a flurry of pleasant tingles straight up your spine to meet with the group that started to steadily arise in your chest; a chest that was mere millimetres from the thin, cotton material that covered his own.

Then, he leaned towards your ear, lips grazing the lobe as he whispered—a sultry lull bleeding into his tone—"Why don't you show me just how hard you can party, huh?"

Your breath audibly hitched in your throat but—before you could fret over what he'd say next, how he'd respond to your silly, little fumble—a 'click!' sounded from your side, and you threw yourself straight out of his sturdy arms quicker than a bolt of lightning—just in time, too, for the face of an older woman emerged from within the office not even moments later.

"Ah," the lady nodded, "you must be William."

Your eyes flitted over to him just in time to catch the way his jaw ticked.

"It's Billy, actually." And when he responded, his voice came out cold, different to the playful lilt it held just moments before.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the name struck a nerve.

"Ah, my bad. Would you like to come in and grab your schedule, Billy?"

He didn't respond but did as she asked, brushing past you to walk into the smaller room, only sharing a brief few seconds of eye-contact as he walked past—but those brief few seconds were enough to grant you just a tiny glimpse into the thunderous storm hidden within the pools of his irises—

—and as the door shut behind him, your lips tugged down.

You couldn't help but let your mind wander to the way his muscles seemed to tense up at the mention of California, freeze in what you could safely assume was caused by his longing to return to the freedom of his home state.

To be forced to depart from your home was nothing new, but you truly felt for Billy and his circumstances. His dad was more than hard on him—he was downright abusive, and Billy was forced to endure it without a single soul in his corner to help him through it, to guide him down the right path and teach him how to break out of the cycle of abuse he was forced into upon being born.

He was only eighteen. A goddamn child. He shouldn't have had to go through what he did.

He should've had the chance to redeem himself.

But that chance was squandered in Season 3, ripped from him akin to how his life was—a grotesque limb of mixed flesh having pierced through his chest, several other messed-up tentacles latched painfully onto his sides, bleeding him dry, draining the life from his eyes.

He didn't deserve to die.

Officially bummed-out by your own trail of thoughts, you heaved out a sigh before your ears perked up at a familiar 'click!' and your head snapped to the door again.

Out came Billy, the smug twitch of his lips back on his face—it was so comfortably situated there, in fact, that if any other person had seen it, they'd have assumed it was there the whole time.

But, despite him looking perfectly fine as he walked out of the old office, you still felt the urge to fly into his arms and wrap him in an embrace filled to the brim with promises; promises to at least provide him some level of support for what he was going through and what he would go through. Though, unlike with Eddie, you couldn't act upon it.

See, Billy and Eddie were two completely different people—where Eddie had brushed off your sudden hug quite easily—happily welcomed it, even—Billy would definitely question it, especially considering the fact that he didn't even know who you were.

And so, although it took all of your willpower, you refrained from throwing yourself onto him—choosing, instead, to stand still as he sauntered over, fingers rising up to brush against your shoulder gently; teasingly.

"See ya 'round, princess."

Instantly, a flurry of tiny, winged creatures erupted in your stomach, sending tingles through your body—up your spine to seize you at your throat, clawing into your windpipe and rendering you motionless in astonishment and awe and—

Was it just you or was it getting hot in here?

"Y/N?" You blinked, attention turning to the dark-haired female suddenly stood before you. "What are you doing here?"

Forcing yourself to forget that... whatever that was, you let a small, sheepish smile curve onto your lips. "Actually, miss, do you mind if I ask for a reprint of my schedule?"

"A reprint?" She rose a brow, arms slowly folding over her chest. "I thought you already had it memorised."

"Oh, uh,"—cue a small, nervous giggle—"you see, it kinda like... slipped my mind, y'know? And I already lost my old one so... can I have that reprint?"

She stood there for a little while longer—letting you really bask in the glory of her heavy judgement—before finally heaving out a sigh through her nose, sounding like she just aged up another ten years as she spun on her heel, full, brown curls bouncing after her.

The ground was smooth, friction practically non-existant as you rocked on your heels, awaiting the piece of paper with bated breath. The ticks of the clock suddenly didn't seem so much like white noise anymore as impatience furrowed your brows and your teeth jutted out, sinking a little into your bottom lip in anticipation.

Then, with a loud, echoing, "Y/N!"—someone had called out to you, but their voice was too high-pitched to be the one you were looking to hear—not to mention the fact that it came from the hall to your right as opposed to the office in front of you.

Your head whipped around just in time to have your whole body jerk a little as a girl skidded to an abrupt stop right next to you, her brown, soft-looking hair bouncing with an almost unnecessary amount of volume.

In her hands were several pieces of bright orange paper, all inked with a few words you couldn't quite make out—not without squinting at least.

"Hey!"

"Uh, hey..."

Who the hell was this again?

"How have you been? You haven't been to practice for a while now, the girls are pretty worried." As she spoke, she tucked a stray strand behind her ear and you squinted—trying to figure out where you'd seen her in the show.

"Oh, uh, I've just been a little sick, that's all."—seriously, who was this girl?—"I'm fine now though."

"That's great to hear!" She beamed, though her smile didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. "Listen, I'm having this party on Halloween and... I wanted you to be the first invite."

She extended one hand—flyer fit snugly between her fingertips—and you reached out, wrapping your fingers around the other end before she released it.

Eyes falling down, you took in the words written in... well, you didn't even know what font that was: TINA'S HALLOWEEN BASH. Come and get Sheet Faced.

Oh, so this was Tina.

"You'll be there, right?"

Your eyes flew back up and you were met with her intense gaze, swirling with a desperate, expectant plea you were almost saddened to see.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I'll be there."

If anyone saw the way her shoulders fell and the muscles on her face relaxed at your words, they would've assumed you took some sort of heavy anvil off her shoulders, freeing her of some sort of imaginary weight that was supposedly weighing her down.

"Thank you," she breathed out, voice practically inaudible over the air leaving her lungs.

Damn, were you that influential?—so much so that your presence would make or break a party?

"No problem?"

If you were being completely honest, you had no idea what to think of Tina—her character wasn't very explored in the show considering the fact that her role was very minor, the only thing she was really used for was the Halloween bash. But just from these few minutes with her alone, you could tell she was someone who heavily valued reputation.

"Okay, well, I should go," her voice pierced through your thoughts. "I'm thinking of inviting the new kid."

You parted your lips—about to say goodbye—when she twirled around and took off running, not even bothering to spare another glance your way.

Rude.

But as your gaze drifted down to the piece of paper in your hands once more, you found yourself uncaring of her rather unorthodox departure—too busy thinking about... something else.

"Y/N, here's your schedule."

Ah, nevermind the bash, you had your schedule now. You could finally know where you were meant to be for each period—albeit, it would take you a while to actually find the places but at least you knew what subjects you were meant to be in during the week. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Speaking of class, you were long overdue for your first period—

—and your teacher seemed to agree on that too, judging by the harsh glare situated on his face as soon as your sheepish form walked through the door. But hey, could he blame you? No, you were just trying to find your way around this stupid maze of a school.

Luckily, getting to your second class was much easier seeing as you passed it on your way to the first—but that didn't make it any less difficult to have to sit through. You were in Stranger Things—for fuck's sake!—what the hell did Newton's Third Law have to do with it?

You weren't ashamed to admit that you didn't pay attention to any of the other classes leading up to lunch—nor were you opposed to confessing the huge sigh of relief you let out once the long break period finally arrived, because—c'mon—who the hell paid attention to class when they just got transported to another world?

Not you.

So yes, you were currently happily strolling through the halls with your arms crossed over your books as you hugged said items to your chest, no sign of Steve in sight—but, you did catch a glimpse of a very familiar Lion's mane by a set of grey lockers in the corner of your eye.

"Eddie!"

Your voice must've come suddenly because he jumped as soon as you called out to him, head turning your way and one hand situating itself above his heart after he saw you. "Oh, Y/N!"

Your lips twitched up at just the sight of him. "What happened to 'sweetheart'?"

"Oh, uh, you want me to call you that? In front of all these people?"

And just like that, your lips tugged down. "Of course, why would that be a problem? Unless you're uncomfortable with it yourself—in which case, you don't have to call me by it."

Immediately, his head shook from side-to-side, messy hair bouncing crazily along with it. "No, no, not at all... sweetheart."

You'd be lying if you said that the nickname didn't garner a reaction from you; didn't result in your chest swirling with a blazing warmth.

Though, it also seemed to result in the jaw of the person stood next to him dropping to the floor; the same person you had just noticed was there in the first place. He had hair that was just as curly as Eddie's, but—unlike the male you knew—his was cut shorter, barely reaching past his ears really.

You knew this guy, he was one of Eddie's friends.

What was his name again? It started with a G. Let's see... Gavin..? No... Gary..? No...

Oh!

"Gareth right?" Relief washed through your insides when his head nodded, eyes wide and seeming to look through you, almost as if he couldn't even believe you were there, "It's so nice to meet another friend of Eddie's!"

"Another?" He seemed to have shot out of his trance at that, and it wasn't long before he gave you an incredulous look, gaze flickering over from you to Eddie, to you to Eddie, over and over again.

Then, all too suddenly, he pulled on the other male's arm and yanked him to the side—not even 3 feet of you—before resuming, "You're friends with the Queen Bee? How the hell did that happen?"

"You think I know?!"

Eddie's response was enough to garner a chuckle from you, causing both boys to quickly return their gazes to your form. Before they could comment on their fuck-up however, another voice came bellowing down the hall, calling out to you.

"Y/N!"

Unlike with Gareth before, you recognised that pretty face paired with those luscious ginger strands of hair straight away. How could you not? You had practically seen a thousand edits of them along with the 'Chrissy Wake Up' song on TikTok. Kinda hard to forget her after the Internet did its magic.

Though, it wasn't exactly unpleasant to be meeting her, and so, you gave her as bright a smile as you could muster. "Chrissy! Hey!"

"Hi!" She beamed right back at you, but unlike Tina, Chrissy's smile genuinely reached her glinting eyes, even going as far as adorably crinkling them up a little. "Tina said you were feeling fine now, do you mind coming to practice today? Only if you're okay! I know you've been sick so take as much rest as you need and don't feel pressured."

How the hell could you say no to that?

"Yeah, okay, sure! I'll come with you to practice."

You weren't sure how it was possible, but she seemed to light up even further at that, almost blinding you like the little ball of sunshine she was.

In fact, she was so distracting, you almost forgot the presence of the two boys dressed in a completely different colour pallet to you. Keyword: almost.

"Looks like that's my cue." You turned their way—if only to save your eyesight from genuinely deteriorating due to the light that was Chrissy. "It was nice meeting you, Gareth. Good to see you again, Eddie."

Just before departing, you ghosted your fingers over the covered shoulder of Eddie, wiggling them about like you had done to Steve just the day prior; a signature goodbye, if you will.

And as you walked down the halls, you picked up on one last thing coming from Gareth's mouth... one last thing that was enough to drill your feet straight into the ground.

"Eddie? Eddie, wake up!"

That phrase...

Flashes of Season 4 infiltrated your gaze; of the unfortunate victims that had their lives stripped from them; of the very girl stood next to you's body flying up, limbs distorting as they snapped irregularly, eyes not even having the pleasure of losing light with how unjustly they were gauged out from her.

Had you messed up somehow?

Had the events of Season 4 ended up being triggered too early by your mere existence?

The questions overwhelmed you—flooded through your senses and clogged up your airways with their untimely arrival. You were a puppet and they were the strings, ushering you to turn around; to rid yourself of the wool pulled over your eyes—of the blissful ignorance surrounding your form—and, helpless to their influence, you did exactly that.

Slowly, your head reared backwards—the room spinning around you—and your eyes were greeted by a welcome sight; one that breathed life back into your limbs.

Eddie stood there—eyes still very much on his face—with a familiar, light blush spread across his cheeks. Even as his form was being rapidly shook by his dear friend, he remained still, gaze trained on you. He only seemed to have snapped out of it after making proper eye-contact with you.

Two blinks. A small, shy raised hand. And a tiny wave.

False alarm. He was just flustered.

It made sense, your previous actions could be interpreted as flirting after all—and to be honest, you didn't really mind if it was (again, the Eddie Munson)—but, you'd be lying if you said he didn't just give you a bit of a scare there.

The sentence that just came out of Gareth's mouth was the very same, infamous sentence uttered by Eddie's lips just before the first death of Season 4—a rather brutal death involving the very ball of sunshine that was just tasked to retrieve you.

Speaking of that ball of sunshine—

"Y/N, you coming?"

You blinked, quickly returning Eddie's wave before whipping your head back around to face the ginger next to you once again.

You had to admit, it was very surreal coming face-to-face with people from the show who were meant to die—it felt kinda like seeing a ghost, and a part of you (just a teensy-weensy, little part) found it... well... unsettling.

But, that was just a small part.

"Yeah. Let's go."

You shook off the residual fear that lingered from that little moment before finally continuing to follow Chrissy down the hall.

The whole walk was full of her detailing you on the failed practices of the cheerleaders in your absence. Apparently, Heather tried and failed to do a cartwheel into a back-flip as part of one of the routines before dramatically throwing her pompoms to the ground and angrily muttering that you could do it instead.

You had no idea who Heather was but you wished you were there to see it.

Oh, and—with you gone—it seemed as though a lot of the girls had taken to slacking off, opting to gaze longingly at the sweaty boys that played basketball just across the Gym instead of actually being productive.

You doubted that would get any better with Billy around now.

"Well, well, well," a high-pitched voice sliced through your thoughts and you blinked, finally noticing that you arrived at the Gym. "Look who finally decided to show up."

You recognised that puffed-up, blonde hair from the first day of your arrival, the stance she took on being an almost-exact replica of the one back in the infirmary.

"Finally done punching the daylights out of some random freak in school?" She scoffed out.

"Sarah," Chrissy hissed from beside you, "don't say that. Y/N's been sick recently."

"Sick of being just as aggressive as her brother?" Sarah rolled her eyes.

Before you could retort with your own defense, however, someone else had piped in—that person being a brunette with rather short, straight hair, "You're talking like you don't wanna fuck him."

Uh—what?

"Jenny!" Your eyes flitted over to the blonde just in time to catch her reddened cheeks.

"What? It's true, isn't it?"

"Whatever, let's just..."

Sarah trailed off there, jaw hanging open as her eyes seemed to land on something not within your immediate eyesight. And when you found yourself following her gaze—you located the subject of her interest, the lack of words suddenly making sense.

Golden curls you had the pleasure of seeing up close just this morning were farther now, having just barely passed through the entrance. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as the electricity in his eyes zapped through the Gym before finally landing on you, lips edging up into what you could only call a smirk.

It wasn't long before he sauntered over, practically demanding all of the attention in the room with his walk; attention which was happily handed over to him on a sleek, silver plate.

"All this time I've been calling you princess... when you've really been a queen," as he spoke—voice as husky as ever—a teasing lilt laced into his tone, intensifying his gaze and overwhelming you with his suffocating presence. "Why didn't you say anything, dollface?"

Breathe, Y/N, breathe. Stand your ground.

You tried to, you really did—but, the only way you'd be able to keep your composure right now was by closing your eyes and pretending you didn't see him—

—so you did exactly that.

Your lashes fluttered shut and you envisioned a blank sea of darkness before uttering out a response, "Didn't think it was important."

"Yeah?" Now, while you might not have been able to see him, you could still very well hear him, and his voice was nothing short of the perfect mixture between smooth and rough and—

Stop. It.

For your own sake—and for fear of further falling apart—you chose not to say anything and only nodded.

That was a mistake.

Instant regret hit you square in the face when you felt the gentle touch of a few, rough fingers against your chin, tilting your head just enough to rest at an angle before a surge of warm air tickled your lashes.

And as he spoke—lips almost grazing your closed lids—those familiar flying pests made their home in your stomach, "Where'd those pretty eyes of yours go? Didn't seem to stop wanting to use them this morning."

Damn him and his smoothness.

In an effort to continue to save face, you resorted to squeezing your eyes even further shut—paying no mind to the blissful warmth slowly coating your form or the teasing snickers that left the bad boy's mouth; snickers which you could practically feel the vibrations of.

"What's the matter? Have I rendered Miss Queen Bee speechless?"

Your vision was dark but you could still see the smug smirk on his face. Just wait until you gathered yourself, you were gonna make him ten times more flustered than you—just wait.

The light clearing of a throat suddenly served as a reminder that you two weren't the only ones in the room and you found yourself feeling a little... cold when Billy pulled away.

Cold? Ugh, once again, damn him and his smoothness.

Finally deeming it safe to do so, you opened your eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the light once more before you were finally able to make out the slowly-shrinking figure of Billy Hargrove. But just as he reached the entrance of the Gym once more, he paused, one hand firmly gripping onto the frame as he called out to you over his shoulder.

"Keep your bed nice and warm for me, will ya, dollface?"

Your jaw dropped.

Someone else then said something along the lines of 'oh my god' but—if you were being honest—you were barely able to hear it over the echo of Billy's snickers as he walked away, completely amused by your reaction no doubt.

He was so unequivocally bold, you almost couldn't believe it.

"Uh, guys, I think I'm gonna take a raincheck on practice today." But, it seemed as though the other girls definitely could—judging by how the very girl who said this rushed right after Billy.

"Me too!"

"Yeah, uh, I think I'm feeling a little sick."

"Well, I, for one, am chasing up that boy."

"Not if I get him first!"

And as a majority of them rushed after the handsome male, you found yourself deadpanning.

"Bruh."

You definitely couldn't blame them though, the rest of your day was spent recalling all those scenes with him after all. Even Steve noticed your absent-mindedness in the last period of the day—trying several outlandish things to grab your attention that he only informed you of once the lesson was over.

You didn't even notice him waving his arms wildly in front of your face while the teacher's back was turned.

And even as you walked beside him, Nancy strutting ahead of the two of you after you'd picked her up from class, you still had your head roaming around in the clouds.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You hummed, half-listening, half-not.

Steve then leaned further your way, shoulder brushing your own as he whispered against your ear. "Wish me good luck?"

You blinked up at him, having paid enough attention to scrunch up your nose in confusion and ask, "Good luck for what?"

"The dinner. At Barb's?"

A few more blinks.

And then—

"Ohhhhh."

Nancy turned around at that, and Steve was quick to hush you. He only resumed talking when she faced forward once more—albeit, slower than she turned around.

"What are you doing? Trying to get me in trouble?!" His whisper came out harsh, and you winced a little.

"Alright, alright, gheez."

His attitude seemed to be at an all-time high because he rolled his eyes after that. "I just... don't get why I have to go to this stupid dinner anyway."

"Steve." It was your turn to harshly whisper. "Don't say that. Nancy needs closure, this dinner is exactly that."

You felt for Steve just a tad bit, it wasn't his best friend that died after all (thank god for that) but that didn't mean he got to complain about attending a dinner his girlfriend wanted him to be at because he was there the night of the first attack; of the first murder.

See, Barbara (or Barb) had been Nancy's best friend—the two being practically attached by the hip—so of course the night she died would be one that Nancy deeply regretted, and of course she would want closure with the parents of her best friend. It just made sense.

In fact, the whole reason why she did any of what she did in Season 2 was so that she could inform Barb's parents (who still thought their child was out there somewhere) that their kid was, in fact, dead.

"Y/N, you there?"

Caught in a monologue? Seriously, Y/N? What are you, the main character?

"Yeah, I'm here."

Seeing as you were already outside and stood right by Steve's car—you slotted your hand between the cold of both the handle and the door before pulling it open, leaping straight in, and causing the whole vehicle to jerk in a symphony of loud clangs from sheer force.

"Hey! Careful!" It seemed like your music wasn't appreciated by Steve though.

"Relax. It's not like I broke it or anything—" feeling like messing with him—because duh—a smirk slowly twitched onto your lips, "—besides, it's excited to see me, aren't you, girl?"

Steve let out another hiss when you patted the seat a little too harshly—sounding akin to a pissed off feline which just made him seem less menacing and more adorable.

Ha, you tried, Steve, you tried.

The click of the passenger door drew your eyes over to Nancy's form, watching as her legs entered one at a time before she took a seat and turned your way—"We're dropping you off then heading straight over to Barb's."—then, turning to Steve, "Right, Steve?"

You could already hear the grumbled out 'yes' coming from him and you only sent him a grin seeping with amusement when he met your gaze through the rear-view mirror—your lips stretching further as he mouthed the words 'help me' with anguish in his eyes.

"You two have fun, yeah?"

You said the sentence to piss Steve off even further but when you caught a glimpse of the look on Nance's face, a pang shot straight through your chest.

Her eyes had this far-away look about them as her lips curved up by a very small amount—though there was no joy in it, only grief.

"Hey..." you placed one hand on the shoulder of her seat, using it to pull yourself forward as you furrowed your brows, worry clouding your gaze. "You alright?"

She sniffled a little before waving her hand and nodding in response. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

Your lips tugged down and you shared a look with your best friend before he started the engine, breathing life into the vehicle as you slowly lowered your body back down onto the leather seat.

She wasn't fine; even without knowledge from the show, you could tell. She might not have been crying but her lip was definitely quivering a little and her eyes... well, they just weren't all... present in the moment.

But, she would be fine. And that was enough.

Besides, though it was cold to say, you had bigger things to worry about. Nancy would get help from Jonathan in order to come to terms with Barb's death—meanwhile, you had no one to help you out with all the spare knowledge you stored in your brain; with all the premonitions (if you could call it that) you were blessed with.

Perhaps it was time you started preparing for another bout with the demodogs—you were Steve's best friend, after all; that probably meant you'd most likely end up facing the dogs together with him later on in the Season.

"Y/N."

You perked up at the call of your name, shaking away the thoughts clinging to your brain.

"We're here."

Lo and behold, so it seemed you were, the familiar sidewalk leading up to your house being visible through the clear glass panes beside you.

Clicking open the door, you took one step out before swinging the rest of your body to follow after, and once you closed the door again, you walked over to the passenger-side window—shoes barely making a sound against the ground—before your knees bent down a little and you tapped lightly against the glass.

"Let the Hollands know I wish them the best, okay?" You offered a gentle smile to the girl sat before you, and she tried her best to muster one up in return.

"Okay..."

"See you guys."

And with a brief wave, you quickly spun around and headed towards the relatively-normal house.

You now—thankfully—had keys of your own so there was no need to knock or anything. Well—it was more like you had them all this time but didn't know where they were and just so happened to find them the other day but—details, details.

After fiddling with the keys a little, you heard a 'click!' and pushed against the handle before entering, one hand moving behind you to carefully shut the door.

"I'm home."

Curt's voice was the first to greet you—albeit, not very genuinely. "Congratulations, want a trophy?"

Uh, yes, actually. You would very much like a trophy after coming back home in one piece in the world of Stranger Things.

"We're having pasta tonight!" Luckily, Cain's words were a lot more welcoming than the other brother.

So, as was your right, you ignored your second oldest brother in favour of responding to the first. "Ooh! Pasta?!"

You had to admit, his cooking the other night was rather good—okay, it was magnificent, you just didn't wanna admit it because you stormed off the other day before being able to properly finish it.

But now that you could—

Before you could finish that train of thought, three loud knocks resounded through the room, no doubt coming from the door behind you.

Huh.

Was that Steve? Did he forget to say something?

You lightly wrapped your palm around the handle, turning it slowly before the door was open once more, a sudden, light breeze hitting you square in the face—

—though, the breeze could never be more sudden than who you saw at the door.

It wasn't your swooshy-haired companion to greet you on the other side—no—but rather, an older woman with barely visible bags underneath her drooping eyes; eyes which seemed to have lost all light, almost appearing chillingly lifeless—

—well, that was until they lit up at the sight of you.

"Oh, Y/N! Baby! I've missed you so much!"

And as she threw herself onto your form—arms engulfing you wholly, emotionally—you found yourself blanking out for once, only one thought popping up in your head:

What. The. Fuck.

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart, @nickey-diano, @uselessbutinteresting, @steeldaisies, @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom, @patheticreative, @majestichugs, @eddiesbitch83, @secretdryrose, @bloodywickedvamp, @charlizekkelly

Did Billy give you guys butterflies or what? 😏 (Srsly tho, I need to know if I'm writing him well—)

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carsthatnevermadeitetc · 2 years

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What a difference 62 years makes juxtaposition of BMW 1300 (Neue Klasse Prototype) 1961 & BMW i Vision Dee, 2023. The E 113 series was the first of BMW's Neue Klasse models that transformed the company's fortunes, rescued it from bankruptcy and established a template for all subsequent BMW models. The Neue Klasse had its debut at the Frankfurt Motor Show of 1961. The new i Vision Dee previews elements of the new generation Neue Klasse that will go on sale in 2025

#BMW #BMW Neue Klasse #BMW New Class #BMW 1300 #BMW E113 #prototype #concept #design study #1961 #2023 #What a difference #Frankfurt Motor Show #CES #BMW i Vision Dee

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exhuastedpigeon · 1 year

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I've had a Steve Harrington-centric, slow burn, Steddie, with a heavy does of Steve & the party and platonic stobin, platonic stonathan, platonic stancy kicking around for awhile and I finally started it.

AU where Steve is the same age as Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, etc. Everything else is the same except Steve is still in high school in S4 and the Byers don’t leave Hawkins.

Steve Harrington’s guide to surviving your senior year after the weirdest summer of your life.

The thing is, once you’ve survived a few near death experiences at the hands of both literal monsters and human monsters, your senior year of high school doesn’t feel that important. Steve had somehow managed to trudge through his junior year after, well, everything that happened in the fall of ‘84, had managed to pass all of his classes even through the concussion fog that was November of that year. That alone felt like a mi.

By the summer of ‘85, Steve had been more than ready to move on from the nightmares of his junior year. But then Starcourt and Russians and Billy Hargrove being gored in front of them happened and he had a whole new set trauma to process. Lucky for him, he once again had a gaggle of nerds, dorks, and dweebs to help get through it. Two of the aforementioned (hell yeah SAT word) nerds were currently in his BMW on their way to the first day of school. A first day that, for some reason, Steve was excited for.

“Sure you aren’t embarrassed to be seen pulling up to school with us, your highness,” Robin pokes his shoulder from her spot on the passenger seat. She had practically tripped into the car, all long limbs, talking a mile a minute. She hadn’t even stopped talking when Dustin, pouting, got into the back seat.

Steve rolled his eyes, “I think I’ll survive.”

“Will you sit with us at lunch?”

“What period do you have lunch, twerp?”

“Fourth.”

“Then it’s your lucky day Henderson,” Steve grinned as he whipped into the parking lot, snagging the spot next to Byers, well Byers plural now.

Jonathan and Will were still in their car, having what looked like a serious conversation. Steve didn’t see Nancy, which probably meant Karen Wheeler had insisted on driving her and Mike for their first day. She had done the same thing last year.

Instead of doing the polite thing, which would have been to wait until the Byers brothers were done talking and getting out of the car, Steve did the fun thing. He threw himself on the hood of Jonathan’s hunk of junk car and made a dramatic showing of rolling across it, landing gracefully on his feet on the driver’s side.

“Morning Byers,” Steve grinned, opening Jonathan’s door, “and little Byers.”

“What the fuck, Steve,” Jonathan climbed out of the car with a laugh, accepting Steve’s handshake turned hug, “It’s 7:30 in the morning.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steddie

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mc-i-r · 1 year

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Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four Ao3

A/N: Part Two is here! Robin is finally coming in and giving us some new perspectives and answers, Steve accepts some things about himself, and Robin wants to invoke her best friend rights to protect Steve. Hope you enjoy!

Tw: internalized biphobia, implied/referenced abuse, implied/referenced suicidal thoughts

———

Robin grunts, hopping off her bike and ripping the helmet off her head. Three cars almost hit her today. Three! She groans.

“Stupid fucking bike—“ she kicks the back wheel, making it fall against the brick exterior wall of Family Video. She had to ride it to work today because someone—ahem, Steve—has decided to adopt half of the rising sophomore class, which means he’s off today since his favorite little nerd is off to Utah for the weekend. So now, she’s late for her shift and all gross and sweaty. Great.

Robin tucks her helmet under her arm, raking a hand through her hair in a weak attempt to fix it, and begins the short walk to the front doors when something catches her eye.

A burgundy BMW. Correction, Steve’s burgundy BMW.

She slows her steps and walks up to it, cautious as if it’ll attack her, and peeks inside. There’s nothing out of the ordinary save for a green duffle bag and an old beaten up shoebox. She frowns and looks towards the front doors as if the transparent surface will answer all of her questions.

She walks inside to find Steve. Steve, who is propped up on the counter with his eyes closed, head dipping down, and at work. The place he is decidedly not supposed to be right now.

“Dingus!” She shouts and slaps her hand on the counter, startling Steve awake. He reaches behind him, frowns when his hand comes up empty, and looks around with hazy eyes. There’s a distance behind those irises that she’s never seen before, like he’s not all there. As if he doesn’t know where he is.

Robin wasn’t concerned, but now she is.

“Steve?”

He finally looks up at her, sitting up straighter as if he didn’t know she was there, and puts on a smile she obviously knows is fake.

“Oh, hey, Robs,” he greets, his voice perfectly exemplifying that of model customer service personnel. Robin scrunches up her eyebrows.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, shifting her weight and putting her hands on her hips. She stares at Steve expectantly, waiting for an explanation. He only blinks at her.

“Uh… working? I have a shift today, Robs, why wouldn’t I be here?” He answers, eyebrows furrowing and head tilting slightly. Robin has a fleeting thought that he looks like a confused puppy, then she realizes that’s not too far off. She meets his confused gaze with one of her own.

“Dustin leaves for his trip to Utah today, Steve. In like,“—she checks the clock behind him—“an hour. Shouldn’t you be there to, ya know, say goodbye and all that?”

She waits for realization to dawn on his face, for that wrinkle between his brows to disappear and panic to settle in. It doesn’t. If anything, he looks even more confused now.

“… What trip to Utah?” He asks hesitantly, like he doesn’t know. Does… does he not know?

“Are you messing with me right now? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, this isn’t funny,” she huffs a nervous laugh. He shakes his head.

Shit.

Steve, she realizes, hasn’t talked about the kids in… a while. A week at least. But he would have told her, right? He would have mentioned something, would have asked her what’s going on.

But then again… would he?

“Fuck,” she curses, and briskly walks over to the front door. She locks it, flips the sign to ‘Closed!’, and ignores Steve’s petulant protest of “Robbie, c’mon.” She drags Steve out from behind the counter and pulls him in an aisle of tapes before crossing her arms over her chest.

“The movie nights… Those weren’t migraine days, were they?” She asks, already half expecting the head shake she gets in response but it hurts all the same.

See, Steve gets debilitating migraines sometimes, so bad he stays in bed for days at a time. She had bought him blackout curtains a few months ago after he said the dark helped his head, and ever since then he’s taken it upon himself to get through them alone. She would ask if he needed help, tell him to call her so she could come over, but he never did. She just assumed that he didn’t show up because he couldn’t, not… whatever this is.

Robin grabs him by the shoulders, thumbs rubbing over his collarbones as she looks in his eyes.

“What happened?”

Steve sighs, face falling as he looks to the floor.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. His hand finds the hair tie on his wrist and he starts fiddling with it, snapping it against his skin and twisting it around his fingers. It makes Robin's heart clench. She shakes his shoulders to get him to look at her, and doesn't speak until he does.

“Steve, tell me what happened,” she insists, looking into his sad brown eyes that droop with the weight of her request. His shoulders rise beneath her hands as he takes in a deep breath. Then, he speaks.

“They haven’t talked to me in three weeks, Rob,” he confesses, eyes trained just over her shoulder to avoid eye contact. She knows he means the kids, and that makes this so, so much worse.

“Steve—“

“It’s okay,” he interrupts. His face slowly forms a small, wavering smile as he finally looks at her. “It means they’re growing up, expanding their horizons. Finding… finding better people to be around.”

Her stomach drops.

“Steve, what… what do you mean by that?” Her voice is shaky, filled with fear and the horrible dawning of what he's implying. Steve huffs and turns to look in the direction of the front windows, eyes distant.

“It’s good that they’re not talking to me. Why… Why should they?” He looks back at her, determination shining in his eyes. Robin realizes, with frightening clarity, that he’s confident in it. That he believes it. She swallows the forming lump in her throat.

“What do I do for them other than free rides or snacks? Nothing,” he laughs, a wet, hollow thing devoid of its usual happiness. “They haven’t asked me for anything in three weeks, Rob. Not once. Every time I ask they shut me down or… or tell me Eddie already offered. It’s… fuck, it hurts so bad but what else can I do but respect their decision to leave me?”

He rubs a hand harshly over his face, his skin turning pink from the pressure and force, before pushing his hair back. He looks away, murmuring, “it’s for the best, anyway” that Robin is sure she’s not supposed to hear but does anyhow.

She pushes him back, holding him out at arms length and ignoring the look she gets in return, and looks him up and down. His normally crisp polo is rumpled under his work vest and half tucked in his jeans. Dirt stains the once-white laces of his Nikes, and mud is caked on the side of his soles. His hands tremble at his sides before clenching into fists, as if trying to stop the shaking, before resigning to tap an unsteady rhythm against his thighs.

She looks up at his face, notices the tenseness in his jaw as it stays sealed shut. How his hair lays flat and greasy on his head as if he spends his days running his fingers through it. His eyes flicker around, as if unable to stay in one spot for too long. As if they’re looking for something. Watching. Waiting.

Most importantly, she notices a sadness in his eyes she’s never seen before. Not when he would talk about Nancy or his parents or his past. It shows in the lifelessness that’s found its way behind his pupils, in the flatness of his gaze. It shows in the deep bags under his eyes and the crease between his brows. That earlier thought about how he resembles a puppy returns, however instead of a confused puppy, it’s one that’s been kicked too many times to count and just wants someone to rub its little head.

It’s those sad eyes that make her realize that he’s used to this, to people leaving. All those times they spent together, curled against each other in the comfort of his big plush mattress after Starcourt and whispering secrets into the night, come back to her.

How he told her his parents left him with nannies and babysitters when they would go on trips until he was ten and his father decided he was old enough to fend for himself in their absence. How he had to call the police just so someone would tell him how to work the stove. How they missed his first birthday at thirteen, then Thanksgiving the following year, then his sixteenth birthday—which they tried making up for by buying him a car—then both Thanksgiving and Christmas the next year until it was a surprise they showed up for anything at all. How they missed his high school graduation.

How he cried through telling her he handed his heart to Nancy, giving her everything he could to make her happy, only for it to be left bleeding on the bathroom floor. How she cheated on him with Jonathan without giving an explanation for why or when or how, only a silent understanding of ‘yeah, I’m with him now. We’re over’ during the end of the world. How she never even said sorry.

It was one instance, when Robin woke up to Steve thrashing in his checkered sheets as his throat screamed out into the darkness of his room, that she’ll always remember. She had to sit on his chest to keep him from moving and accidentally hurting himself in the process. She did her best to stay clear of any still-sore wounds while holding his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks as she waited for him to calm down.

Eventually, those tired eyes opened, glistening with tears yet to be shed and Robin’s heart ached for him. She did her best to smile, to bring some comfort to his panicked mind.

“Hey, dingus, it’s me,” she soothed. “It’s Robin.”

“... Robin?” He muttered, voice fragile and raw from screaming. She nodded, even if he couldn’t quite see her yet.

“Yeah, that’s me. We’re in your room right now, in your bed,” she informed, and Robin could see the shame rising to his face in real time. “You had a nightmare.”

“Fuck, Robs, I’m so sorry,” Steve apologized, moving to try and get up but she shook her head, refusing to budge even an inch. Despite him being twice her size and having the ability to easily move her if needed, he relented and went slack underneath her, almost completely boneless save for the ever-present tenseness that never quite goes away.

“None of that, Steve,” she admonished. “Nightmares are normal, especially for us. You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve looked away and shook his head. Robin nodded, accepting his refusal, and climbed off to flop down beside him, bouncing a little on the expensive mattress. She propped her head up on her hand, looking down at him as he fiddled with the edge of the sheet. Robin quickly learned that his fiddling meant he had something on his mind, so she nudged him and gave him an expectant look. He stayed quiet, and just when she thought he wasn’t going to speak, he did.

“You know, sometimes I think the world would be better off without me,” he murmured, and Robin looked at him absolutely horrified.

“Steve, you can’t actually believe that—“

“No, Robbie,” he interrupted and paused to shake his head as tears filled his eyes. “I do, ‘cause what am I good for other than nice eye candy for the elderly ladies at the local grocery store and a stand-up athlete for asshole dads to compare their sons to?”

Steve shook his head and clenched his eyes closed.

“No one stays. No one. It’s just been me for eighteen years and I… I’m sick of it, Robin. I’m just… I’m so tired.”

When he looked at her again, she could see it. That tiredness was etched onto his face, found in the creases around his eyes, the tenseness of his mouth, and the deep purple bags beneath his brown irises.

“I know,” Robin reassured, even though she didn’t. Not really. “We’ll get through it, okay?”

“‘We’?” Steve questioned, and Robin gave him a smile.

“Yeah, ‘we’. You’re never getting rid of me, dingus,” she claimed. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Oh no,” he said sarcastically, giving her a small grin that let her know he was grateful, either for the change in subject or the fact that Robin was there for him. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out, hm?” It was a silent question, one asking him, ‘will you stay around long enough to find out? Will I be enough for you until you do?’

Steve smiled and pulled her down to rest on his chest, both of their arms finding their way to wrap around each other.

“Guess we will,” he whispered into her hair, and it sounded a lot like, ‘for you, I will. For you, always.’

She never forgot that conversation, and the sad way his voice quivered has plagued her mind ever since then.

Now, the kids are joining the devastatingly long list of people that have left. The kids who he has quite literally sacrificed himself for time and time again. The kids he has given countless rides to, given his time and money and sanity to just to make them happy. The kids he cares for with his whole being. The kids he loves.

That lump returns, causing pressure to form behind her eyes as she looks at her best friend. Her platonic with a capital P soulmate. The only man she’ll ever love. Tears well in her eyes, clouding her vision and making her face contort. She’s always been an ugly crier but she thinks this is justified.

“Robs? What’s wr—”

She cuts him off by wrapping her arms around his waist, pulling him into a harsh hug. She knows he doesn’t like sudden touch—as proven by him stiffening under her—but she gives herself a pass on this one.

“Robin?”

She buries her face in his chest, silently crying for him, and only begins to calm down once hesitant arms wrap around her.

“Shh… Robbie, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He promises, and his earnest tone makes her almost cry harder because yeah, he’s there for her, but who is there for him?

She sniffs and pulls away, hands coming up to wipe away her snot and tears, and hopes he doesn’t mind the wet patch on the front of his shirt. Steve’s hands drop down to her waist, squeezing and rubbing her hips with his thumbs, as her hands raise to hold his face between them.

“We’re going to fix this, Steve. You don’t deserve all this—this shit that’s been thrown at you,” she vows, squeezing his cheeks to emphasize her point.

“It’s… It’s fine, Robs. You don’t have to do anything, it’s okay,” he tries to protest but it only furthers her determination. She shakes his head in her hands.

“If I have to throttle your head to make you realize that I love you then I will do it, dingus,” she promises, shaking his head again to prove her point. “Screw all your concussions.” She smiles at him, something small and filled with love for the man before him.

Steve breaks.

His face contorts much like Robins had earlier; eyebrows scrunched together, eyes clenched shut, nose wrinkling, and mouth a flat, wavering line. Ugly, heart-wrenching sobs claw their way out his throat, echoing off the metal shelves that surround them, and she knows that this was a long time coming. All of his sadness, his sorrow, is coming out through the tears that drip down his cheeks and onto the filthy carpet, the snot clogging his nose, and the small, breathy whimpers that pass through his lips.

His head drops to her shoulder, making his back arch forward in a way that cannot possibly be comfortable but he doesn’t seem to mind. She wraps her arms over his shoulders and his hands tighten their grip on her waist before resolving to squeezing her middle. Robin lets him cry it out, knowing firsthand that sometimes it’s all you need. Soon, his breaths get choppy and sporadic, so she begins rubbing her hands up and down his back in long, slow strokes in an attempt to ease the panic.

“Match your breathing to my hands, okay? Up for in and down for out,” she instructs, demonstrating by moving her hands up and down while breathing in with her movements.

“I-I don’t—“ his voice breaks.

“Yes, you can. C’mon, let's give it a try. Ready? In—" she moves her hands up. Steve struggles through a breath, only getting halfway before a sob rips through his throat and he’s forced to exhale.

“That’s good! Try again for me, babe, you can do it. Take it slow. Now, in—“ she rubs her hands up again and, this time, he follows through. “Good, good. Now out—“ her hands drop slowly down his back as he breathes out, shaky but it’s there.

“You got it! Let’s keep doing that, okay? Just focus on my hands, there you go,” she instructs, keeping her hands at a steady, calm pace. Steve does his best to follow, getting off track when a harsh sob cuts off his breathing, but he quickly calms down. He sniffs and pulls away, a mirror image of what she did just a few minutes earlier, and gives her a small but genuine smile.

“Thanks, Robin. I’m sorry you had to see that—“ Steve tries to apologize but Robin firmly shakes her head.

“Nope! None of that crap, okay? You’re allowed to cry, Steve, especially over something like this,” she insists. Steve wipes his face and, in all honesty, he looks like shit. But it's marginally better than what he looked like before so she’ll take it.

“Now, what kind of pizza do you want?”

“Wh… what?” Steve asks, confused. Robin rolls her eyes.

“Pizza! What kind of pizza do you want, Steve?”

“Robs, it’s like nine in the morning—“

“Not for right now, dingus!” She exclaims. Honestly, this guy. “For our movie night tonight!”

“But we didn’t have one set up for tonight… Right?”

“No, but I’m initiating one! We need some decompress time and a longer conversation than the one we just had about all this,” she informs. Steve rolls his eyes and smiles.

“You don’t have to, Robbie, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do—“

“Nothing is more important to me right now than comforting my best friend, Steve,” she insists, leaving no room for question. Steve holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, okay, just making sure,” he defends. A small smile graces his face. “And uh… can we get pepperoni?”

Robin softens and pats his cheeks.

“Absolutely.”

The rest of the shift was spent in comfortable silence. Steve seemed to be in a very non-talkative mood and she respected that. He mostly spaced out, staring out the front windows or at a random spot on the wall while mindlessly fidgeting with something. Robin took one for the team and helped all the customers, giving him some much needed space. After that morning, it felt cruel to subject him to customer service.

When their long, boring shift was over, Steve insisted she put her bike in his trunk. When she tried to protest that she could just bike over there, he rolled his eyes and gave her the bitchiest look possible.

“Robin, I love you, but I’m not waiting for half an hour while you and your giraffe legs hit every pothole on the way over to my house when I could just drive you.”

Needless to say that after ten minutes of two fully grown adults struggling to get her bike in the trunk after a long shift at work, they were exhausted. Well, Steve was exhausted since he did most of the grunt work while she complained about how long it was taking but it was a team effort, she thinks.

They pull into his drive, the house lit up on the inside from nearly every room despite it being empty. Robin knows it’s because he hates the dark, hates the feeling of being alone. She doesn’t comment on it. Never has.

She rushes to the phone once they get inside, dialing the pizza place from memory and recites their order. She hears Steve huff from the living room followed by a soft thump, presumably him flopping on the couch. Hanging up the phone, she shrugs off her shoes and work vest before standing next to him and bouncing on her feet.

“Can I help you?” He looks up at her expectantly, tired eyes finding hers but looking infinitely more at peace. She grins.

“Let’s make a pillow fort!” She exclaims, grabbing his hand and tugging him off the couch. Steve groans.

“C’mon, Robs, that’s totally not necessary,” he complains despite having a smile on his face. She tugs harder, pulling him towards the hall closet where the spare sheets and pillows are stored, and ignores him. Throwing open the door with her free hand, she turns to face him.

“Suck it up and help me carry these, dingus.”

She throws a stack of sheets at his face, snickering when they mess up his hair, and grabs a few pillows. Haul successful, she heads back to the living room, Steve giving her an over dramatic eye roll for the trouble.

“We can just sit on the couch, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She questions before gesturing to the coffee table. “Now move that out of the way so we can get this thing started!”

Steve grumbles but does as he’s told. After a few minutes, they have a completed pillow fort. It’s a little wonky, just big enough for two people if they scrunch together, but it’s perfect. It’s angled directly at the TV, the seats of the chairs holding up the roof acting as personal trays for their drinks.

As soon as the last pillow is in place, the doorbell rings. Before Steve can move, Robin jumps up, rushing over to her vest and grabbing a ten out of the inside pocket. She ignores Steve's protests and opens the door, all but throwing the money at the delivery guy before grabbing the pizza and telling him to keep the change. Pizza acquired, she bounds back to the fort and flops down, placing the warm box between the two of them. In her absence, Steve has keyed up Pretty in Pink, their go-to feel-better movie.

Over the course of the movie, they eat their pizza while critiquing the characters and relationships, plot holes and bad acting, and make up their own responses to dialogue until both of them can barely breathe through their laughter. Steve returns to himself a little bit, somewhere around the first hour mark, and Robin feels accomplished that she got some of her friend back.

Once the movie is over and the pizza is gone, they lay in the dark under the protection of the fort. The blue screen from the TV reflects off the white sheets, turning their skin pale and glowing. Steve is on his back, one arm behind his head and the other resting lazily on his stomach. He looks soft, face lax and eyes a little droopy as if he’s already half asleep. Robin turns on her side to face him, one hand propping her head up while the other raises to carefully pick up Steve’s. He turns his head to look at her, and she knows he knows it’s time to talk. Really talk.

A beat of silence, then, “Why didn’t you tell me, Steve?”

He sighs and she can feel the movement under their joined hands on his stomach. He’s silent for a moment, and Robin watches as hesitation clouds his eyes.

“I thought it wasn’t important enough for you to know,” he murmurs. He’s not looking at her, instead focusing on running his fingers along hers. She stays quiet.

“I… I thought I deserved it, still do. There’s just so many feelings in here,“ he pauses to tap his heart with a sad smile, “and I don’t know what to do with them.”

“So tell me about them. What’s the biggest one right now?” Steve huffs.

“It… it sounds stupid but there's this intense misery all up here,” he gestures to his head, "paired right up there with this bitter… resentment,” a dry laugh falls from his lips and he shakes his head. “God, that sounds pathetic.”

Robin pinches his arm and diligently ignores his offended “ow!”.

“You’re not pathetic, dingus,” she corrects. She taps his heart. “Tell me about them.”

Steve sighs, eyes closing. He takes a deep breath.

“I… I have this—this sadness that just doesn’t go away. It’s like… like it knows when I’m happy and just sucks it all up.”

Robin nods and holds his hand, squeezes it to provide some comfort for him. She knows this isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. She hesitates on the next question.

“…How long have you felt like this?” Steve chews on his lip for a moment.

“As long as I can remember.”

Fuck.

Distantly, memories from a time after the Mall come flooding back.

‘Yeah,’ she thinks, remembering what he confessed that night. ‘Fuck indeed.’

“Even when I’m with people I love, it’s always there. It’s…” Steve pauses, furrows his eyebrows. “It’s like this… this dark cloud constantly floating above me that always looks like it’s going to rain, but you never know for sure if it will or not. I’m…”

Steve trails off, sucks in a harsh breath, and looks at her. His voice comes out just above a whisper, a weak thing that if she wasn’t right in front of him, Robin wouldn’t hear.

“I’m scared I’m not gonna feel happy again, Robs.”

That… That’s what brings Robin close to tears again. The quiet way he admits it, like he doesn’t want to say it too loud in fear the universe will make it come true, is enough for her eyes to sting.

“Steve…”

“I know,” he chuckles wetly, hand coming up to run through his hair as he looks away. “I know how it sounds, Robbie. Trust me, I do. If I could fix it, I would, but I don’t know how—“

“You don’t have to fix it, Steve,” she interrupts. “You’re not broken, this… this is just another part of you. One that you are just now letting yourself show. You don’t have to be the perfect, put-together, level-headed person all the time, and no one expects that of you.”

She pauses to look him properly in the eyes, trying to drive her point home. “You’re allowed to be sad, Steve. You’re allowed to feel, you know that, right?”

Steve looks at her, tears falling steadily down his cheeks as he shakes his head. He didn’t know. Robin feels her heart breaking for him, a deep pang in her chest as her soulmate cries in front of her. She wipes his tears away with her thumb, noting how his eyes flutter shut at the touch.

“Keep going,” she gently commands. She runs her hand through his hair, scratching a little at his scalp when he leans into it. He huffs, air fanning across her face.

“It’s really more of a frustration but I… I don’t understand why this keeps happening to me. Why the people I love keep fucking leaving me. I mean… I’m the common factor, right? So I’m the problem,” Steve ventures. “Always have been.”

The last part is added under his breath but Robin hears it. He’s always had a bit of a self-deprecating streak but this is something else. Something deeper, more real.

She gives a small tug at his hair to signal him to keep going.

“All I wanted was for my parents to be proud of me. I worked myself to death just trying to get an ounce of affection, of love, but it was useless. I was never good enough.”

A pause. He sniffs.

“Then Nancy came along and I thought, ‘yeah, I can love her and she can love me back,’” a small, fond smile graces his face, one he always gets when he talks about his past with Nancy. One that means he’s remembering the good times before everything went downhill. There’s no longing there, not anymore.

“I thought that I could finally show someone all these feelings kept inside of me and get some in return,” Steve quietly confesses, then pauses again. That fond look sours, and his mouth forms a stern line. “Guess that was bullshit, huh?”

He spits out ‘bullshit’ like it's laced with poison, followed by a hollow laugh. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and keeps going.

“I thought she was it for me but she… She wanted Jonathan. She wanted someone better, and who am I to blame her for that? I’d want someone better if I was her, too.”

“You did everything right with the situation you were given, Steve. It’s perfectly okay to want some normalcy after what you saw, what you went through. You and Nancy just don’t deal with trauma the same way, and that’s okay too,” Robin reassures. She lets some bitterness seep into her voice, because yes, she is mad at Nancy on Steve’s behalf. “What’s not okay is the fact that she cheated on you, and you’re allowed to be hurt by that.”

He pats her hand, a silent understanding. She nods. “Keep going.”

“After that, I tried to become a better person. A better influence for the kids to be around. I wanted to be someone they could go to, a figure they could always trust and lean on for anything. Someone I wish I had as a kid,” there’s a sadness in his voice as he says that, a tone he always gets when he talks about his childhood. Robin taps her fingers against his scalp to get him to look at her. She smiles at him, and he gives a small one in return. He keeps talking.

“They need to feel safe in this shitty town that decides losers and freaks should be shunned, that they’re bad for being a little different,” his voice is filled with anger as he grinds the words out, words she has a suspicion are directed at the people who pay the bills for the very house they’re laying in.

“But none of it ever mattered because they found someone else to do that for them, to be that for them.” Robin gives him a confused look.

“Who?”

“Eddie,” Steve reveals, face forming a small smile as the name slips through his lips. He looks… fond, in a sad way.

It only confuses Robin further.

“I don’t blame him for any of this, by the way,” he clarifies. “I doubt he even realizes it. And they… They’re just kids, I can’t blame them for choosing the better option.

“Eddie shares their interests in their little nerd game, something I can’t even begin to comprehend. He’s funny and charming and outgoing, and he's so, so good with the kids,” he smiles once he rambles about Eddie, a small thing that Robin realizes is similar to the one he wears when he talks about his past with Nancy. Except this one… this one is bigger. Better. Real.

As if realizing he’s rambling, his face loses that bit of brightness as he looks away.

“I’m mostly just angry at myself,” he admits. “I just want my family back. Even though they’ve made it very clear they don’t want me in return… I still want them.”

He looks up at her then, face contorted with resentment she can tell is only directed towards himself. “Isn’t that fucked up? Isn’t that just perfectly fucking tragic?”

It’s a rhetorical question, one she doesn’t need to answer. She can’t say anything to help, anyway. Steve wipes a hand harshly over his eyes, irritating the skin and making it red. He lets out an emotionless huff, sniffing a bit through his nose. He looks… exhausted.

“Steve,” she whispers. He looks at her, and she finally asks one of the questions that’s been bugging her since this morning. “When was the last time you slept?”

He stares at her blankly, eyes darting around as if he's visualizing the math he’s doing in his head. All of the fanfare tells her he’s not sure when, and her suspicion is confirmed when he shrugs.

“I uh… don’t really remember. The days kinda all blend together, ya know?”

She nods. She does know, the days after their run-ins with the Upside Down always seem to pass by in a blur. The doctors say it’s something to do with trauma, the brain needing time to fully process everything that happened and causing the time to slip by. This time there is no Upside Down, no mortal peril or end of the world, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

She’s realized a lapse in post-nightmare phone calls from Steve recently, but just figured it was because he was getting better. They usually dwindle down to two or three a week after a few months, something they’ve all found to be relatively normal after what they went through. She never considered that it was because he wasn’t sleeping at all.

“That um… well, that kinda leads me to my next point. Uh…” Steve huffs, running a hand through his hair—something she knows he does with he’s nervous. She waits.

“I’ve not been sleeping because I’m not exactly… at home… every night.”

What?

“What?” Robin questions, eyebrows scrunching in confusion. An idea comes to her head, and she smirks internally.

“Where the hell are you going then? Are you,” she gasps, hand clutching mock pearls around her neck, "fulfilling your title as the resident man whore of Hawkins? Hooking up with the female population while living under my roof?” She waves her finger at him, giving him an overdramatic grumpy face and shaking her head in fake disappointment. “How dare you, young man!”

Steve laughs at her declaration, face a little pink from the accusation, and shakes his head.

“No, Robbie, I’m not ‘hooking up’ or whatever,” he rolls his eyes, as if finding the claim absolutely absurd. Even if it’s already half true.

“Actually, I’ve been uh… patrolling. Hawkins. Um, at night and stuff…”

Robin blinks.

“What does,” she pauses and makes sure to physically add quotation marks with her fingers, “‘and stuff’ mean exactly?”

“It means that I’m trying to be proactive, okay? Every time the Upside Down has come for us, we’ve been unprepared. Surprised. If I can prevent that from happening, give everyone a bit of a heads up, then it’ll be worth it,” he explains. “I know El–Jane? Whatever–said she closed it but we’ve thought that before and it’s come back so… better safe than sorry.”

Steve flops his head back on the pillow behind him, staring up at the sheet ceiling rather than at her. Robin doesn’t mind, as long as it gets him to talk. Kinda gross she can see his nose hairs now, though. He sighs.

“I’ve been going out at night with my bat and checking all the gates, all the spots they’ve come through before, to make sure they’re gone. Every night. Sometimes I don’t finish until early morning, sometimes it’s only a couple hours but… yeah,” he finishes ineloquently.

So, he’s a dumbass. His intentions are good, don’t get her wrong, but the execution… is not the greatest. No wonder he’s exhausted. Speaking of—

“Wait, so when do you actually sleep?”

“Only when I can’t physically stand to be awake anymore. My body kinda… shuts down,” Steve says, like it’s nothing. Like that’s not the most depressing thing she’s ever heard. Like it’s not entirely unhealthy. He huffs a laugh.

“The first time it happened, it scared the shit outta me. Thought I was dying. Turns out you’re not supposed to be awake for like… four days straight,” he recalls, face light like he’s talking about a fond memory instead of passing out from exhaustion. “On the bright side, I don’t have as many nightmares now. Don’t think my brain can keep up with all that.”

His version of a ‘bright side’ is decidedly equivalent to the darkest depths of the Mariana Trench because what the actual fuck—

“Steve…” she trails off, voice wobbly with fear for her best friend. She begs to know why he’s doing this, why he’s risking his life and sanity again, why he always seems to play the self-sacrificial card even when it’s not necessary. Even when no one asks him to. “Why?”

She expects him to crumble again, to fall apart at the realization that he’s tearing himself apart on his own volition. She expects him to cry out apologies, to scream and rant and hit things just to let all his emotions out. She expects her platonic soulmate, who carries the weight of too-heavy emotions on his shoulders and in his heart, to show his cards and let it all out.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he closes his eyes. He, at this moment, looks peaceful. Content. Like his world isn’t crumbling down around him. Like he—

Like he’s accepted it.

Accepted the anger and hate and rejection from the people he loves. Accepted the endless nights of walking and hunting and searching just in case. Accepted keeping all of this—his thoughts, his emotions, his vulnerability, his love—to himself.

Accepted that his love will never be returned, so why even try to live for it anymore?

The last shards of her heart shatter completely.

“Even though they don’t want me anymore, I have to keep them safe. It’s my job. It’s what I’m meant—what I’m expected to do,” he insists. His voice is an even, calm tone. No waver, no hesitation. “I’m so scared that it’ll come back and I’ll—we’ll be too late.”

She doesn’t miss his corrections, but doesn’t point them out either.

“You know it’s not all up to you, right? There’s other people—me for one, Joyce and Hop, Wayne and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan, and… fuck it, probably that Murray guy too—that are willing to help. That can help,” she suggests gently. “You don’t have to fight all your battles alone, ya know. Sometimes you need a little help, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Steve has his eyes open now and is looking at her. Not in a sad way, or ashamed or angry or anything of the sort. He’s just… looking. Looking just to look.

“I… I think somewhere deep down I know that, that you’re all here, but it’s just so hard to accept. It’s hard to believe it, Robs,” he confesses. “I’m sorry.”

Robin smiles at him, a soft thing that feels like melted butter on pancakes or a warm summer morning. She pats his cheek a couple times.

“Stop saying sorry, dingus, or I really will follow through with that promise of throttling you into another concussion.”

Steve laughs, short and sweet as if it took him by surprise, and shakes his head a little.

“Sorry, it’s just a habit.”

“You just said it again!”

“Fuck, sorry—"

“Steve!“

“Sorry—“

“Steve!“

“Sor—“ Robin cuts him off by pinching his lips together with her fingers, making him look like a deformed baby duckling. The imagery has her snorting and Steve follows soon after, only laughing because she is, until they’re both clutching their sides and gasping for breath.

He looks younger like this, when he’s laughing. Like the Upside Down never happened. Like his father never happened. Like he’s just a kid.

She has the striking realization that he is just a kid. He’s only nineteen, barely even a legal adult, yet he’s seen enough shit for a lifetime. Really, he’s been an adult for far longer than two years, far longer than anyone should have been at his age. He barely had time to just be a kid but now, here, when he’s laughing with her, so carefree and innocent… she thinks he might finally be letting himself feel like one again.

To think that earlier in the day, she was mad at his dumb ass for not driving her to work. Funny how a few hours can change someone’s whole perspective, huh?

Speaking of…

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s with the duffle and box in your car?”

Steve’s face falls, and that light he held from earlier has all but vanished. He huffs a small laugh.

“I don’t even know why that’s still in there, to be honest with you,” he confesses. Clear that he isn’t going to continue, Robin nudges him with her hand. He sighs.

“Sometimes when I go out at night, I don’t really uh… remember everything,” he starts. “I kinda zone out a bit? Like my head isn’t screwed all the way to my body and the connection’s all wonky.”

“Babe, it sounds like you’re dissociating,” she offers. At his confused face, she elaborates. “It’s when you kinda disconnect from yourself, and a lot of times you can’t really remember what happens.”

He nods. “So I guess I do,” he gestures to her, “that sometimes. Or, well—every time, really…” he trails off, then flicks his eyes to meet hers.

“One night, I just… I guess I needed to get out. Out of the house, out of Hawkins, who knows,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I grabbed everything I needed—or thought I needed, I guess, and shoved them in my car. I don’t remember how I got there, only that I came back in my head at the edge of town with my car pulled off on the side of the road just in front of the ‘Leaving Hawkins’ sign.

“I just sat there in my car and thought that I could just… keep going. Kept thinking that I could just follow the road, see where it takes me. Go around the curve and disappear into the trees. Leave everyone behind. Not like they’d care, anyway.”

“Hey,” she smacks his arm. “I would care, dingus. I don’t know what I’d do if you just disappeared on me.”

She doesn’t like thinking about it, about the fact that he could leave. Part of her knows it would be good for him to get out of town, to not let it hold him back from doing whatever he wanted with his life. Another part of her—the more selfish part—wants him to stay. Wants him to be with her for everything. Wants him to be there when she gets her first girlfriend, when she gets married, when she has kids. Wants him to be her other half for the rest of their lives.

The thought of him just disappearing, though… that’s one she hasn’t even considered being an option. He’s a constant in her life, always there when she needs him, and sometimes even when she doesn’t. He’s her rock, just like she’s his. Life without him… it’s something she can’t really comprehend.

“I know you would, Robs,” he begins, voice as soft as the smile on his face. “You’re one of the reasons I turned the car around that night.”

Fuck, she’s gonna cry.

“Jesus, how can you just say stuff like that?” She sniffles, not really crying but her eyes are definitely stinging. “Fuck, that’s like… the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Steve laughs and reaches up to ruffle her hair. “Don’t take it too seriously, you’re only one of the reasons.”

“I still count though!”

“Yeah, Robbie, you still count.”

Robin collects herself before flopping on Steve’s chest, right ear next to his heart. She likes listening to it, to the deep thu-thump that proves he’s alive. It always seems to calm her down.

One of Steve’s hands comes up to play with her hair and she smiles. She traces little shapes on his chest while she tries to figure out how to ask her next question. However, her thinking face must be obvious because Steve tugs her hair a little and dramatically sighs.

“Just spit it out, Robs.”

“I’m getting there! Just…” she hesitates. “What’s in the shoebox? Like… your favorite pair of shoes or something?”

She couldn’t fathom why in the hell he would bring shoes of all things with him out of town, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings if that was the case. But, judging by the incredulous look on his face, shoes are definitely not an essential item for his escape.

“Have I… never shown you the shoebox?”

“Um…” she pauses. “No? I’m pretty sure I would remember that, Steve.”

“Huh,” he huffs. “Thought I did… ”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Back to the point.”

“Right, yeah,” he takes a breath. “It’s everything the kids have ever given me. Polaroids, notes, letters, stickers, trinkets. You name it, it's probably in there. Pretty sure there's some arcade coins somewhere in there too.”

“Aw, Steve,” she starts. “That’s so sweet.”

Steve smiles a little, then—for some weird reason—blushes.

“That’s not.. all that’s in the box,” he begins. “There’s stuff from you, obviously, like our friendship bracelets and your little notes reminding me to eat or sleep or shower. Plus tons of pictures from your disposable camera you had a while back—“

“Wait, you kept those?” She interrupts. He nods. “Huh… I thought you just threw them all away.”

“Why the hell would I do that? They’re from you, Robs, I would never throw them away.”

“I mean, some of them were really bad. Like… I’m pretty sure they were all blurry in some way and I’m almost positive there’s a picture of just my thumb in there.”

Steve smiles. “There is. It’s my favorite one.”

She hits him. “Yeah, yeah, asshole.”

“No really, it is! You wanna know why?”

“Sure, why?”

“Cause in the bottom right corner you can see your smile. You were trying to take a picture of yourself, I think, but your thumb got in the way of the lens,” he grins and looks down at her. “Sometimes I take it out when I’m feeling sad just to remind myself what your smile looks like.”

God fucking damnit there he goes again.

“You know, I think you’re just trying to make me cry at this point,” she starts. Steve rolls his eyes at her.

“Just being honest, Robbie.”

“I know, shithead, that’s what’s making me cry,” she rubs her eyes, willing the stinging to go away. “What else is in there?”

“There’s still stuff from Nancy, I think. There’s one of her flashcards, a ticket stub from our first date to the movies, and there's a ribbon in there that I’m pretty sure she used to wear in her hair. But… I don’t look at them nearly as much as I do yours or… or Eddie’s.”

“Eddie’s?” She questions, because what the fuck?

“Mhm… you know how he likes giving out little trinkets to people?”

She nods. She does know, her dresser is full of them; shiny soda tabs hooked together in a little chain, bouncy balls from the little restaurant machines, and rocks that Eddie claimed were “so cool, Birdie, just look!”. There’s a little sailor figurine that’s her current favorite, given to her by Eddie shortly after her and Steve recounted their Scoops experience.

“Well, they’re all in that box. Every last one of them. All the bottle caps, buttons, D&D figurines, drawings, notes, everything,” a smile finds its way to his face, a small thing she isn’t sure he knows he’s doing. “I almost need another box just for everything he’s given me.”

“But…” she begins, hesitating. “Why put them in a box?”

“In case they come home,” Steve answers, plain and simple. She knows he’s talking about his parents, about how if they found even one little weakness of his, he’s done for.

She remembers one morning in the winter when she had woken up in Steve’s bed to the sound of distant yelling. The spot Steve normally would have been in was cold, and when she sat up she could tell that the voice was one she didn’t recognize.

She shrugged on one of Steve’s sweatshirts to fight the chill, the fabric draping her frame as she snuck down the hallway. Robin froze when she heard a sharp ‘smack’, followed by a thud. Her stomach sank and she couldn’t move. It was like her brain had disconnected from her body, leaving her limbs rooted to the spot until it came back online. The voice was still yelling, but Robin was too out of it to make sense of it in her head.

Only when she heard the slam of the front door and an engine start up did she begin to move. Thundering down the stairs, she ran down the hallway and froze at the entrance to the kitchen.

Steve was sitting on the floor, knees pressed up against his chest with his arms draped loosely over them as a bright pink whelp formed on his cheek. He was still in his pajamas and his hair was draped messily over his face, half of it pushed back as if he attempted to make it look presentable.

Robin took in a shaky breath.

“Steve…”

At the sound of her voice, Steve’s head shot up and his eyes blew wide. He immediately covered the red mark with his hand as he got to his feet.

“Robs, this isn’t what it looks like,” he stated, but Robin could tell by the waver in his voice that yes, it was.

She took a slow step towards him, holding her arms out as if he was a wild rabbit she was trying to catch and he was at risk of running away any minute. By the tense line of his shoulders and the way his eyes were flitting over her face and around the room, he was very much prepared to do just that.

“I know,” she tried to reassure, and after another step closer she could tell it was working. She stopped moving and just held out her arms, waiting. Steve collapsed into them not a moment later, chest hitching with cut-off breaths as his mind panicked. She rubbed soothing hands up and down his back.

After he had calmed down some, and his breathing was closer to normal, she broke the silence.

“Who did this, Steve?”

He gripped the back of her sweatshirt in his hands so tight, she feared he would rip the fabric. His voice came out quiet, as if saying it out loud would change everything. In a way, maybe it did.

“My… my dad,” he confessed. “I-It’s not bad, though. I knew he was in a bad mood but I pushed it anyways and he—"

“Woah, woah, slow down before you launch yourself into another panic attack,” Robin interrupted. “Steve, is this the first time it’s happened?”

“Him yelling at me? No, that’s kinda all he—“

“No, Steve,” she cut him off. “Is that the first time he’s hit you?”

Silence. Then, a small shake of his head.

Robin clenched her eyes closed as they began to sting and wondered just how long he’s been going through this, then wondered if he was doing so alone.

“Steve… does anyone know?” Robin asked, and Steve only shook his head again.

“I think Hop suspected something when I was younger, he used to come around a lot after they would come home and leave, but… he stopped coming around when I got older. Guess he thought I outgrew it,” Steve explained, and Robin’s heart ached for him.

“How long?”

“… as long as I can remember,” came his shaky whisper, and Robin only squeezed him tighter in response.

“You don’t deserve this, Steve,” she insisted. Steve immediately began to shake his head.

“No, I… I do, Robin, I was asking for it this time. He was just doing what he needed to in order to get his point across. It was my fault for trying to talk back,” Steve defended. Robin furrowed her eyebrows.

“Steve, what was he yelling about?”

“That’s… that’s not important—“

“Just answer the question, dingus,” she insisted. Steve sighed.

“He was mad that I didn’t decorate for the holidays, said that we had a reputation in this neighborhood and I was ruining it. He said he expected me to do better or else next year, I wouldn’t even have a house to decorate.”

“Steve… you realize that’s wrong , right?” She asked, but Steve just looked at her blankly.

“No, it’s a pretty simple concept. I knew I needed to decorate but between the gatherings and parties and taking the kids shopping, I didn’t have time. I should’ve made time, but I didn’t and that’s on me,” Steve explained, and Robin wanted to throttle him.

“Steve, you shouldn’t be expected to do any of that. If your parents wanted the house decorated that badly they should have called someone to come and do it or—god forbid—actually do it themselves,” she countered.

“But-“

“No ‘but’s, Steve. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it until you believe me; you don’t deserve this,” Robin stated. “Can you repeat that for me?”

“I… I don’t deserve this,” Steve muttered hesitantly.

“Good, again.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he repeated, more confident but not as strong as she’d like.

“One more time.”

“I don’t… holy shit, I don’t deserve this, Robbie,” he finished with a whisper as the words registered in his mind, taking root in the folds of his brain.

“Damn right you don’t,” she pulled back to grab his shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “We’re going to get through this.”

Steve nodded. “We’re going to get through this.”

They smiled at each other, and Robin knew that they both meant it.

“… Robin?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“I… I love you.”

“I love you too, dingus.”

After that night, Robin had made it her mission to get Steve out of the house as much as possible when his parents were home, even going as far as keeping him at her house for a whole weekend when they stopped by unexpectedly. But that fear never quite goes away, and some small part of him, she thinks, will always be afraid of his father.

“I can’t let them take away the last little things that make me happy. I just… I don’t think I could survive that, Robs.”

“I know.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Robin thinks he’s done talking until she sees him bite his lip—another sign he’s thinking about saying something.

“Then there’s the box," he starts. She blinks.

“There’s another box?” She questions. Jesus, how many could he need?

“Not a physical box, no, but one in here,” he taps his head. “It’s where I put all the things in my mind that's too big to think about by myself.”

“What’s in this box?” He smiles a fond little smile.

“Eddie.”

Um… the fuck?

“Eddie?” She asks, because she must have misheard him, right?

But Steve just nods his head, his smile growing. “Eddie.”

“Okay… what about him?”

“I… okay, I need to preface this by saying that uh… I think I like boys, too,” he confesses, voice quiet as if he’s waiting for some kind of retribution for his words. Robin, on the other hand, is in the middle of a spontaneous cardiac event because what the everloving fuck?

“What?!” She screeches, sitting up suddenly and causing Steve’s hand to fall from its place in her hair. He winces due to their close proximity. “Wait, wait, wait… you mean to tell me that you, Steve Harrington, are into guys?”

Steve shrinks back on himself a little at her disbelieving tone, face closing off, and she can see in real time the mask quickly sliding into place. Immediately, she backtracks.

“Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” She rushes out, face flushing. “Obviously, it’s okay for you to like guys, I mean it would be totally hypocritical of me to say you can’t. Not that I have any say in who you can or can’t like anyway! I mean, you’re your own person after all, it’s just… very unexpected and I—"

"Robin," Steve interrupts. "You're rambling again."

"Oh," she breathes out and snaps her jaw shut, giving him a sheepish smile. "Sorry, uh… keep going."

“Well, it’s um… It’s not really that unexpected on my end,” Steve reveals, and Robin’s mind blows a little bit further. “When I was younger, I never really understood why being gay was frowned upon by some people because I just… I felt that way about guys sometimes too.”

And that was… what?

“Tommy was the first guy who really stood out in my head. We became friends in grade school and he just… he was always there. I remember looking at him sometimes and wanting to count his freckles or hold hands when we walked. I never did, of course, ‘cause he made his opinions about queer people very clear.

“Outside of the whole asshole thing, he was actually pretty nice. Well, when he wanted to be, anyway,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Steve glances at her and looks away, cheeks flushing a little.

“Then it was uh… Billy Hargrove.”

Now that… that threw her for a fucking loop.

“Hold up, Billy?!” She shrieks. “Like… the same Billy that broke a plate over your head? Who beat you unconscious and left you with a concussion?”

Steve nods, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. Robin groans, burying her face in his chest. Of course he’s going to have the worst possible taste in men.

“Okay, it was before he beat me unconscious, but still! I didn’t like Billy as a person, obviously, just appreciated his general… you know… sex appeal,” he clarifies. She groans again.

“Hey, he was hot!” He defends. He runs a hand over his face before continuing. “I didn’t want to date him or anything, but the fact that I was interested in him at all was terrifying at the time. I didn’t know what it meant, so I pushed it all to the back of my mind and locked it away.”

“Hence the box,” she confirms. He nods. There’s silence, and when Steve doesn’t continue, she prompts him.

“Then there’s Eddie.” He smiles and nods.

“Then there’s Eddie,” he repeats. His face lights back up just at the mere mention of him, and Robin can’t help but to smile as well.

“Tell me about him,” she asks, and immediately knows that’s the wrong move because if it’s one thing Steve picked up on during their friendship so far, it’s Robin’s tendency to ramble.

“Looking back on it, I think I had a crush on him in school, too. The way he would attract the attention of everyone in the room just by his presence alone was almost breathtaking, and I found myself looking over at his lunch table more times than I could count,” he admits. A blush has found its way to his cheeks, settling high on his cheekbones.

“The way he would spout nonsense about society and expectations made me realize that we were similar in that way, having a need to be different from everyone else, to get away from the normalcy of it all. I was unable to look away, to focus on anything else because he was always there and my mind was very, very weak.

“And it was fine in school, because I knew nothing would ever come from it ‘cause he made it clear he hated rich, popular jocks and… well, I fit into that category pretty well. There was no way he would ever like me, so after I graduated that infatuation kinda fizzled out.

“Then, the kids started talking about Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, and I knew that it had to be the same one because no other nerd would be willing to run a D&D club in Hawkins of all places,” he huffs a little laugh, more of a push of air through his nose, but the smile on his face is as gooey as freshly baked brownies.

“When I started picking the kids up, I’d see him across the parking lot and that infatuation came rushing back. The way he’d run out of the double doors with a flourish grand enough to rival a king yet immediately trip on the lip of the concrete was so endearing that it would never fail to make me laugh.

“Then I got to actually know him, and I think that’s when I knew,” Steve finishes, and Robin can’t hold back a grin. One thing that will never get old is hearing Steve talk about the people he cares about. Hear him talk about all the little things he notices, the little quirks and intricacies of those around him. It’s just… it’s nice to know that someone sees.

“So, what else do you like about him?” She asks, and the dopey grin that blooms on his face is enough to make her wonder if sometime during this conversation, he managed to get high without her noticing.

“He’s so sweet, Robbie! He gets all shy when you compliment him and does that thing where he hides behind his hair but it does absolutely nothing to hide his face,” he begins, hands gesturing as he talks. “Speaking of his hair, it looks so soft. I just wanna run my fingers through it and fluff it up.”

Steve groans, covering his face with his hands. It takes all of Robin's willpower not to outright cackle at how gone her best friend is. He rakes his hands down his face, stretching his skin as he fixes his eyes on the sheet ceiling above them.

“God, he’s so hot, Robs. Seriously, I think I’m going to spontaneously combust every time I see him. The whole rocker persona really does it for me.”

“I mean… it kinda sounds like you have a type.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Steve grumbles, squinting his eyes at her.

“No, I’m serious! Hot, curly hair, deceptively smart with a firecracker attitude… I mean Nancy and Eddie are practically the same person,” she ventures.

“I guess you’re right. Billy was just a physical attraction, though. Dick didn’t have any real personality to appeal to,” he mutters the end of that sentence, but she snorts anyway. Then, his eyes blow wide. “Wait, is that considered speaking ill of the dead, or whatever?”

Robin shrugs. “He deserves it.”

“Yeah, he kinda does… still miss that ass, though—ow!”

Robin cuts him off by smacking his chest, hard. “Ew, gross! I totally did not need to visualize that oh my god.”

Steve snickers underneath her, giggles bubbling out his throat. She only rolls her eyes at him before smacking him again.

“You got off track again, dingus,” Robin reminds him and he sends a sheepish smile her way. “What else about Eddie?”

“He…” Steve pauses, and his lips quirk upwards. “He always looks so soft, underneath all the denim and leather. Like… he gets this look on his face sometimes, like he’s feeling all the love in the world, and I find myself wanting to be the reason that look is there. I wanna see him early in the morning when he hasn’t had his coffee yet and he’s all sleep rumpled and soft and domestic and I wanna wake up to him like that everyday, Robs.

“I wanna watch him grumble and talk to himself and fuss over breakfast. I wanna take the kids places with him and lean against his side while we watch the gremlins run around. I wanna look into his eyes in the morning sunlight and watch how they shine amber up close.

“I wanna trace his dimples with my finger, then his lips, and his jawline, and his neck, too. I wanna cuddle with him after a long shift at work and lean against him as he practices guitar and watch movies while holding hands in the dark and kiss him. Fuck, I wanna kiss him so bad. I wanna kiss him until our breath runs out and then some, ‘cause I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.”

Steve looks… Well, there's only one word for it. He looks like he’s in love. His eyes have gone soft, staring off as if he’s visualizing Eddie in front of him. His face is relaxed, a smile she now recognizes as his ‘Eddie smile’ grows.

It falls a little bit as the silence stretches, and he looks down at his hand laying idly on his chest. He starts fiddling with the fabric there, running his thumb along a fold.

“I tried to get closer to him after he got out of the hospital, and it worked for a little while. We would hang out here most of the time, watching movies or talking under the stars outside, but… I could tell he was holding me at arms length. Like he couldn’t accept that I was different. That I wanted to be there.”

He looks at her, smile turning a little sad.

“Then he stopped initiating hangouts and every time I offered, he would say no or claim he had something to do before rushing off. So I just took it as it was and stopped trying,” he sighs.

Robin thinks back to every interaction she’s seen between the two of them, how Eddie was always quick to leave and never lingered like he used to. How he almost seemed… nervous around Steve. Hesitant.

That fucking dumbass.

She starts to get up, only pausing her efforts to untangle their limbs.

“What—where are you going?” She huffs.

“To the trailer park,” she starts. Limbs finally free, she sits back on her knees and crosses her arms. “I’m going to knock some sense into that damn metalhead and probably kill him for hurting my best friend.”

Steve snorts and drags her back down on top of him.

“It’s okay, Robs, you don’t have to do anything. Promise me you won’t hurt him?”

“Ugh, fine. I promise or whatever,” she reluctantly agrees, and lays her head back down on his chest.

A beat of silence, then—

“Can I at least punch him a little?”

A pause.

“Okay, I’ll let you get away with that,” Steve amends. “But only light punching. I know you know how to throw a mean right hook and if I see Eddie with even a single bruise on his pretty face I think I’ll go into mourning.”

Robin giggles at his statement, and Steve just rolls his eyes at her before letting out a giggle of his own.

“I’m serious!” He tries to be stern, but the giddy smile on his face is a far cry from the nature of his words.

“I know, I know,” Robin says, holding back another wave of giggles. “Man, you’re really gone on him, aren’t you?”

Steve nods sadly.

“I want to tell him that I like him, Robs, but I can’t,” he confesses. “It’s.. it’s breaking me inside, to have all these feelings for someone and know you can never do anything about it.”

“Steve…”

“It’s terrifying just thinking about telling him because what if? What if he thinks I’m just fucking with him and shuts me out completely? What if he’s a homophobe or thinks that I just wanna use him as an experiment or something? Cause I don’t, not like that.”

“Steve,” she tries to interject, knowing that he’s working himself up. He ignores her.

“But as much as I hate holding all this… all this shit inside, it's still better than telling him. I don’t…I don’t think I could handle it if he rejected me,” he finishes. The ‘I don’t think I could survive it’ goes unsaid, but not unheard.

He finally looks at her, and she notes the sad acceptance in his eyes. His face threatens to crumble, as does hers, but they hold it together.

“Robbie, am I crazy for feeling like this?” He asks, voice a near whisper. “For falling for someone who hates me?”

She smiles sadly, placing a hand on his cheek and causing a tear to fall from his eye. She wipes it away with her thumb.

“You’re not crazy, Steve,” she reassures. “I know how it feels, how scary it is to like someone like that. It sucks, but it’ll only get better if you talk about it.”

He smiles a little. “I do feel a little better now, actually.”

“See? Talking helps, and I’m always here to listen,” she insists. She lays her head back down on his chest, not taking her hand away from his face, and slowly wipes away the stray tears that fall from his eyes. She vaguely registers that her thumb is acting as a mini windshield wiper for his face. The thought makes her smile.

Steve takes a deep breath, the movement causing her head to raise with it, and she knows there’s something else on his mind. She waits.

“Is…” he whispers, hesitating. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… I like boys, but I like girls too. That part hasn’t changed for me but… can I do that? Like, is that…” he trails off. “Is that allowed?”

“Yeah, Steve, that’s allowed. You can like whoever you want to, it doesn’t change who you are,” she reassures. Steve lets out a breath, like he was holding it in lieu of her answer.

“But… What am I then? I mean… I can’t be half gay and half straight, right?” He asks.

At that, Robin thinks back to a few zines she got on her and Steve’s first trip to Indy. She had been wanting to go ever since she came out to Steve on the grimy bathroom floor high on drugs, when he had accepted her with no questions asked. She had always heard things about Indianapolis, about how it was so much different than the little town of Hawkins. How there were so many more people, so many different types of people, and she just had to see it for herself.

A couple months after Starcourt, when school was just beginning to take off, Robin had asked if they could go on a day trip somewhere, just to get out before they were stuck there for the winter months and holidays. Steve had agreed, of course, and they piled in his fancy car and made short work of the two-hour trip to the city.

It was bigger than they expected, people milling about the streets and tall buildings surrounding them. Parking was a total bitch, but once they got their feet on the ground there was no stopping them. They bought shitty hot dogs off the street, popped into a bunch of little stores for the sole reason just to look, and even ventured into the fancy stores to make fun of their obscene prices.

“Robs! I want you to guess how much this shirt is.”

“Uh… like ten bucks?”

“Try seventy-five.”

“Holy shit! It’s so ugly!!”

“I know! God, rich people are weird.”

“Steve… you are rich.”

“Yeah, but I have taste. That’s different.”

“Keep telling yourself that, dingus.”

They were beginning their trek back to the car when a small, multi-colored flash caught her eye. A rainbow flag sticker was stuck to the store-front window of a small record shop, and Robin immediately grabbed Steve and pulled him in.

“Robs, what—“

“Shut up, and come with me. I might’ve found something.”

She didn’t wait for his response, only shoved open the shop door with a huff. The bell above her jingled, and a woman behind the counter nearby looked up from a magazine on the desk below her.

“Hi there, welcome to Rainbow Records!” The lady greeted them. “New releases are in this bin here,” she gestured to a bin full of records next to her, “and all other records are sorted by genre and alphabetically.”

Immediately, Robin was in love with her. She had long black hair that was shaved on the sides, the top of it pulled back into a sort of half-bun. Her ears were full of piercings, some dangling almost to her shoulders, that matched the flowy skirt she was wearing.

She felt Steve nudge her with his elbow, and that was when she realized she had been staring rather intently with her mouth hanging open like a newborn baby bird waiting for its mama to puke up worm goo for food. She snapped it closed with an audible click.

“Sorry, uh… Hi! Thank you for uh— that. I… um,” she floundered and pointed to herself. “Robin.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Robin. I’m Delia,” she responded, smiling before looking her up and down.

“We also have a room in the back you might be interested in. There’s an assortment of different media back there I think you’ll enjoy,” Delia said before she winked at her, and Robin knew she was in the right place.

“Well, Robs?” Steve spoke up behind her, quiet enough to not be overheard. She had almost forgotten he was there. “You wanna go look?”

It was more than a question, it was an out. It was his way of asking if she was ready, if she wanted him to be a part of this, too. If she wanted him to be a part of this stage in her life, this self-discovery.

She looked back at her best friend, whose face was so open and earnest that it made a huge smile bloom on her face.

“Hell yeah,” she said with a grin. “Let's do this, dingus!”

She grabbed his hand and walked up to the counter, and Delia pointed her head towards a small hallway on the other side of the room that Robin only just now noticed.

“It’s back there whenever you’re ready to look,” she informed. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. Both of you.”

“Thanks, Delia,” Robin responded, blushing enough to be seen from outer space, and looked up at Steve, whose face was a similar shade of red. She rolled her eyes and dragged Steve behind her into the room.

It was dimly lit, giving it a cozy atmosphere that made her feel completely at home. Posters and colorful flags lined the walls, with pictures of queer artists and figures as well as local drag queens and advertisements for different underground clubs filling in the gaps. There were different sections for movies, books, music, and magazines, all with different subcategories depending on which sexualities they included.

Robin’s eyes began to sting. She had spent years of her life feeling like the only person in the world, knowing that she would never find anyone like her in Hawkins and trying miserably to make peace with that. Then Steve came along and accepted her with open arms and zero complaints, and it made her feel a little less lonely.

But now, looking at a room filled from wall to wall with things by people like her? By people who knew what it was like to fall for people society says you shouldn’t fall for, by people who have defied what society said and expressed themselves anyway? It was enough to bring her to tears.

“Woah, hey, Robbie,” Steve began, moving in front of her to block her view. His hands came to rest on her cheeks, wiping away her tears as they fell. “What’s wrong? Is it too much?”

Robin shook her head, clenching her eyes closed.

“Happy tears,” she laughs wetly, hand coming up to wipe away a tear that snaked its way under her chin. “They’re happy tears, promise.”

Steve pulled her into a tight hug, hands wrapping solidly around her and she instantly felt better. She melted into him and hugged him back, and the two of them stayed there until she pulled away.

“Alright, help me find some hot women, okay?”

Steve laughed that big, loud laugh of his and Robin couldn’t help but to join him. They sorted through all of it; books, movies, and magazines alike. She went home that night with two books, a handful of magazines, and more knowledge than she ever imagined having about being queer.

It was time she put it to good use.

“Have you ever heard of the term ‘bisexual’?” She asks. He shakes his head. “It means liking both, Steve.”

He goes silent, so quiet she would have thought he stopped breathing too if she wasn’t still laying on his chest. His mouth silently forms the word, before a smile breaks out on his face.

“Bisexual. I think… I think that’s me,” he confirms.

“Now tell me properly this time,” she suggests. He smiles at her, and she can’t contain a smile of her own.

“I’m bisexual, Robbie,” he says, his words full of genuine confidence.

“Thank you for telling me, Steve.”

They smile at each other, both so wide she’s surprised their faces haven’t split in half yet. She scoots up to wrap him in a hug, laughing a little when his arms immediately squeeze her back.

Turns out her best friend, her platonic with a capital P soulmate, is more like her than she thought.

———

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