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serasvictoria · 2 years ago

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Title: Roller Queen

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary: A heatwave has hit Hawkins and bored out of his mind, Eddie tries to find something to do. He finds that something in the Palace Arcade…

Word Count: 6997

Content Warning: 18+ mdni. Semi-public sex. Oral sex (male receiving). Vaginal fingering.

Notes: This is what you get when you spend quite some time on Pinterest during a heatwave and suddenly finding a picture that just inspires you. The picture is all the way at the end, it just worked for me.

There is also one mention of the name Arlo in this and that's what I called the unnamed Hellfire member aka Corroded Coffin’s bass player, also known as the titular “Freak”. There’s an entire backstory in regards to why I gave him that name, but I won’t bore anyone to tears with that particular HC.

Betaread by @adrille88 Thanks again ❤️ Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

If he was really honest with himself, Eddie had to admit that he kind of liked heatwaves.

All the assholes would leave the town of Hawkins, abandoning the hot and humid place like a bunch of rats leaving a sinking ship, and they’d go spend a couple of days at their log cabins near some lake, leaving all the less fortunate residents behind.

Not that he thought that he was less fortunate, fuck no. He wouldn’t want golden boy Jason Carver’s shiny life. Sitting next to mommy, wearing his Sunday best and listening to daddy as he preached fire and brimstone to the congregation as they clutched their crucifixes. Lord knew where the bastard was now. Probably forced to suck up to some senator’s kid whilst he pretended that he wasn’t from some backwater shithole in Indiana.

So yeah, heatwaves weren’t all that bad. Besides, you could dress for the heat.

He was currently lazing about on the porch in an old pair of jeans that were cutoff right above the knee. His Motörhead shirt (which he had also modified after he tore it making it sleeveless as well as a little bit too short) was in a crumpled heap right next to him.

The only thing that was bugging him at the moment was trying to decide what to do.

It was the first summer after graduation, so he should have been spoiled for choice, but sadly that was not the case at all.

Steve and Robin were at work, like Jeff, and he didn’t feel like bothering them at their workplaces. Again. Dustin was at some kind of robotics camp. Wheeler had joined the Byers family for their last summer in California before they moved back to Hawkins. The Sinclairs were visiting relatives, as was Gareth. Arlo had been signed up for summer classes by his mother because he was failing a couple of classes.

So there was currently no one that he could shoot the shit with.

Usually Eddie wouldn’t have any problems on his own, he’d almost grown accustomed to it when he was a kid, but he was bored out of his mind at the moment. Didn’t help that he was coming off his previous high as well.

Absentmindedly scratching his neck, he brushed away some of the locks of hair that had come loose from his ponytail and that were sticking to his sweaty skin. He’d already taken a cold shower earlier and even that wasn’t enough to fight the heat.

The AC had also gone on the fritz at the worst possible time so staying in his bedroom wasn’t an option. Which meant that jacking off was off the cards, too. Because hey, when in doubt, jerk off. It was basically an unwritten rule.

Everyone that was still in town had either gone to the community pool or the woods, but those weren’t really places where we wanted or could go to. Lover’s Lake and Skull Rock were places that were worth considering, but you never knew if you’d disturb anyone whilst there and some people didn’t take too kindly to having an audience. And even if they were keen to have onlookers, that didn’t automatically mean that they’d want him there.

There wasn’t really much else to do apart from aimlessly driving through town until he found something that was worth his while.

Getting to his feet with a groan, he stretched out, grabbed his discarded shirt from the couch and put it on. His keys and cigarettes were on the small table next to him so he pocketed the packet of smokes and then locked the front door (even if no one was insane enough to attempt to steal anything from them, what with them having the good old Munson name and all).

As expected the van was hot as hell, so he rolled the windows all the way down on both sides before starting the engine and heading out of the trailer park in search of something to do.

Driving around town, he’s reminded of that Ghost Town song by The Specials (Robin was going through a bit of a ska phase at the moment) and before he knew it he was humming it which was in stark contrast to the Megadeth song, Wake Up Dead, that was currently blasting through the speakers.

Despite having previously decided that he wasn’t going to go to Family Video, he found himself driving in that direction anyway. Maybe Eddie could convince Steve to give him access to his backyard so he could have a dip in his pool in exchange for a couple of joints? Worth a shot.

This brought him right past the arcade, which was practically next door, a place that he hadn’t set foot in for quite some time. Together with Harrington, he seemed to have earned the dubious privilege of dropping the kids off there quite frequently, but he never joined them despite Henderson asking him to do so every single time.

He wasn’t about to have his ass kicked by some kid at-

Eddie swore that his eyes were seconds away from rolling out of their sockets.

All that he caught was a quick peek through the open doors of the arcade, but it had been enough to make him punch the brakes of his van and he came to a standstill right in front of the building.

Eddie had never parked his van so fast in his life.

When he got out of the van and walked across the asphalt to his destination, nerves set in, which was insane when he really thought about it. Why was he even nervous? Was it because he was seconds away from shooting his shot and potentially getting horrifically turned down?

The name of the place was lit up in purple neon on the awning over the doorway. Unbelievable that this was something that could make him set foot in the place after all this time, having seemingly graduated from it many years previous, constantly proclaiming that it wasn’t “his scene” since books and board games were more his thing.

That was a better excuse than saying that he had simply been unable to afford it. Money had always been tight in the Munson household and wasting a couple of quarters on something that he couldn’t even take home with him or put in his belly seemed pointless.

There’s an acne stricken teenager sitting on a folding chair next to the open door, a look of annoyance on his face that betrayed the fact that he didn’t want to be here at all.

“There’s a change machine inside. You know where to find me if it stops working,” he says with a bored tone when Eddie passes him by. The kid doesn’t say it, but his line sounds well practiced, leading him to believe that the aforementioned machine must have some issues.

It also sounds like the kid has no intention of going inside unless he absolutely must.

So that means that no one will see Eddie crash and burn if he does. And if he doesn’t, there won’t be anyone to disturb him either, so it was a win-win situation no matter what.

It was cooler inside, but only slightly. The AC was old and far too small to cool such a large space, but it still tried to do its job to the best of its abilities.

There were plenty of noises around him, machines beeping in an attempt to make him look at them, to make him see what he could play if he would only give them a couple of coins. He barely even seems to notice them at all, not caring about what the games have to offer him.

Not now.

The row of games that were visible from the door are all vacant. No one’s there to pour over them, desperately trying to win, so he moves on to the row next to it as he tries to find what he’s looking for. He’s about to turn the corner into the third, already somewhat convinced that his mind had been playing tricks on him, that the heat had fried his brain, when he comes to a sudden standstill and simply stares at the image before him.

Eddie had not imagined it, hadn’t gotten a severe case of heatstroke, hadn’t witnessed a mirage or anything of the sort. Even if mirage was probably the best word to describe what he was looking at.

You were leaning over the controls of one of the machines, tapping away at the buttons and moving the joystick back and forth.

That in itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Dustin often spoke of you with awe in his voice, regaling everyone with how good you were at the games at the arcade. You and Max held a lot of the high scores and that was pure catnip to the younger boys who only cared about trivial things like that. The fact that you were older only seemed to make you more appealing to them.

A fellow nerd.

An older fellow nerd.

An attractive, older fellow nerd.

Eddie had never really gotten it until now, but that was more down to what you were wearing, which was a lot more revealing than what you had worn when you still walked through the hallways of Hawkins High. Hell, Principal Higgins would probably have a heart attack if someone wore that to school.

In an effort to fight the heat, you were wearing a pair of cut off blue sweatpants, which were so short that they might as well be hotpants, and a dark blue bikini top. And on your feet were the signature roller skates that were very much an extension of yourself as it were.

He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen you without them when you weren’t in school or working. There’s even a story about how you kicked Andy Collins in the balls with them once, but no one has ever been able to confirm that particular story since it was very much based on hearsay.

It is a fact however that Andy doesn’t seem to sniff around you quite as much as he does with every other (single) female in town. Had to be a reason for that.

The corner of your mouth twitches, so you definitely noticed that you had an audience of one by now. It would be rude not to go over to say hello, right? Right? So Eddie starts moving, unsteady on his feet all of a sudden, like he had forgotten how to walk simply because he was in the presence of such beauty.

“Hi,” he croaks out and he raises his hand in greeting. “Pretty hot outside, huh.” He mentally slaps himself for saying that, because why on Earth had he decided to state the obvious? Guess that meant that trying to act cool had gone straight out the window. His remark makes you snort though, which he supposes is a win of sorts. “Anyway. Hi.”

“Hi,” you say with a grin, doing your best not to laugh, as you look up for a few seconds before focusing all your attention back on the game. “Don’t see you round here a lot.”

“Not much of a gamer,” Eddie admits, which technically wasn’t true, but he didn’t think that he had to clarify that he was talking about video games. You would have seen him around the arcade a lot more if he was into those.

“So why’re you here then?”

“Thought I’d check the place out. Henderson’s always talking about it.”

“Ah, Henderson,” you sigh and there’s a hint of exhaustion there that almost makes him laugh. “And that’s enough to get you to show up?”

“Maybe not just that.” His eyes skate over the curve of your ass and when he looks back at your face again, he can see that your eyebrows are raised. Subtlety had never been his strong point. “Busted,” he chuckles.

“Hm,” is all that he gets out of you before you look back at the screen once more.

Eddie tries his best to feign an interest in the game that you’re playing, Bubble Bobble, by trying to keep his eyes peeled on the screen. Even thinks about commenting on the cuteness of the green dinosaur that’s blowing bubbles at his enemies, but he doesn’t out of fear of looking like a complete fool. He actually opens his mouth once with the intention of commenting on how well you’re playing, but what the hell is he supposed to say?

‘Good game, hot stuff, but do you wanna get out of here and play a real game in the back of my van instead?’

Bad idea. Really bad idea. He’d prefer it if his nuts didn’t meet the boot of your skates. That would be a horrible ending to what was turning out to be a pretty good day so far. He’d like to end it on a high if he could, preferably with your phone number scribbled on a piece of paper in his pocket.

Damn, this was easier when he could hide behind his usual bravado, but he’d already fucked that one up from the moment that he started talking to you. Hell, he couldn’t even hide behind his hair, because it was in a messy ponytail right now.

Still, you haven’t told him to fuck off just yet so it wasn’t a complete disaster. He leans back against the side of the machine next to yours and he really looks at you this time.

God damn, he had always thought that you were pretty, but fuck, you looked good enough to eat right now. He catches the glint of a bead of sweat as it rolls down your neck, following it as it makes its way down your skin and ultimately disappears into the fabric of your bikini top.

Eddie can almost taste the salt on his tongue if he thinks about it hard enough.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Your voice cuts through the first wisps of the daydream that was forming in the back of his mind, one that already had his cock twitching in his pants, seconds away from begging him to excuse himself so he could jerk off in his van.

“I would if I had a camera,” he bites back.

You shake your head and sigh and a couple of seconds later the game makes a noise, something that even a newbie like him knew wasn’t good. As if to emphasize this, the words “game over” appear on the black screen.

“Thought you were good.”

“My heart wasn’t in it,” you say while the screen starts flashing the ‘insert coin’ message on the screen in an attempt to lure in new players. “It’s this damn heat.”

“Maybe you don’t do well with an audience.”

“You’re shitting me, right? You know how many times I have those little shitheads breathing down my neck?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. “A lot?”

“Yup. I barely get any alone time as it is.”

There’s a sudden flush of guilt and he can feel his cheeks burn as they begin to color a dark shade of pink. He’s bothering you. You never said it, but that's what he reads between the lines.

“You want me to leave?” He’s already turning away from you, instantly apologetic, so he’s surprised when he feels your fingers touch his wrist.

“Did I say that?” He’s watching your hand, noticing the gentle pull on his arm which doesn’t stop until he makes no move to leave anymore. “Did I?”

Since you repeat yourself, you’re obviously expecting an answer. The only problem is that the heat combined with your touch are kind of short circuiting his brain.

Eddie eventually manages to get out a small “No?” which he considers a victory. At least it shows that he’s still capable of speech, if only a little.

“No,” you repeat after him and he’s instantly relaxed when he finds that his presence does seem to be wanted after all. He can’t stop his expression from falling a little when your hand lets go of his arm. “But you say you’re not a gamer. Maybe you just haven’t found one that you like yet.”

“Sweetheart, I haven’t been in here for years,” he says with a casual wave of his hand. “The flashing lights are about to give me an epileptic fit.”

“Was that a joke?”

“Yeah?”

“That was so funny I forgot to laugh,” you deadpan.

The flat tone of your voice makes him snort as well as make him wonder why he has never tried talking to you before.

He supposes that it was a form of thinly veiled jealousy over the kids liking you so much. But who cares about them? And why is he thinking about them so much anyway? Being in the presence of a hot girl combined with the stifling heat was really doing a number on his brain, that was for s-

You clap your hands together in front of his face, snapping him out of his thoughts for the second time since he was with you.

“Anyway!” you exclaim and clear your throat before continuing. “There’s a couple of old games in the back. Maybe you’d even recognise some of them, oldtimer. Want me to show you?”

“Which ones?”

“Pong, Death Race, Space Invaders, Asteroids… ring a bell?”

“Always was quite partial to Death Race actually.”

“Figures,” you grin. “Come on then,” you say as you push yourself away from the cabinet and start leading the way.

Eddie lets you take the lead, because it means that he can walk behind you and his eyes drop down immediately, unashamedly ogling your ass as you glide through the arcade.

On your way to the back, he hears the crinkling of plastic and watches you remove the orange wrapper from a lollipop before it disappears into your mouth. He swallows hard when your jaw moves, your cheek bulging as you keep moving the candy from side to side. He’s practically salivating as he tries very hard not to let his mind come up with images of how your cheeks would look if there was something else in your-

“There she is,” you break through his reverie again and he briefly wonders if it’s intentional, if you have some kind of inbuilt radar that alerts you whenever a guy is about to have some very impure thoughts in your vicinity. “Death Race.”

You point out the black cabinet at the end of the row of machines, the two steering wheels making it instantly recognisable. You come to a standstill right next to it and wave your hand over the front of it, like some bikini babe that they sometimes use to advertise cars.

“Goddamn,” he whistles in wonder. “Didn’t know they still had this one.”

“They do,” you reply as you stand to his left. “Don’t think they ever get rid of a game if it’s still working.” You dig around in your pocket and hold out a quarter to him. “Here. First game’s on me.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Eddie takes the quarter from your fingers and puts it in the slot. “I’ll try to make it last.”

Unfortunately it doesn’t last that long. Sadly, he’s a little bit rusty. Not that he was any good when he still came here, but he finds himself wanting to impress you as much as he can.

Eddie’s on his fourth quarter when there’s an almost sickening crunch from your direction. Eddie looks up from the screen to see you chewing on the hard candy of your lollipop and he catches you tossing the stick in a garbage bin behind you. He wants to say something, but the words die on his tongue when your hand suddenly connects with his chest and he’s pushed back against the wall.

“Hey, wh-”

-at the hell.

The rest of the sentence comes out all muffled, because your lips crash into his hard. There’s barely time to close his mouth and you enthusiastically take advantage of that by licking into his mouth, your tongue connecting with his, and he can taste nothing but oranges. When he starts kissing you back, he can taste the same artificial nectarine flavor in your lip gloss.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you in closer and you sigh when his hands start rubbing up and down your back. You even giggle when one hand dips down lower and grabs your ass cheek.

There’s no opposition from him when you push him to the side, in between the opening between the black cabinet and the wall, one that the both of you fit into neatly, effectively shielding you and him from the view of others just enough.

Not that there was anyone else there apart from the bored employee that was still sitting outside and even he wouldn’t be able to see what the pair of you are doing from where he’s sitting.

“Aren’t-“ You pull away just far enough so Eddie can look in your eyes for a split second, see how blown out your pupils are, and then you dip your head down so you can drag your lips over his neck. “Aren’t you scared that anyone might see us?”

“No.” Your reply comes far too quickly and your teeth graze his Adam's apple slightly. “Why?”

“Wh- are you serious?”

“Mhm,” you hum against his skin. He gasps when you suck on his neck hard enough to leave a mark. “So sensitive.”

“Fuck.” At least Eddie can sort of peer into the space behind you now. He catches no movement whatsoever. And it’s not as if the arcade is rigged up with security cameras either. You stick your hands underneath his shirt, your fingers finding his nipples with ease and pinching them. “Damn, sweetheart.”

“What?” You look up at him, batting your eyelids almost too innocently, and when he doesn’t reply, you lick a stripe from the dip in his collarbone all the way up to his ear. “Cute,” you say directly into his ear before you gently tug on his lobe with your teeth. “You’re cute.”

Your intent couldn’t be more clear however. You wanted him and you were laying it on so thick that it was hard to ignore. It was all in the hungry way that you kissed him, filled with lust and longing, full of heat and desire.

Even though there shouldn’t be any mistaking your intentions, Eddie still wonders when it would be acceptable to invite you into his van. If he does it too early, you might smack him for being a perv, but if he does it too late, you might mistake it for disinterest, which would be a million miles off from what he wants. If only he had talked to you before, he would know what you were like a bit more, but all he has to go on are stories from Henderson and a handful of rumors.

There’s an unexpected brush of your fingers over the front of his jeans and it’s so light that he mistakes it for being accidental at first, but when it happens again and then again, it becomes a bit more difficult to ignore.

“Oh?” The triumphant tone in your voice is impossible to miss, because now you know that he was already half hard before and that was definitely because of you. “Thought that you had a couple of rolls of quarters in your pocket, but I think I was wrong.”

“You use that line a lot?”

The words came out too easily after all so naturally he’s curious, maybe even a little jealous, but he would never admit to that.

“Please,” you chuckle, “you think so little of me?”

“I don’t know. Don’t know you that well. Unfortunately.”

“You could get to know me. If you want to.”

“Hmmm. Tough question. Let me think about it.”

Eddie meant it as a joke, obviously, but he doesn’t miss how your brows furrow and how your hand stops moving, even if you can’t seem to stop your fingernails from scratching at the fabric.

His hips end up chasing your hand when you pull it away.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Eddie blinks, suddenly confused. “Is that a trick question?”

“Nope, just an honest one.”

“No.” It’s his turn to answer quickly now. And Christ, he feels like such a fucking dickhead for giving you the impression that he might not want this. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Good,” you reply with a grin that’s bordering on feral, “because I really didn’t want to.”

“Then wh-?” He cuts off his sentence because your hand is back on his crotch again. You touch him with more intent now and he wonders if you can feel his dick twitching through the thick fabric. “Fuck.”

“Cause you looked a bit uncomfortable for a couple of seconds there. Figured that it was because of me.”

“It wasn’t, sweetheart. Trust me. Just never had a pretty girl seconds away from making me come in my pants like a schoolboy in a public place before.”

“Hmmm. I can think of something a lot better than that.” His eyes widen when you drop down onto your knees and start undoing his belt. “All you need to do is stay quiet.” A strangled kind of noise comes out of his mouth and it makes you grin even wider. “Think you can do that?”

“I’ll fucking try,” he squeaks out when you pull his pants down roughly to expose his underwear and his pale thighs. “I’ll really fucking try.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.” Your hand rubs over the front of his boxers and he groans low in his throat. “No louder than that, okay?” You pull the last cloth barrier down, unveiling his cock and it proudly stands at attention. “Oh god,” you say, obviously impressed, “prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh yeah?” You lick at the glistening bead of precum on the tip and your eyes close briefly as you taste him. The noise you make is exaggerated, but fuck, who cares? “Like it that much?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer as the tip of your tongue starts following the trail of a prominent vein on the side of his shaft, chasing it all the way down to the base and then back up again. “I do.”

Eddie lets out a sigh when you finally wrap your lips around his cock and let him slip halfway into your mouth. You sit there, looking all pretty, your eyes on his, and he already knows that he won’t be able to get this image out of his head for as long as he lives.

You bob down a bit further, a mere inch at most, and then release him with a soft pop. You spit on your palm, circle your fingers around the shaft, and start working him with your hand.

Ducking your head, you sink your teeth into his pale thigh and then lick the already slightly reddening mark. You repeat this a few more times, much to Eddie’s amusement. The slight sting of your bites in combination with the movement of your hand are pushing him ever closer to the edge.

Having teased him enough, you take his dick into your mouth again and he briefly wonders if you would have still done this if the place had been a bit more crowded. Not that he thinks that the sound of screaming kids would have done anything to kill his boner. If anything, the sheer thought of there being a greater possibility of getting caught only turns him on more.

When you cup his balls and start massaging them, Eddie hisses through his teeth. Fuck, he really wasn’t gonna last long. He also had no idea how he was supposed to stay quiet. He didn’t consider himself particularly noisy (he was), but he liked talking and there was no way that he would be able to control the volume of his voice.

Not when you kept eagerly sucking him off and especially not when you were pairing it with a look that was practically spelling out how much you loved having his dick in your mouth.

You also look like you want him to crack, like you desperately want him to make noises that are way too loud, like you want to get caught giving him head in the back of the arcade.

“Shit,” he groans as softly as he can and he can feel the corners of your mouth twitch upwards into a smile. “Can’t help it,” he says, softer now. “Feels too fucking good.”

Humming around his length, you hollow out your cheeks and when your hands lightly grasp the back of his thighs so your fingertips can dance up and down his skin, he shudders.

Saliva was bubbling at the corners of your mouth and fuck, it has to be one of the hottest things that he’s ever seen. His hand instantly moves of its own volition, moving to the back of your head, and he pushes you down for a split second, stopping when your fingernails dig into his skin. He loosens his grip, giving you ample opportunity to pull away, but you don’t and your eyes are almost flashing a challenge to him, practically daring him to do it again.

So he does.

This time he holds you down a little bit longer, forcing you to take him in a little bit deeper and instantly letting go when you make a gagging noise. You stay right where you are, his dick halfway in your mouth, eyes still a little defiant, so he does it again, harder, and forcing his cock in deeper still. The discomfort is plain to see and when your fingernails drag down the back of his thighs harshly, he can feel it, too, but your grip on his legs relaxes soon enough. He scratches your scalp affectionately.

Your eyes are glistening with unshed tears, threatening to overflow, and his hand releases you so he can wipe at the corners of one of your eyes, in an attempt to brush your tears away.

“Didn’t mean to make you cry, sweetheart,” he admits. “You just look so fucking good like that.” You blink once which finally makes the tears spill out. “Good tears though, huh?” You make an affirmative noise even if he already knows the answer. “Good ‘cause I’m seconds away from coming all down that pretty throat of yours.”

He catches a glint in your eye, as if his words spurred you on, but Eddie’s entirely unprepared for what you do next.

Your hands grab his hips and you plunge your mouth all the way down his length until your lips make contact with the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You gag around him, but you inhale deeply through your nose and manage to stay down for a bit longer.

Your throat muscles contracting around his cock is what pushes him over the edge and he comes in thick spurts down your throat. He bangs the back of his head against the wall behind him, his lips pressed tightly together to stop himself from shouting as he climaxes. His hands are balled to fists at his sides and he slams them against the wall as a form of channeling the pent-up energy that has nowhere else to go.

It takes him a short while to come back to his senses and his hands shake when he relaxes his grip. When he hazards a glance down, you’re still on your knees, his now soft cock still in your hands as you’re lazily licking up and down his shaft.

Reaching for your face, he touches the corner of your mouth and mumbles the words, “Show me.” You stick your tongue out obediently, showing him that there’s not a single drop of his cum left. “Good girl.”

Exhaling shakily, he manages to say, “up,” a couple of times, his fingers hooking under your chin and pulling in an effort to make you move faster. As soon as you’re on your feet, his lips crash into yours, his tongue invading your mouth until he can taste himself on your tongue.

His hands are everywhere. On your ass, your hips, your tits. He simply doesn’t know what to grab first, and it’s not like you seem to care either with how content your sighs are.

Changing positions, he pushes you up against the wall and hurriedly pulls his boxers and shorts back up. Your hands take over to zip him back up this time, leaving his hands free to pull the cups of your bikini top to the sides and burying his face between your tits.

“Like that,” you breathe out when his lips finally find one of your nipples. “Just like that.”

“So sensitive,” he remarks with a grin, positively delighted that he can throw your earlier words right back at you this time. “I wonder…” He trails off and brushes a hand down your stomach, light as a feather, until his fingers come to a stop at the waistband of your shorts. “May I?”

You’re nodding before he even manages to get the words out, betraying your eagerness and perhaps your impatience. So naturally that makes Eddie move slower than he would have, taking his time to undo the bow that keeps the drawstring of your shorts tied together, and even when that’s undone, he slides his digits underneath the fabric painstakingly slowly.

“Eddieeeee,” you whine, “stop teasing.”

“Who’s teasing?”

“You are,” you pout. “Not like we have all day.”

“We don’t?” You’re ready to say more, he can tell, but he knows you’re right. And he doesn’t know what you’ll do if he keeps teasing, so he slips his fingers into your panties and slides them between your folds. “Jesus, baby, you’re soaked.”

“Mhm,” you bite your lower lip and nod.

“You got this wet just from having my dick in your mouth?” You moan affirmatively. “Poor thing. Seems only right that I help you out then, right?” One of his fingers probes your entrance, not quite pressing inside yet. Not until you answer him. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you whimper. “N-need to feel your fingers inside me.”

“Come on,” he husks against your cheek, “spread your legs a little wider.” You give him some more space to work with and he slides the digit in with ease. “Good girl.”

Your head drops forward onto his shoulder, your mouth almost level with his ear so he can hear every shaky breath and strangled moan. It makes him add another finger, plunging them deeper inside and curling them upward until he hits your sweet spot. Your walls spasm and contract around his fingers, trying to keep them there.

“Really want to get my mouth on you, sweetheart,” he husks against your temple.

“No time,” you answer. “R-raincheck?”

“You’d better,” he chuckles. He just knew that he’d be taking you up on that offer before the end of the day.

Fuck, if he had his way, he’d be on his knees in front of you right now. Your ass pushed up against the controls of the Pong machine, his head buried between your thighs, until you’re screaming so loud that it drowns out every other fucking sound in this place.

If only he’d asked you to come with him, he’d have had his wish.

His thumb finds your swollen and neglected clit with ease. His touch sends a shockwave through you which makes your whole body jolt. You grab at his shoulders, his name on your lips as your fingernails leave crescent shaped marks in the sections of his skin which aren’t covered by his shirt.

Your breath hitches and you let out a choked sob, only to have Eddie cut off any other sounds that you might make by pressing his lips against yours and swallowing all your delicious noises, effectively silencing you. Your thighs convulse around his palm, trapping his hand between them.

Reaching upward, you grab at his tied back hair, wrapping the ponytail around your fingers and pulling until your hand, along with all the other muscles in your body, go slack.

“Mmmm.” You sigh against his lips and he pulls away just far enough to see your blissed out features as you float back down to Earth. “Always knew you’d be good with your fingers.”

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?” Your face splits into a grin and he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

You open your mouth to speak, but you’re distracted by Eddie sticking his fingers into his mouth and sucking your juices from them. Cupping his cheeks, you lean forward and your lips brush together when a loud scream suddenly cuts through the relative silence. Startled, it makes your eyes snap open, but you visibly relax when it dawns on you that the noise isn’t anywhere near where the two of you are.

“I wanna play that one,” an underage voice shouts and it’s answered by a decidedly more bored adult voice. “Come on!” The child sounds impatient and is probably dragging the adult behind him in the direction of the game of his choice.

“Shame that,” you say as you adjust your top, covering your chest up once more. You move away from him and he hates the fact that there’s space between you now. “I totally would have let you fuck me as I played the pinball machines.”

“I have a van,” he replies, helpful and hopeful at the same time.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” You stick a hand in your pocket and he thinks he can hear you jingle some coins. “Still got some quarters left so you’re shit out of luck.”

“You’re just going to play a couple more games after that?“

“Uh, yeah? I never leave until I’m all out of quarters. Sorry.” Eddie’s expression falls, but his smile returns when you press your lips against his cheek and whisper in his ear, “Can’t you wait a little bit longer like a good boy? Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You give his lips a quick peck and wink. “If you think I’m going to end this day without having your dick inside me then you’re an idiot.”

Someone clears their throat loudly behind you and when you turn, you see what you can only assume is the owner of the bored adult voice earlier.

“There are kids in here, you know,” the man huffs.

“I don’t see any,” you say as you flip him off. “Or are you talking about yourself?” You grab Eddie’s hand and pull him along with you. “Come on, babe. Let’s leave these games for the kids, huh? We both got what we wanted. For now.”

The implication of what you’d done there hangs in the air as Eddie lets you lead him past the man and he barks out a laugh when he sees the furious, and dare he say frustrated, expression on his face.

Fully expecting to leave, he can’t hide his disappointment when you come to a standstill in front of a machine, Q*bert, and take a coin out of your pocket, obviously intending to still stick to your rule of not leaving until you had no coins left.

“You’re still going to- Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head as you put a quarter in the slot and start playing. “I’ll just get comfortable here then, shall I?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, “just stand there and look pretty. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Okay, I can do that.” He folds his arms and leans against the cabinet next to yours, very much mirroring the stance that he had taken earlier. “But seriously, just one game and then I’m dragging you out of here.”

“Fiiiiine. One game,” you say with a loud groan that didn’t sound anywhere near convincing enough. “But you’d better settle in, pretty boy, because I can make these games last a lifetime if I have to.”

“Did you just call me out over not being good at playing video games? Seriously?” Amusement was dripping off his voice, because he honestly didn’t care that he was no good at any of the games here. But he could have sworn that you had just issued him a challenge and he had every intention of winning that. “Honey, I can last real long when I’m doing other things.”

“Sure.” If you were trying to come across as unimpressed, it wasn’t that successful. You looked more curious than anything else. You shrugged, a bit noncommittally, and threw in a, “They all say that.”

“I actually do though.” Eddie took a step closer and he could see your fingers tightening around the joystick, fully prepared to try your damndest not to let him distract you. One more step and he’s so close now that his lips are a couple of inches away from your ear. He clears his throat and chuckles when you jump ever so slightly. “Baby, I’m genuinely not boasting when I say that I could be down there for hours and I don’t think that I need to elaborate on that now, do I?”

You release the breath that you didn’t even know you were holding, close your eyes for a fraction of a second, and then the telltale “game over” tune starts playing.

“Fuck.”

“Oh no, sweetheart, did you just lose? I was really looking forward to seeing you play as well, but… a deal’s a deal.” Before you could protest (which you wouldn’t dream of doing), Eddie grabs your hand and makes good on his promise of dragging you out of the arcade. “I just really want to show you what I can do now. Promise you won’t be disappointed…”

And here's the picture that partially inspired this one...

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #mar writes

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worth-the-chaos · 1 year ago

Text

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: With the events of last fall in the past, you attempt to move on, still working on your academics and babysitting Dustin. You and Steve have drifted since your encounter with the otherworldly, but he begins to make more active efforts to talk to you, making sure you have an invite to Tina’s big Halloween party.

Content Warning: swearing, stancy, reference to upside down stuff, billy being an ass, college application stress, drinking, anxiety and trauma

Word Count: 6.3k

Author’s Note: Again, I’m trying to follow a lot of the plot lines of the series for this x reader, so a lot of it is probably a bit familiar! This part follows the reader’s involvement through Halloween, when things begin to turn sour again.

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Next Part

***

You took a deep breath as you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Half-dressed for the day, your eyes couldn’t help but focus on the scars that littered your upper arm, remembering when they used to be deep gashes.

It had been about a year since you stood in the Byers’ house fighting for your life against the horrifying entity from what the kids elected to call the Upside Down. Though your physical wounds had healed, the emotional ones still lingered. Every once in a while, fear invaded your consciousness as you thought back to the flashing lights and the low growl resonating through the small family room. Sometimes when you closed your eyes, you could still see the rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, inching closer and closer to your face.

It was paralyzing, but you shoved those thoughts and feelings aside as you threw a long sleeve shirt on, covering the physical evidence of your fight against the supernatural. Stop thinking about that, you reminded yourself, it’s all over now.

The walk to Hawkins High wasn’t terribly long, though you did still wish you were fortunate enough to afford a vehicle of your own. Once you finally reached the parking lot, a car honk drew you from your thoughts and you were met with the familiar face of the one and only Steve Harrington as he smiled and waved from the driver’s seat. Sat next to him was Nancy Wheeler. Steve’s talk with her in the hospital evidently had been successful because they’d been back together since then, coming up on their first anniversary. You found it difficult to be happy for the couple, but you pushed the jealousy down in your chest and did a small wave back, a half smile on your face. Nancy didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm as Steve, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The window suddenly rolled down and Steve called out, “Hey y/n! I’ll see you in study hall! I have a question for you!”

“Okay…? See you then, I guess,” you responded, a bit surprised. Since last year, Steve had rethought his life choices. He wasn’t the same douchebag he’d been when he broke Jonathan’s camera and called Nancy a slut. He dropped Tommy H and Carol, started focusing a bit more on school, and was generally a lot nicer than he used to be. However, despite the way you both risked your lives together, blindsided by the paranormal darkness lurking in Hawkins, you both kind of fell out of touch.

He had Nancy and you had…well, you had your studies. And your babysitting gig. One year strong babysitting the Henderson kid, and only one apocalyptic encounter. Needless to say, you were doing pretty damn good.

Suddenly, the sound of tires screeching on the pavement drew the focus of the three of you away from the semi-awkward encounter, watching as a car with California plates peeled into the parking lot. A boy you didn’t recognize stepped out of the car, flicking his cigarette behind him. A young girl emerged from the passenger seat, turning and making her way down the hill in the direction of Hawkins Middle.

You scoffed, being the impeccable babysitter that you were. Was this guy really too lazy to drop his kid sister off at her school that was less than a block away?

He swung his car door shut and paused, looking you up and down before sending a wink and smirk your direction and turning to make his way into the high school. Your hands gripped your backpack straps a little tighter, feeling like an object to be used or consumed under his gaze. You didn’t have a good feeling about this boy, and something told you that Hawkins High had found its replacement for the King Steve that disappeared when Harrington wisened up last year.

“Who is that guy?” You suddenly heard Steve’s voice ask, annoyance painted on his face. He wasn’t too thrilled with the way he had looked at you. Steve knew the type of guy he was; the type that wouldn’t take no for an answer, and in that moment despite the countless girls drooling over his dumbass mullet, he had zeroed in on you.

“Must be new,” you responded, forcing a smile in an attempt to demonstrate that the mystery boy’s actions hadn’t fazed you. You fought an otherworldly entity; surely you could handle some asshole jock. In a way, you already had, and look how that turned out.

“The two of you should steer clear of him. He’s bad news,” Steve warned. Nancy and you didn’t argue, nodding before you took off to enter the building so you wouldn’t be late for first period.

By the time you were on your way to third period study hall, you had already spent the morning contemplating what Steve could possibly have to ask you. It was your junior year, his senior, and while you were taking it for the extra study time, he was taking it to avoid coursework from one more class, largely using it as a time to take a school sanctioned nap. As such, normally you didn’t interact much during the one hour break from boring lectures and busy work.

“Hey,” Steve whispered as he slid into the chair next to you, a stark juxtaposition to the way he slammed his textbooks on the desk, causing you to jump.

“What? Not taking your spot in the back corner so you can sleep without Mrs. Reed giving you shit?” You asked, staring up at him innocently.

“Actually, I was thinking I could get us out of here for the hour.”

“And how do you suppose that’s going to happen?”

“I’ll put on the old Harrington charm…just watch,” he smirked as he stood up, grabbing you by the elbow to drag you to the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Reed was not the type of person to mess with. She wore her hair up in a slicked back bun that meant business, wearing a scowl like it was an accessory. You seriously doubted the “Harrington charm” was going to do shit to get you out of that classroom.

She glared at the boy through her thin wire glasses, clearly not in the mood for his shenanigans. “Is there a problem?” She droned out, her expression fixing further into annoyance, if that was even possible.

“Actually, Mrs. Reed, I’m afraid there is,” he started, “you see, y/n here was just telling me about how she has this big presentation in her fourth hour class, and she was really hoping for an opportunity to practice. Is there any possible way you’d be so gracious as to let us utilize one of the study rooms in the library? I mean, we can’t go letting Hawkins’ star pupil do anything less than ace this thing, am I right?”

He shook you by your shoulders a bit at the end, and even though the compliment was nothing more than a lie, you still flushed under the praise. It wasn’t everyday that you got complimented in front of your entire study hall class by the most popular student in the school.

“Is that so, y/n?” She turned to you.

“You know me and my nerves, Mrs. Reed; I could really use the help. And besides, Steve is probably about the most rowdy audience I could possibly have, so presenting after this will be a piece of cake,” you pasted a smile on your face. You felt bad lying to her; she’d been a pretty decent English teacher your sophomore year.

“Fine. Don’t worry about coming back before the end of the hour. I know I can trust you to keep Harrington in line,” she answered, glaring at Steve before turning back to the work on her desk, done with the bullshit of high school students; the good ones and the bad ones alike.

You both quickly thanked her before Steve grabbed both of your backpacks and you headed out the door.

“Okay, if I’m going to be completely honest, I was about 85% sure that wasn’t going to work. Mrs. Reed fucking hates me…like a lot,” Steve breathed out as he tossed you your bag, his cocky facade finally dissipating as he continued down the hall.

“This better be a good fucking question, Steve,” you grumbled, not happy about the lie he forced you into, “what am I supposed to do if she asks me about my presentation? What am I supposed to do if she talks to Mr. Hayes?”

“Woah, woah, woah, cool your jets,” he rolled his eyes, “Mrs. Reed is probably a year or two away from retirement and barely even cares about the shit she’s teaching, so I think you’re going to be fine.”

You entered the library, quickly moving to one of the study rooms. You tossed your bag on the floor, already tired from the day and not fully emotionally prepared to spend an hour one on one with Steve.

“Alright, what’s the deal?” You asked as you sat in one of the chairs, crossing your arms as your face fixed into a glare.

“Well, first of all, here,” he shoved an obnoxiously orange flyer at you. You grabbed it a bit aggressively, still not super happy with the boy in front of you. He had a dorky-ass grin on his face though, and it almost broke the cold exterior you were trying to keep up….almost.

“‘Tina’s Halloween Bash, come and get sheet faced,’ are you kidding me? This is what we’re skipping study hall for? Dude, I have an AP chem test this week that I really needed to study for,” you whined, shoving the flyer back at him.

“No, of course this isn’t the reason we’re skipping. I may be dumb, but I’m not an idiot,” he said as he shoved the flyer back at you, “It’s just…I know you never go out, a-and—and it’s Halloween! You can’t stay in on Halloween! Plus, Nancy and I are going to be there, so it’ll be fun, I swear it.”

He leaned across the table, the elbow of his right arm settling right in the middle as he reached his hand towards you. Your focus shifted to his extended pinky. You looked at him incredulously as he waggled it a few times, looking at you with his big brown puppy dog eyes. This boy was going to be the death of you, but you wrapped your small pinky around his anyway.

“I’ll consider it. That’s the best you’re getting.”

“You know what, I’ll take it. Which brings me to my next topic, and pretty much the entire reason for this in the first place, which is that Nancy thinks my application essay sucks and I really need some fucking help,” Steve leaned back while he ran his hands down his face.

You felt a pang in your heart because you knew how stressful this all probably was for the boy. You’d been smart and planned accordingly, so getting into colleges wasn’t the part that was stressing you out; it was the finances that did. Steve on the other hand had screwed around for two and a half years and now somehow needed to manage turning things around enough so that he had even a fighting chance.

“Just give it to me,” you sighed and he quickly handed over the essay he had written.

Steve watched your eyes scan the page as you read the words that he had spent the last week writing. He was a bit embarrassed, to say the least; he had taken one English class with you last semester and knew that he didn’t even write half as well as you did. Hell, Nancy didn’t even come close and her writing was really, really good.

“You…you compared winning a basketball game to your grandfather fighting in the war?” You asked incredulously.

“…yeah?”

“Steve.”

“I know, I know! It’s bad, but that’s why I need your help! I was gonna have Nancy help me but we have this thing tonight and I can’t miss it and—“

You cut him off. “Steve, stop talking. I can help you…but I think you’re going to have to rewrite this whole thing.”

Steve hung his head and buried his face in his hands. Of course I’m gonna have to rewrite the damn thing because it can never just be fucking easy. He felt your hands pull on his wrist and he looked up, finding you staring at him sweetly. A bit pitying, but it was still sweet. With that, some of his anger subsided and he took a deep breath.

“You just need to find something more meaningful to you. I mean, I can tell your heart really isn’t in this. Besides, sometimes the best essays are about the things you’ve lost, not the things you’ve won.”

Steve thought about this. He lived a pretty privileged life. He didn’t want for anything, his future was pretty much set so long as he took the job at his dad’s company, he had the girl, the car, the hair, etc. Sure, his parents kind of really, really sucked but that was small potatoes compared to all of the things he had easy. It was hard to think of something he really, truly lost.

He almost had lost you.

His thoughts flashed to the demogorgon, the way his heart stopped and instinct took over as he had swung the bat with all his might to get the damn thing away from you. He pushed the thought away and suddenly he wasn’t interested in working on this essay anymore.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m gonna need some time to brainstorm some things to write about, but in the meantime, how about we focus on that AP chem test, huh? I mean, there’s no way you don’t have color-coded flash cards and all that jazz”

“Steve, you really don’t have to. I’m sure you have a lot better things to do than to help me cram for some dumb test.”

“Hey, first of all, if it’s important to you, it’s not dumb. Secondly, I might be a shit learner, but I’m a pretty damn good quizzer, so hand ‘em over,” he motioned for you to hand him your index cards as you sheepishly pulled them out of your backpack in their color-coded glory.

“How could I have possibly known?” He feigned surprise.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

***

When all was said and done, you felt moderately better about your AP chem test. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he was a good quizzer; by now, you had every word on every one of those damn cards memorized. During your walk to the Henderson household, you pulled the bright orange flyer out of your pocket. You couldn’t help but smile thinking back to Steve inviting you. He wanted you to be there.

“Y/n!” Dustin drew you out of your thoughts as you quickly shoved the flyer back into your back pocket. The middle school and the high school let out at the same time. He wasn’t far behind you, sat atop his bike as he hopped off and walked with it next to him so he could talk to you.

“You can ride your bike home. I seriously doubt you can get into any serious sort of trouble in the five minutes it takes me to catch up,” you reminded him, though you weren’t entirely sure that was true; in fact, the boy was such a problem sometimes that you considered upping your rate to charge his mom for hazard pay.

“First off, I think you underestimate how much faster I can get home on my bike than you can on foot. Secondly, what was that you just put in your pocket?”

“It-It’s nothing,” you said maybe a little too quickly as your face heated up.

“Bullshit. Spill.”

You sighed. “It’s just some stupid flyer for a big Halloween party. Nothing that concerns you, unless you somehow age several years in the next few days and are suddenly eligible to attend,” you joked, sarcasm lacing your tone as you tried to gather your bearings and act more casual. He didn’t need to know that, to you, it was more than just some Halloween party; it was a Halloween party that Steve Harrington had invited you to.

“You don’t go to parties though,” Dustin was quick to remind you. He was right. Sure, early on in high school you’d been invited to a few, but after you continued to decline, people stopped reaching out.

“Well…there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” you muttered.

“Are you gonna dress up?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who invited you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Was it a guy?”

“No!”

“So it was a guy!” Dustin exclaimed. You rolled your eyes and jogged ahead, trying to put some distance between you and the incessant questioning of the boy you had the great misfortune of babysitting.

“Your silence is incriminating!” He shouted after you, unable to run very gracefully while attempting to guide a bike around.

You shook your head and sighed. Could babysitting Henderson ever be easy?

***

You walked towards Tina’s house feeling more than just stupid. You didn’t even know Tina super well outside of her always bumming notes off of you when she missed fifth period French. After your conversation with Dustin, you began considering the many elements of a Halloween party that had slipped your mind when you pinky promised Steve you’d go. You hadn’t thought about a costume because, frankly, you hadn’t initially been planning on doing anything for Halloween; it was just going to be another Wednesday for you.

As such, you had decided not to dress up, instead opting to pick apart your closet to find clothes that would maybe scream “party,” settling on your favorite pair of jeans, a low cut black tank top, and a denim jacket. So, yeah, you weren’t in costume, but at least your tits had kind of showed up to the party, so you decided that was good enough.

The mess of bodies dancing at different levels of sobriety made it difficult to navigate the front lawn and you hoped with all your might that Steve and Nancy were already there. You got closer to the front door when you heard the headache inducing sounds of high school testosterone as a bunch of the douchebags from Hawkins High hyped up Mr. California for doing an absurdly long keg stand.

Gee. Great.

As you reached to grasp the doorknob to let yourself into the party, a hand from behind you slammed the door back shut just as soon as you had opened it. You were met eye to eye with the mullet headed, leather jacket wearing douchebag himself. Something was off about this boy (besides the fact that he was unbelievably hammered), and you thought back to Steve’s warning to stay away.

“Hey,” he slurred as he looked you up and down, his eyes pausing longer than they should’ve when they reached your chest. You felt small under his hungry gaze, but you refused to allow yourself to visibly shrink so you straightened your posture and forced your chin up as you looked him in the eye.

“Excuse you,” you muttered as you tried to pull on the door handle again. Obviously it didn’t budge, and he laughed at your attempt. You scowled as you met his eyes again. “What’s your deal, man?”

“The name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove,” he shot you a smirk that screamed trouble as he extended his hand towards you, offering up a handshake.

What a total ass. Fortunately though, he was cocky enough to think that striking up a conversation would cause you to stay, removing his hand from the door, so you took the opportunity to maneuver past him, opening the door and slipping inside.

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit,” you added before slamming the door in his face. You saw the look of shock flash across his features before he disappeared from view and you couldn’t help but feel good about it. The feeling quickly dissipated though as you attempted to weave around the living room, nearly tripping as you made your way into the kitchen where you met Nancy.

“What’s in this?” She was asking a guy in a toga. You recognized him from your second period class, but you didn’t know his name.

“Pure fuel! Pure fuel! Whoo!” He shouted back at her, and you realized you were perfectly fine not getting to know him.

“Well, with that ringing endorsement, we’d be dumb not to have a little, right?” You chuckled and Nancy spun around at the sound of your voice.

“Y/n, you made it,” she said, smile not really touching her eyes, “Steve wasn’t sure you were going to show.” Both of you dipped red solo cups into the questionable mixture, filling them up with the red mix of booze and punch.

“Yep, here I am. In the flesh,” you laughed again, trying to dispel the awkward energy. Something about her seemed off; normally she would be much more friendly. You hoped that you hadn’t done anything to upset her. “Nancy, is everything okay?” You asked quietly as you gently grabbed her wrist.

“I’m fine,” she replied as her jaw set and her tone told you not to push the question. You let go of her wrist and nodded, letting her know that you were going to let it go for now. Her body relaxed and you lifted up your cup toward her.

“Cheers?” You asked with a half smile on your face. This earned you a small smile from the girl as she brought her cup up to tap yours. You smiled and both of you brought your cups to your lips, you taking a small sip while she threw her head back and downed the whole glass.

“Hey! Woah, woah, woah, take it easy! Nance!” Steve was suddenly beside you, reaching across you to try and grab the cup out of her hand.

“We’re just being stupid teenagers for the night. Wasn’t that the deal?” She glared at him before downing more punch, wiping away the bit that spilled onto her face, and shoving her way into the crowd to dance.

Steve’s expression fell a bit as he watched her leave, but his focus shifted to you. “Sorry about that. She’s just…in a bit of a mood today,” he apologized and shook his head, “but I’m so glad you’re here! I mean, I was pretty sure you were gonna bail on me considering I know for a fact that you were invited to some of my house parties last year and you didn’t show.”

“How dare I, right?” You rolled your eyes and chuckled. It’s true. You had been invited to his parties, especially after your encounter with the demogorgon had brought the two of you together in a weird but irreversible way. You would always have that experience, but you weren’t interested in changing for him. Besides, he was never the one to personally extend the invitation, instead you heard about it from someone else every time.

“You aren’t in costume.”

“Way to point out the obvious,” you retorted, finishing your first cup of punch. Steve shot you a look, clearly not trusting that you knew your limits with alcohol. “You’re joking, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it seems a bit hypocritical for the king of parties himself to be judgmental about someone else’s drinking habits.”  “Well, it’s exactly that. I don’t get the impression that you have drinking habits, and if it’s your first time drinking, you should watch yourself, you know? Can’t fault me for looking out for a friend,” he added and you bristled a bit at that last word. Friend.

“Y/n, what?” He asked, noticing your reaction. You sighed before responding, not really sure how this conversation was going to go.

“So…we’re friends now?” You asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

Steve was taken aback, clearly confused by your confusion. “What do you mean? Of course we’re friends! Y/n, we went through so much together last year, I mean, did you really think I was just gonna drop you like all that shit didn’t matter?”

“You kind of did. It’s not like we hang out or really talk or anything remotely close to what friends would do. We’re just two people who know each other a little bit better than we did. I wouldn’t necessarily call that ‘being friends’,” you responded, putting air quotes around the final words. You hoped that your statement didn’t hurt him. It was the truth though. Your shoulders tensed as you awaited his response.

“You know what? You’re right y/n, and I’m sorry. I should’ve done more to keep in touch, and I’m not going to make any excuses. So let’s just start over, okay?” He asked, his big brown eyes staring into yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you nodded, not trusting that your voice wouldn’t fail you.

“Alright, perfect,” he smiled, and suddenly he extended his hand towards you, “hey, I’m Steve. I don’t know you but you seem pretty tough, and like you might have some killer fighting instincts, so I thought we could be friends.”

You laughed. Like really laughed, and Steve was beaming. You wiped away a tear that slipped from your eye as you took a breath to regain your composure. It was all so absurd and perfect and so incredibly Steve that you couldn’t help but accept his offer. You willed your palms not to sweat as you grabbed his hand and shook it, “Well, I’m y/n, and yeah, you’re right; I do have some pretty kick-ass instincts, but I can’t promise it will keep you out of trouble.”

“That’s okay because I’ve got some pretty kick-ass moves myself, so I think we’ve got it covered,” he added, smiling at you. He let go of your hand before saying “well, Nancy’s probably halfway to being shit faced, so we should probably go party it up with her while her memory’s still intact.”

You nodded as you turned to exit the kitchen, Steve placing a hand on your back as he guided you through the mess of people dancing to get to Nancy. It was fun to let loose and dance, and you wondered why you hadn’t let yourself party like this before. It felt freeing, and you felt the slight buzz from the drinks that you’d had as you let your body move to the music that was almost too loud to hear yourself think.

Suddenly, you felt hands around your waist, and you instantly sobered up, remembering a big part of why you didn’t like parties: asshole guys who were just looking for a quick hook up.

“Hey!” You shouted as you turned around, eyes met with the same piercing blue ones from earlier.

“Woah, no need to get all angry, baby. I gotta say it’s pretty hot though,” Billy chuckled as he moved his hands to grab at your waist again. You maneuvered away from his grasp, swatting his hands away.

“Can’t you tell I’m not fucking interested,” you replied.

“Baby, come on—“

You cut him off, “I’m not your fucking baby.”

“No need to be a bitch about it, come on. Can’t have a little fun?”

“She said she’s not interested, dude. Leave her alone,” Steve spoke up, having realized the position you were in. He moved to stand between the two of you, pulling you by the wrist behind him. Nancy was pretty wasted but aware enough to act, as she took your hand and pulled you farther away, weaving through the crowd to create some distance.

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware that you had two girlfriends, Harrington. I mean, I’m shocked you even have the one to begin with,” Billy retorted, taking a step towards Steve.

Steve stood his ground, knowing it wasn’t worth it to get heated over Billy’s comments. Billy just wanted to get a rise out of him and Steve wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction.

“I’m just looking out for a girl that needs help. If you’re not going to listen to her maybe you’ll listen to a guy, okay? So walk away.”

“Whatever, Harrington,” Billy replied as he shoved Steve in the shoulder and turned around to walk away. Tommy H was hot on his heels, a mindless dummy and fair weather fan to whoever he deemed to be top dog at any given moment.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Steve caught up with you and Nancy.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Ugh, I just hate assholes, like come on!” You exclaimed, hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to be self-soothing.

Steve opened his mouth to apologize when he realized Nancy was going back to the punch bowl. He quickly pivoted, following her into the kitchen. “Nancy, no, you’ve had enough, okay?” He said as he tried to grab the cup out of her hand again like he had earlier.

“Screw you,” she slurred, pulling her hand out of his reach and dunking her cup in the bowl.

“No, Nancy, I’m serious! Stop…Nance, put it down,” he warned, grabbing at the cup again. Nancy continued to protest, and Steve continued to fight it until he lost his grip on the cup and its bright red contents went spilling onto Nancy’s pristine white shirt. An audible gasp rang out through the party as those in the near vicinity stopped their dancing to gawk at Hawkins’ power couple’s power struggle.

“What the hell?” Nancy whispered as she stormed out of the room, and Steve pushed past you to follow, yelling after her. And just like that, you were alone. Without Steve and Nancy’s presence to calm you down, you felt your anxiety rise in your throat. You scanned the crowd, trying to find anyone that you knew moderately well enough to crash their group, and when you found no one, you cursed yourself for being such a loner. That was until your eyes met Jonathan Byers’, dressed equally un-festively, and you sighed a huge sigh of relief.

“Jonathan!” You shouted over the music, making your way over to him. Clearly he had seen what just transpired between Nancy and Steve, eyes darting back to focus on the hallway they’d disappeared down.

“Hey, y/n. What just happened?”

“Nancy’s pretty wasted and Steve was trying to cut her off and he spilled her drink on her. They’re probably in the bathroom trying to clean it up, though I doubt it’ll do any good. That punch is definitely going to stain.”

You didn’t know Jonathan super well, but you resonated with him. Both of you were more inclined to keep to yourselves, but via absurd and inter-dimensional means, ended up intertwined in the lives of your high school’s most popular couple. You saw the way he looked at Nancy when they talked, and it wasn’t dissimilar to how you looked at Steve; wanting for something that you couldn’t have but settling for what you did.

The two of you found a quiet corner and continued to make small talk, catching up on each other’s lives since you didn’t talk much. Jonathan told you about how Will was struggling, still visiting Hawkins’ Lab for appointments in an attempt to sort out his PTSD.

“The doctor says it’s some anniversary effect, and how since we’re coming up on a year, he’s just more on edge than usual. He’s been having these episodes though.”

“Episodes?”

“Yeah, they’re kind of like these waking nightmares I guess. He’s still scared out of his mind, y/n,” Jonathan explained, and you saw the pain in his expression. Your heart ached and you felt a lump in your throat as you thought about the way the poor kid was struggling. You wished you could just make it all go away, that you could erase it ever happening in the first place.

“And you trust this guy? The doctor I mean?” You asked hesitantly.

“He seems like a good guy. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like he’s being completely transparent. I guess I’m on edge too. It just seems like everyone’s bracing for something else to happen,” Jonathan added, and you felt the tension in your shoulders as he said it.

Suddenly, Steve stormed through the family room, Nancy noticeably absent. He quickly maneuvered through the crowd, reaching the front door and slamming it shut behind him.

You looked at Jonathan. “Divide and conquer?” You asked, knowing that the two of you were going to have to pick up the pieces of whatever had happened between the two of them. Jonathan quickly nodded, as you dropped your prior conversation. “Okay, I don’t have a car and Nancy’s not in a state to walk home, so you take care of her and I’ll handle Steve,” you added as you started walking backwards to make your way towards the door.

“Are you sure? He seems pretty mad.”

“I’ve handled worse!” You shouted back as you turned and swiftly made it out the door. Your eyes scanned the front lawn, still littered with people, but they quickly found the brown mop of hair that you had become familiar with just as he was reaching his car.

“Steve!” You shouted, but he ignored you, fumbling with his keys as he tried to unlock the door. By the time he finally managed to get it unlocked and opened, you had grabbed the side of the door so he couldn’t close it and drive off.

“Y/n, just leave me alone, okay? I’m seriously not in the mood,” he warned, his head hung as he tried desperately to avoid eye contact with you. His voice wavered a bit and you could tell by his body language that he was pretty upset.

“No, I’m not going to leave you alone; you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“Then get in the car because I’m not fucking staying here,” he sighed and you hesitated before moving around to the passenger seat.

“What happened?” You gently asked as he began to pull away from Tina’s house, the night that you had all been anticipating clearly ending in disaster.

“Oh, you know, just Nancy saying that our relationship is pretty much complete and utter bullshit which is what every guy wants to hear from the woman that he loves,” he replied. His announcement of his love for Nancy stung, but you pushed it aside; this wasn’t about your feelings.

“What do you mean? What’s going on? You guys always seem so happy together,” you were honestly pretty shocked. They were the perfect couple; the kind of people who would end up high school sweethearts and the talk of every high school reunion. It couldn’t possibly all be bullshit.

“The Hollands are selling their house to pay some private investigator to find Barb.”

Oh.

Your stomach dropped and suddenly your body seemed to remember the alcohol you had consumed.

“Steve, stop the car.”

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s going on? Are you—“

You cut him off, shouting “just stop the damn car! Now!” The car screeched to a halt as he slammed his foot on the brake pedal. You quickly opened the door, retching onto the desolate backroad that you were currently on. Steve rubbed big circles across your back as your stomach emptied its contents. When you were done, you shut the door, tears running down your face.

“I’m so sorry, Steve. Sometimes I just forget about all of it; push it all away because I’m not ready to handle it and I just think about what it was like to be face to face with th-that—that thing and I can’t imagine what Barb’s final moments were like and I just—“ your sobs cut you off, unable to speak through your horror in contemplating Barb’s death.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay y/n. I’m right here,” Steve reminded you, pulling you into a hug as you buried your face in his neck. He held onto you until you were able to calm down and you pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry. I monopolized your turn being the one in crisis,” you let out a weak laugh, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes as you sniffled.

“No, honestly that was helpful. I think I get where Nancy’s coming from a little better now. Maybe she didn’t really mean all that shit about us, you know?” He rationalized.

“Yeah, maybe,” you replied, your voice small.

“Hey, don’t disappear on me now. We’re handling this crisis together and we’re putting it behind us, okay? So what’s going on?”

“It’s just…I was almost her,” you whispered, looking in horror at Steve.

“What?”

“I was almost Barb. If you hadn’t shown up—“

“Y/n, don’t think like that. You can’t think like that. It’s going to eat away at you. You’re here. I’m here. And we’re okay,” it seemed like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You nodded, not entirely persuaded but ready to be done with the conversation. “Alright, where to?”

“Just mine, you know,” you said quietly, embarrassed that Steve was going to see your house. It was dinky compared to the Harrington residence. You knew he wouldn’t care, but you couldn’t help but feel inferior.

“Sure thing,” he replied as he put the car in drive, as you both attempted to put the evening’s sourness behind you. You chatted and caught up on all of the normal things you’d missed as you’d drifted apart this past year and by the time he reached your house, you felt a little bit better about things.

If only the two of you knew about the danger that was still lurking right under your feet.

***

a/n: I hoped y’all liked this chapter! I’m so excited to continue this story as we unpack all of the upside down nonsense of season 2! I’m new to this whole writing fanfic thing, so if you really liked it, I would be forever grateful if you would be so kind as to reblog it! It really helps it get to other people!

#steve harrington x reader #joe keery #stranger things #netflix #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington friends to lovers #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington the babysitter #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers

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ghostlycleric · 6 months ago

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Season 5 Wheeler Chairs (Free Me From This Content Drought PLEASE)

Everyone moved on, but I’m still here. And bored. In fact, I am so insanely bored that I am actually going to analyze the chair placement in this picture. I also actually skimmed through the entirety of seasons 1 and 2 looking for the photos below. I managed to find some (small) new things.

We barely ever see this room, so here’s two moments I found. [While most realize the Wheelers don’t need that many chairs, I just want to prove the extra ones are meaningful.]

The chairs in the new photo are absolutely abnormal. There’s much more space between them in the bottom photo and in the scene the top photo is from. It’s not just part of a chair set, they were put there.

We can also see a matching one behind Mike in the top picture. The Wheelers put extra chairs away. That one is probably Holly’s, as she was still in a different chair in that scene.

We saw the non-matching extra chair already in season 1. It’s next to Ted (where one of their actual dinner chairs is in the new set photo).

We know absolutely for a fact that at least 2 extra people needed a seat in whatever scene this is for. This almost confirms that we will be getting a Wheeler breakfast sequence with 2 new members.

What is the scene, then?

Possibility 1:

I’m most inclined to believe that Will and Jonathan temporarily stay with the Wheelers at the start of season 5. (While Hopper, Joyce, and El stay at the cabin.) The cabin is too small for all the Hopper-Byers, so Joyce might trust Karen to take care of Will and Jonathan. El would obviously want to stay with Hopper. Plus, why would they be fixing the cabin at the end of s4 if they didn’t want to use it?

This would also explain why Will was with Mike and Holly in the biking scene. Maybe he’s stuck babysitting Holly with Mike cause he lives there, or maybe they have some routine of escorting Holly to or from school?

This scene could be a staple Wheeler family breakfast we see in the beginning of other seasons. This time, though, it introduces us to the fact that Will and Jonathan are living with the Wheelers.

Possibility 2:

If it’s not a breakfast sequence, it could be some sort of party meeting. Why wouldn’t they have this in the basement? I don’t know. It can’t be because they were in a rush because why would they bother getting other chairs? Still a possibility, though.

Possibility 3:

It could also be some sort of sleepover. Maybe somebody stays the night and they get extra chairs for breakfast (because Wheeler hospitality). This would be similar to possibility 1, but just revealing some other plot point.

A picture of a dinning room can’t really spoil a scene all that much, unfortunately.

What Happened to the Dinner Table?

Also, the dinner table doesn’t have any chairs. They’re weirdly positioned against the wall, and there’s only 2 of them. I can’t think of any explanation for that, to be completely honest. Maybe the dinner table set is just incomplete?

…Which is also a possibility for the breakfast table, but the set looks pretty complete to me. Why would they post it as the focus of a picture if it wasn’t? I don’t think they’d fully set a table for 7 people for no reason. It’s not like a set worker pulled up a chair to sit in while working.

Possibility 2 Sucks

Also based on the fact that the table is set for 7, I can totally rule out the party meeting idea. Why would they meticulously set up the table to eat if they weren’t focused on eating? Unless it’s late in the season, and the Wheelers aren’t staying at the Wheelers but other people are. That’s super unlikely, though.

In conclusion:

Two people stay at the Wheelers for at least one night, and Karen knows they’re there. She prepares the breakfast table for extra people. We probably get a breakfast scene with them early season like usual.

[We should be getting something about the Wheeler Basement any day now from the polls the ST Broadcast Channel held two weeks ago. Maybe there will be evidence of somebody sleeping down there… Will and/or Jonathan? If not, that wouldn’t totally disprove the ‘they stay at the Wheelers theory’, but it’d make it less likely.]

#byler #byler endgame #anti mileven #st5 leaks #st5 speculation #i never want to write the word chair again #will staying at the wheelers is so real to me #i am choosing to believe it until season 5 comes out tbh #cornplating is my specialty and im proud #if anyone has any other possibility ideas please share #the only thing that trips me up with will staying with the wheelers is the timeskip #would the byers really not buy a house for an entire year #but then again how would they get the money to do that in a year

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bludnik-a · 1 year ago

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mature/explicit byler fic recs??? 👁👄👁

hi nonni!!

quick disclaimer that if ur not comfortable / not ready to explore this type of content u can just scroll past this post. I'll hide fics under the cut.

let start with explicit

"Pink in the Night" by yamilumen. Winter break after first semester of college. Will is drunk, and Mike takes care of him. The morning after, they must face the consequences. TW for dubcon ig. One of the first that I read and still one of my faves. looove byler dynamic in this one.

"in the midnight hour" by @wisehearts. He takes note of the way Will paws at his dress shirt, needy and not entirely aggressive, pressing into kisses in a way that feels like he’s asking for more rather than taking it. Persistent, but pliable if you touched him right. Red wine was fucking magic when it came to Will Byers. if u want smth sweet and hot.

"Hands" by midnighteverlark aka The Parent of byler smut. Mike doesn't like his appearance. Will wants to help out with that.

"A caged bird stands on the grave of dreams" series by AabH. Slavery AU. TW for a lot of violence and abuse.

"the feminization of michael wheeler" by one and the only lawofmurphie. how a bundle of lace and a lifelong crush distract mike from the inevitable implosion of his family unit as he knows it. not only really really hot but also great mike character study. it's more about mike's desires and acceptance at first and u have to wait till byler a bit but it won't disappoint u i promise!

"Conceived in Sin" by eternalwinters, floralsun, keeksbyers. In which Will Byers has a reputation as a bit of a prude. But Mike Wheeler, a guitarist with distinctly the opposite sort of reputation, can't seem to stop thinking about him. good boy/bad boy au we all is lacking.

"i'm starving, darlin'" by id_rather_be_home. Mike and Will are sexually frustrated eighteen-year-olds, sick and tired of having absolutely no privacy in their homes. The hand-jobs and the blow-jobs are fun but Mike will go crazy if Will isn't able to fuck him again before they leave for college in five more months. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

the whole section with my favourite trope "we pretend like it's nothing but it's actually everything". I love every fic Dearly and I would recommend to start with one of this :)

"the thing about illicit affairs" by problematicbyler. Will and Mike become friends with benefits. Which is a totally reasonable arrangement that they’re both completely content with, obviously.

"Privacy" by BottomWillByers. Dustin and Lucas were on night watch so it’s just him and Mike in the room. Having fallen asleep early, both tired from the supply run they were on earlier today, Will passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow only to be woken up a couple of hours later to pressure on his ass. It took a moment to orientate himself. Used to waking up to noise and vibration but not touch. He was pressed up tight to the wall like usual, which usually gave him inches of space between himself and Mike. But not right now. Because Mike had scootched across the bed and was spooning Will from behind. His bare chest pressed alongside Wills exposed back, one arm slung over his waist as he mumbled into the back of his head. Will’s about to ask Mike what was going on when he felt it. The consistent thrusting of Mike’s hips against the swell of his bum. His words die in his mouth as he registered that Mike was asleep. Soft moans spilled from his lips and the hard pressure of his dick stuttered against Will.

"After Hours" by pterafractal. A recently out Will Byers begins his freshman year at Indiana University, with his childhood best friend (and roommate) Mike Wheeler. Between learning to navigate the campus and keep his head above water academically, Will struggles to reconcile changes in his relationship with Mike.

"The Open Door" by Mylesime. He’s too close, too handsome, too real. And Will wants to cry because the shield has almost completely collapsed. “Mike,” he says or begs, he doesn’t know. Mike stares at him and he has never looked so serious. “I really want to do this with you.” The shield breaks. Will feels his mana bar diminish by hundreds of points. He's out of it. It will take weeks to recharge, months even. “Now?” he wails and he hates how frail he’s sounding.

"Pressure Points" by honeytart. College roommates Mike and Will begin a friends with benefits arrangement with one very important rule—absolutely no kissing.

"asking too much" by kissingpractice. Will is struggling. Guys who are nice, hot, AND good in bed are apparently non-existent at their university. Frustrated, he complains to Mike - who makes him an offer he can't refuse. Unfortunately, there's always an aftermath to hooking up with your best friend. Meanwhile, Mike has some realisations.

and mature for anyone who is not ready to deep dive yet

"Touch Me Like You Know Me" by @starsarefire824. Mike doesn't go home anymore, not unless absolutely necessary. Instead, he stays far away from Hawkins, quietly shutting himself off from the world, and burying the pain of the things he never said to the boy he'd left behind. But when his mother convinces him to return home for his thirty-fifth birthday, Mike is finally forced to confront just how much he'd given up when he runs into Will by accident. Mike-centric. Estranged Byler reconnection fic. Soft and Sweet.

"Broken Wings" by Turning_tides. Mike returns to Hawkins after his freshman year of college, riddled with regret and eager to make up for the biggest mistake of his life - hurting Will. He quickly learns, however, that his estranged best friend is being kept behind a locked door. A locked door named Keith. Now, Mike finds himself in a race against time to locate the key, desperate to free the boy he loves from the prison his abuser created just for him. TW for abuse and drug addiction.

"the comforts that make us feel numb" by @newlesbianprideflag “No, but really. If I were a girl,” Mike presses on, looking up at Will with red-rimmed eyes through dark lashes. Leaning in. Somehow, fully unaware that this line of questioning has Will's heart climbing up to his throat. “Would you want to kiss me?” Will and Mike get high in the desert.

"any semblance of touch" by stella :) Mike’s still new to this whole smoking thing. Will has a few ideas.

"In Undertow" by olliecoddle. four months after one byers/wheeler couple breaks up, another gets married. and, of course, will and mike are both the best men. and, of course, there is a plot to get them back together. nothing goes to plan.

***

there're a lot more then i thought ‪😭‬ there're genuinely so many good works. i could look for just one and stumbled upon three other I wanted to include in the list. and i think it's pretty obvious what kind of dynamics i prefer. anyway.

i hope u'll find smth new to u anon but if u won't u can drop ur fic recs in my inbox. love u <3

#byler #fic rec #byler fic #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things

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stranger-fanfiction-n-things · 1 month ago

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YOU'RE SUCH AN EGG HEAD

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I wrote this in 2023; it was the first one shot (?) I ever wrote and first fic related to the rewrite. I didn't have a name for Diana yet, which is why it is in first person. My writing schedule didn't go according to plan with my dwindling mental health, but I wanted to post this as a thank you for everyone who continues to read my Stranger Things Rewrite!

This takes place after the events of Season 2 after the Snow Ball but before Christmas.

Please let me know what y'all think :) Happy Holidays!

Warnings: Extra Fluff

Word Count: 4483

Masterlist

Sunday December 23, 1984

There was an unspoken rule in our house: No Christmas music before December 1st. Although I don’t know who made the rule but part of me thinks it was Dad because he doesn’t like the holiday season. He thinks it’s too stressful with all the decorating, baking and gift wrapping. Dad hates gift wrapping. He says there’s no point when it will all be torn to shreds anyway. Christmas is my favourite holiday. I love everything about it. The Christmas music, gift wrapping, decorating, but especially baking.

Every year for as long as I can remember I would help Mom bake Christmas cookies for the family and our neighbours. Gingerbread cookies, peanut butter blossoms, molasses cookies, sugar cookies, white chocolate and cranberry cookies, chocolate crinkle cookies and classic chocolate chip cookies. As of three years ago, Mom gave me the responsibility of doing all the Christmas baking. A responsibility I hold near and dear to my heart. This morning, I woke up bright and early to start with chocolate chip cookies for the Byers family, they are on the cooling rack. Now, I am scooping the dough of the peanut butter blossoms for Dustin and Miss Henderson onto the parchment paper. I count a total of 12 evenly divided circles.

To me, baking is an intimate activity. A love language. A meaningful relationship between a person and food. It helps me relax; the process time consuming. I am undisturbed and in a different world. The doorbell ringing pops my domestic bubble. I frown peering down the foyer at the front door. Mom, Dad and Lucas wouldn’t ring the doorbell. Erica wasn’t expecting anyone. I wasn’t expecting anyone either. Eddie was busy running errands for his uncle Wayne. It couldn’t be him. I freeze feeling a shiver run down my spine. The past year has been filled with monsters and alternate universes. I take a deep breath and remind myself that the Hive was gone. Steve, the kids and I burned it down last month. Will was safe with my brother at Mike’s house. Billy will never come near me or Lucas ever again. It was all over. A Demogorgon cannot knock on a door and wouldn’t. Not even if it were D'Artagnan.

I walk toward the front door, wiping my hands on my apron before slowly turning the handle opening the door a smidge so only my eyes can be seen by the stranger. To my surprise and relief, I am met with beautiful dark brown eyes and a dazzling smile.

“Eddie?” I say, opening the door wide. A cold breeze blows past making me shiver. “What are you doing here? I thought you were running errands for Wayne?”

“I finished them early thought I’d stop by to say hi.”

Dark brown eyes pan down my body. I look down instantly wanting the ground to swallow me up. Not expecting company, I threw on one of the sweaters my Grandma Giselle “GG” sent from Virginia. Beneath my powder blue gingham print apron with white ruffles (also from GG) I’m wearing a baby pink sweater with baby kittens all over. The collar of the sweater is embellished with white lace ruffles making me look like Queen Elizabeth I. Erica, Lucas and Dad laugh at it anytime I put it on (Dad tries to cover it with a cough, but I know he’s laughing). It’s okay if my family sees me and laughs at me, I don’t care. I think the sweater is cute and cozy. But never did I think my boyfriend would see me in it.

Eddie’s smile widens to a grin. Displaying his deep dimples. “I love this,” he gushes pointing at my outfit, eyes twinkling.

I quickly cross my arms over my chest feeling my cheeks grow hot. I scrunch my nose looking down at my socked feet. GG also sent me matching socks to go with my sweater. I have two more sets in baby blue and lavender.

“No, no. Don’t hide from me. Ever,” he says, uncrossing my arms and holding my hands. “You look cute.”

I peer up at him through my lashes. Eddie leans back observing me once again. He sniffs the air peering around the front door.

“Are you baking?”

“Yes, I am.” I reply happily.

Eddie stares at me, his grin unwavering. I feel myself growing shyer under his intense gaze and I want to cover myself again but he’s still holding my hands.

I tilt my head to the side, blinking up at him. “What’s so funny?

“Nothing.” he shakes his head, chuckling softly. “I’m not laughing. I’m smiling.”

“What are you smiling about?”

Eddie leans forward and my heart beat picks up speed because I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead his lips graze my ear.

“Just happy to see you,” he murmurs. “…and your sweater.”

“Eddie!” I exclaim wiggling out of his hold, walking back inside my house. I am never wearing this sweater again.

“What? I love it.” Eddie laughs, closing the door behind him. “What are you baking?”

“I’m baking peanut butter blossoms for Dustin and Miss Henderson.” I answer returning back to the counter. “I was about to put them in the oven before you rang.”

Eddie hangs his coat neatly on the coat rack in the mudroom and pads through the foyer in his socks. A smile tugs on my lips at his ease around the house. Dad’s military training and Mom’s propriety kicked Eddie into a straight line early in our relationship.

“Have you been baking all day?”

“Yes. I started with chocolate chip cookies which are on the cooling rack. I finished the peanut butter blossom cookies and once they are in the oven, I am going to start making white chocolate and cranberry cookies.”

I take the pan of dough and put them in the oven, setting the timer to 10 minutes. I turn around to find Eddie sitting on the stool in front of the counter observing the organized mess of ingredients. I place the timer on the counter.

“Where is everyone?” Eddie asks, looking around.

“Mom and Dad are out shopping for more Christmas lights. Erica is in her room and Lucas is at Mike’s house probably playing Dungeons and Dragons with the rest of the boys, El and Max.”

“And he didn’t invite me,” Eddie says, holding his heart.

“He didn’t know you were coming,” I say shooting him a playful glare.

I clean off the counter to have a fresh surface for the white chocolate and cranberry cookies. From the corner of my eyes, I see Eddie reach towards the direction of the cooling rack. I whip my head around catching him in action.

“Hey!” I scold, running around the counter. “No touching! Those are for Miss Byers.” I block his access before he can touch the cookies. “And you didn’t wash your hands!”

Eddie smiles, dimples deepening on his cheeks. He looks so cute I have to resist the urge to kiss each dimple and put on my best disapproval face.

“My hands are clean, I promise,” he replies, reaching over my barrier.

I smack his hand the way my mom does when she catches Dad trying to steal a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner.

“Eddie!” I reprimand. His eyes widen, baffled by my seriousness.

“I swear,” Eddie assures me, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You baked so many. I’m sure Miss Byers won’t realize one is gone.”

I look at him for a few seconds and slowly remove my hand.

“Okay, fine,” I admit. “But you can only have one.”

Eddie’s smile turns to a smirk. “How about two?” He quickly picks up two shovelling one in his mouth.

“Eddie!”

His loud, boisterous laugh is muffled by the cookie in his mouth. In seeing the look on my face his laughter dies down to a light chuckle.

“They’re so small. One wouldn’t be enough,” he reasons, licking the oozing chocolate off his fingers.

I cross my arms above my chest, walking back to the counter. I wasn’t really upset with him. I did make a lot of chocolate chip cookies for the Byers Family. I just took baking very seriously.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos, walking towards me.

I feel his arms wrap around my waist and his chin on my head. I imagine how hunched over he must be because of our height difference. He nudges by head to the side, kissing my temple. A small smile forms on my lips at the gesture. Eddie was so loving and caring. It was one of the many things I loved about him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “…but they taste so good.”

I look up at him and roll my eyes playfully. The rumble of his laugh makes me giggle.

“I’m serious,” he says shovelling the last cookie in his mouth. “These are the best cookies ever!”

I scrunch my nose looking down. “Thank you,” I murmur.

Eddie kisses the top of my head. “You’re welcome, cutie.”

Eddie sits on the other side of the counter watching me set up. He told me about his day and the errands he had to run for Wayne. I listen nodding my head and asking questions as I multitasked. Eddie has been over many times since we started dating, my house being a second home to him. But he’s never watched me bake before. I feel like we unlocked a new level in our relationship. Domesticity.

“What kind of cookies are you making again?”

“White chocolate and cranberry.”

“Who are these for?”

“Me. They’re my favourite kind for the holiday season.”

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this question before, but what’s your favourite kind of cookie?”

��White chocolate and macadamia nut cookies,” I replied. “What’s yours?”

“Chocolate chip,” he responds, grinning. I roll my eyes fighting back a smile.

“Eddie, can you check the timer and let me know how many minutes are left?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” he salutes, squinting at the timer, “Six minutes left.”

“Thank you,” I answer scooping brown sugar into the measuring cup.

“How do you know how much to put without looking at the recipe?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I’ve made these cookies so many times it all comes naturally to me.”

I start to pat down the brown sugar, levelling it with a spoon. Eddie leans forward on his elbows watching me work. In getting to know Eddie I notice he doesn’t like to sit still for too long. Always looking for something new to do. There were few things Eddie could sit down and pay attention to for long periods of time. I mentally compiled a list: Planning Dungeons and Dragons Campaigns, reading fantasy books, Corroded Coffin band practices and gigs, eating, cooking (a pleasant surprise), and now, watching me bake.

“Do you want to help me?”

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I don’t think you want me to help you. I’ll ruin it.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll help you!”

“Okay.”

I squeal excitedly. “Let me get you an apron. In the meantime, wash your hands,” I say giving him a warning look.

Eddie laughs. “Alright, Alright.”

I go to the pantry where we kept all the kitchen stuff. On a rack at the corner of the small room I find all the aprons. Most of them had stains on them, the cleanest one was Erica’s old apron. It was blue with polka dots on it. I smile taking it off the rack. This would barely fit Eddie but I think he would look adorable in it.

“I could only find Erica’s old apron,” I call out walking into the kitchen. “I hope it’s okay.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder throwing a rumpled paper towel into the trash can. He throws his head back shaking with laughter.

“Is this payback?”

“No, the others were dirty, I have to wash them. Erica’s old apron was the cleanest out of the bunch.”

“This is hilarious,” he chuckles, taking it out of my hands. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit though.”

“You have such a tiny waist. I’m sure it will.”

I giggle at the pink tinge on Eddie’s cheeks, walking behind him to tie the apron around his waist. Eddie was a little self-conscious about his waist, often commenting on how he needs to go to the gym to bulk up. I always reassure him that I love his body the way it is and he doesn’t need to change a thing. Eddie ties the string around his neck first, hoisting the fabric high on his chest. The waist string moved up to his stomach. I pull on the string tying it around his stomach instead. Peering over I look at him, snickering quietly. Eddie looks like an overgrown pre-schooler. I have to take a photo.

“Don’t move. I’m going to get the camera!”

“Diana.” Eddie groans. He always acts like he hates when I take photos, but I know secretly loves them. Eddie is just like Erica in that sense. Lucas and I love taking photos. Erica complains but always asks to take another one just in case the first one isn’t good.

“These are memories, Eddie!” I say, grabbing the camera on the kitchen counter by the refrigerator.

“Uh, uh,” he refuses crossing his arms.

“No, don’t hide from me. Ever.” I uncross his arms.

Eddie rolls his eyes and I kiss his knuckles taking a step back.

“Now say cheese!”

Eddie smiles wide, dimples making an appearance.

“Aw, you look so cute like that!” I squeal, looking through the viewfinder. I snap the picture, waiting for the photo to develop. “Can I take another photo?”

Eddie grabs a whisk holding it in his hands like Julia Child. I take another picture laughing at his antics.

“Your turn,” he spoke, reaching for the camera.

He takes it out of my hands peeking through the viewfinder. I close my eyes sticking my tongue out just as the light flashed out the camera.

“One more. Smile and point at your sweater,” he smirks.

I gawk at him just as the camera flashes. Eddie cackles behind the camera pulling the photo out of the slot.

“Eddie!” I shout, running to him.

I try my best to grab the photo out of his hands but he was long and lithe for my short stature. Eddie’s laugh echoes through the kitchen as he squirms out of my reach.

“Look at your face!”

“I’m trying to!”

Eddie hides the photo behind his back. “If I show you this photo, do you promise not to throw it out?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Eddie arches his brow skeptically.

“I promise,” I assure, holding my hand up like a girl scout taking a pledge.

“Okay.”

Eddie shows me the photo in his hand not letting go when I try to pull it out of his grasp. I huff looking at the picture. I look as shocked as I felt in the moment. You can tell I was looking at him over the camera. I didn’t look as bad as I thought.

“See? You look so cute.”

“C’mon,” I say handing him the rest of the photos. “You have work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He sets the camera and photos on the farthest edge of the counter before joining me. I smile feeling his lips on my temple. Another thing I noticed about Eddie, he can’t go five minutes without touching me in some way. Whether it’s holding my hand, playing with my hair, touching my cheek, standing beside me, or my personal favourite, kissing me. Eddie bends forward resting his elbows on the counter. He gazes at me with warm affection, waiting patiently for instructions. I take a deep breath trying to rid the pink fog in my head. Over a year later and I’m still not used to the way Eddie looks at me.

“O-okay,” I stutter, breathlessly. The corners of Eddie’s lips twitch but he doesn’t say anything thankfully; “we’re gonna start with the butter and white sugar first. I already finished measuring the brown sugar. Now you’re going to measure ½ cup of butter and ¼ cup of white sugar. When you’re done, put them all in this big bowl, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I use the same measuring cup for both?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

I watch Eddie pour the brown sugar in the large glass bowl; He then proceeds to measure ¼ cup of white sugar and add it to the bowl. I hold back my smile as he hesitates with the butter, a line appearing between his brows as he thinks about what to do next. Eddie makes the cutest faces when he is concentrating. I adore the way he frowns, the way his eyes narrow at the task at hand, when his tongue pokes out between his lips. I busy myself with the eggs so it doesn’t feel like I’m hovering. From the corner of my eye, Eddie scoops the butter with a spoon knocking it against the measuring cup. He does this until half the measuring cup is full.

“Sweetheart? How do you make brown sugar?” he asks, making sure there was half a cup of butter in the measuring cup.

“By mixing molasses and white sugar together. If you want to make the brown sugar darker, just add more molasses.”

“Hmm,” he muses, scooping the softened butter into the mixing bowl. “Okay, I’m done. What’s next?”

“Now this part is very important, Eddie,” I voice, handing him the electric mixer. “You are going to use this to beat the ingredients together until they are creamy and smooth.”

“Creamy and smooth. Gotcha.”

I leave Eddie to mix just as the timer set went off. Quickly shoving on the oven mittens, I open the oven pulling the steaming hot cookies out. The smell of warm peanut butter and sugar floats around the kitchen mixing in with the scent of chocolate. I set the tray on the top the stove and take off my mittens before taking the small bowl full of Hershey kisses on the counter. I begin to carefully place one kiss in the centre of the cookie having already unwrapped each chocolate prior.

“Baby, is this creamy and smooth enough?”

I walk over to him peering into the bowl. “It looks great, Eddie,” I respond with a smile. “I’m going to add egg and vanilla quickly and then you can continue to mix. Use this,” I hand him a spatula, “to scrape the sides of the bowl.”

After I add the egg and vanilla, Eddie mixes the ingredients as I work on the flour. We work in comfortable silence and I feel happy and light thinking about all the pastries Eddie can help me make. He was already a great cook; baking was natural to him although he didn’t know it yet.

“Baby, can you check this again?” I peer from my spot.

“It’s perfect. Change the speed to low. I’m gonna add flour.”

“Is it only flour?”

“I put cornstarch, salt and baking soda.”

“Hmm,” he hums.

“Keep mixing. We want soft and thick.”

“Soft and thick,” Eddie nods. “Coming right up.”

Eddie mixes the dough together and smile at him.

“You’re a natural, Eddie.”

Eddie blushes, turning off the mixer. “I have a good teacher.”

I scrunch my nose, adding white chocolate and cranberries into the bowl and set it aside too distracted to continue.

“You’re so cute when you blush.”

“How do you know I’m blushing?”

“You scrunch your nose and look down,” he answers, mimicking me.

You could fry an egg on my face the way it felt so hot.

“I do that when I’m embarrassed,” I point out.

“But you add a giggle like,” he imitates my giggle.

I hit him softly fighting back a smile. Eddie was right about everything. He knows me so well, better than I probably know myself.

“You’re such an egg head,” I comment.

Eddie leans close. I can smell the chocolate chip cookies on his breath.

“I’m not,” he replies, shaking his head.

I open my mouth but couldn’t find the words to say. The corners of Eddie’s lips turn up to the familiar confident smirk he wears when he knows I’m flustered. I can’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time. I turn my head peering at the open carton of eggs on the counter. I pick up an egg, biting my lip to conceal my laugh and quickly jump up breaking it over his head. Thick, sticky globs of egg yolk and tiny egg shells slide down his dark brown curls, seeping through the strands. Eddie opens his eyes as I wipe what was left on my hands on his white t-shirt, smearing the dark yellow residue against the cotton fabric.

“Smooth,” Eddie mumbles, nodding his head.

My body shakes with silent laughter. Eddie reaches over to the pile of leftover flour on the counter, flicking it onto my face before I could turn around and dodge the attack. I gasp, eyes widening in disbelief, yet I am unable to contain my growing laughter. I flick flour on him as well challenging him. Eddie scoops a handful with both hands and drops it all on top my head.

“Eddie!” I scream.

I grab whatever I could find on the counter throwing it on him. Salt, sugar, flour, baking soda, brown sugar. Eddie wraps his arms around my body to hold me still, smearing what smelled like egg yolk all over my face.

“Who’s the egg head now?” Eddie shouts. My scream turns into loud cackling.

“It’s—It’s still—you!” I shout back through uncontrollable laughter.

I try to escape from his hold but Eddie’s much too strong easily overpowering me. He spins me around laughing at my face. I must have looked as crazy as him. Flour and egg yolk with sprinkles of brown sugar on my face and in my hair. Eddie picks me up placing me on the counter, both our laughter dying down to hushed giggles. He brushes my hair out of my face gazing at me. I scrunch my nose, bumping mine softly against his before looking down.

“That’s a new one. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug looking back at him. “You tell me.”

Eddie grins scrunching his nose, bumping it softly against mine.

“It means,” he pauses, thinking. His eyes convey vulnerability that I only saw when he was with me. “I love you.”

The butterflies in my stomach flutter around uncontrollably. It’s been one week since Eddie and I confessed our love for each other and we’ve said it to each other every day since. Each time either of us said it, which was plenty, my heart skipped a beat.

“And this,” he rubs his nose against mine making me giggle and hold his face still. “Means, I love you too.”

“In that case,” I scrunch my nose again, bumping it against his.

Eddie rubs his nose against mine before closing the distance between us. His lips are soft and powdery. My heart feels like a jack hammer in my chest adrenaline coursing through my veins. Ever since the Snow Ball, I craved the feeling of his body close to mine in the most intimate of ways. I open my mouth deepening the kiss wrapping my arms around his neck pulling him closer.

“Um?”

I flinch startled by Erica’s voice, quickly grabbing onto Eddie’s shoulders to jump off the counter. The remaining flour, sugar, and baking soda fell onto the floor onto Eddie’s socks.

“H-hey monster,” I stutter, putting my hands behind my back.

Eddie snickers from behind me and I elbow him softly in the gut. My face feels like it’s on fire and I hope Erica didn’t see anything. She was my little sister after all. Based on the bewildered expression on her face, she was more concerned about the mess in the kitchen than the fact Eddie and I were making out.

“What are you guys doing?”

Eddie and I look at each other grinning like Cheshire cats from ear to ear.

“We’re baking,” I say, cheerfully.

Erica arches her brow eying our appearance. “I can see that,” she said, observing the state of the kitchen. “You better clean up before Mom and Dad get back.”

“Yes, Erica,” I sigh. Sometimes it felt like she was the older sister.

“Do you wanna help—” Eddie began.

“Nope,” Erica cuts him off swiftly, taking a peanut butter blossom from the cooling rack on the adjacent counter.

“Erica! Those are for Dustin and Miss Henderson!”

“I’m just testing the product,” she explains, with her mouth full breathing heavily. The cookies were still hot. “Hmm, too much flour.”

I gasp rushing beside her to inspect the blossoms. There couldn’t be too much flour. I know the recipe like the back of my hand and always put just the right amount of flour.

“That’s impossible!” I exclaim snatching the piece of cookie in her hand to check the consistency.

“She’s only joking, babe,” Eddie chuckles. I frown at Erica who was laughing hysterically at me.

“That’s not funny Erica!”

Erica takes the rest of the cookie out of my hand with a mischievous smile. I gently push her out of the kitchen so she doesn’t add to the mess. I turn to Eddie with a sigh looking at the mess we made in the kitchen. We really needed to clean it up before my parents got home.

“I’m going to mix the rest of the cookie dough together. In the meantime, you can clear the counter and then we can tackle the rest together before my parents come home.”

Eddie grabs the polaroid camera on his way to me. I catch a whiff of the raw eggs and flour on him and laugh scrunching my nose faking disgust.

“You smell like egg!”

Eddie tilts my chin up with his finger. “Well, who’s fault is that?”

I grin reaching up on the tips of my toes to close the distance between us. The kiss was intended to be chaste but the feeling of Eddie’s arm snaking around my waist pulling me against him won’t allow it. I try to pull away but that only makes him tighten his hold on me. I giggle against his lips holding his cheeks, our noses press together. A flash of light and the shutter snapping sounded in the background. Eddie pulls away taking the photo out of the camera.

“This is amazing!”

“We look insane!”

“We look like…” his eyes crinkle despite the softness in his smile. “…We’re in love.”

I smile, even with tears running down my cheeks. I go up on the tips of my toes scrunching my nose bumping it against his. Eddie smiles rubbing his nose against mine, closing the distance between us. In love we were.

#stranger things rewrite #dianasinclair #black fem reader #stranger things #holiday fic #christmas fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x sinclair!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader

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cheriekos · 2 months ago

Text

the girl i love is made of moon [ronance, nancy-centric, incomplete]

this is a fanfic i wrote a little over two years ago now and it's definitely not finished. mostly just posting because i think what is finished is some good writing and i really like it and i want to share it just for the hell of it. maybe if it really bothers me i'll finish it up and properly publish it to my ao3 but for now it'll live here. about 8-9k words, high T/low M for very very very mild sexual content. no editing has been done, and is unbeta'd. content warnings for some discussion of passive suicide ideation.

Somehow, Nancy graduates, skirting just under a 3.5, with an acceptance to Emerson, and the summer ahead of her. She turns eighteen, despite it all. Hawkins stitches itself back together, even with neighborhoods that go demolished; she's lost track of which ones have disappeared because of the gaping earth below or because of sales that never went through.

It’s strange.

This is her new normal.

Vecna died, and with him went the Upside Down, the demo dogs, and every strange piece of the supernatural that seeped into their world - gone. In an instant. Somehow, it stopped being normal to look over her shoulder, to keep her guns close by, to keep waking up from nightmares. They gave her a shrink to talk to - whichever part of the government was responsible for damage control. She said there would be a period of adjustment, and then she wouldn't feel strange getting into swimming pools anymore and that thunderstorms wouldn't be terrifying. Expecting something monstrous around the corner isn't normal, she had said. Pools are for summer parties. Thunderstorms bring rainbows. Something like that, she had said.

So she tries and tries and tries to adjust.

She puts her guns away, locked in the basement.

(She takes them out immediately the next night when she hears the bullfrogs croak in a strange way.)

She heads out to the lake on one of their last senior trips.

(She can't even get a foot near the water. She sits in muddy moss and pretends she is not shaking.)

She drives home in the middle of a thunderstorm that started in the middle of a little grocery trip.

(A crack of lightning strikes across the sky at the same time the thunder roars behind her. She stops in the middle of the road - after that she barely remembers. She only remembers that Steve had found her, after the rain had passed. It was a long, long drive back home.)

She had taken a long look in the mirror one morning. Distantly, she hears her father watching the local news talking about reconstruction of this and the church had done that and homelessness, poverty, and something else about the end of times. She hears about the world falling apart and she looks in the mirror and she doesn't know how she did this before. Since she was sixteen-years-old. She dated Steve Harrington, went to school and got good grades, went out to the mall with her friends, and now she's here. How did she manage to do this before?

“Hey this is Byers residence, we can't get to the phone right now. Leave a message after the tone.”

Nancy knows she has no right to be angry. She broke up with Jonathan. But she still got so…angry. Nails still broken and caked with otherworldly grime tore at her pretty bedroom wallpaper every time the night became too dark, too consuming, and she heard the little tone drone on. He had no obligation to hold her hand through nightmares. She probably ruined Joyce’s sleep schedule. She took to scratching at a particularly annoying spot on the yellow walls - it wasn't laid down properly when they redid her room. She picked and picked and picked and it began to snow a sickly lemon color on her floor.

It’s been a few weeks. She doesn't call anymore - well, as often, anymore. Argyle is visiting for the summer and Jonathan had said he was “prioritizing family” for the time being, making an effort to be with his mom and little brother and it - it’s fine.

It doesn't ache. Not as much as she thought it would. The end of their relationship had been as obvious as the sun cresting over the snowy mountains above Hawkins. Gum under the shoe. When toast starts burning. Clear. Plain to see. It had to happen sometime.

But Nancy wakes up and stares out the window more often, and she’ll grip the empty side of the bed, the grainy cushion of her couch, the cold leather of her passenger car seat and she feels a little empty. Nancy will stare at her acceptance letter to Emerson and there's something that swirls in her gut - anticipation? excitement? She's not really certain; it's paired with imagery of her sitting in a nondescript, concrete dorm room while she repeats this charade. Staring out the window, cocking guns at bullfrogs, digging toes in muddy sand, watching as her friends find their places, as their wounds heal and she continues to scratch at the yellow walls.

The walls are white, her mind supplies. She had seen them in a small pamphlet she was sent a while back. So when you scratch at it, it will really look like snow.

She breathes in, deep through her nose, and lets it go against the morning paper on the table. She tries not to notice the incredulous look her bean sprout of a brother is giving her.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?”

“Language.”

Nancy observes them, her father and her brother bickering over breakfast, her mother and her sister fussing at the kitchen island, and marvels at how everything can change and yet stay the same.

“I’m going out. Gonna pick up some new summer clothes.” She does not mention how her current wardrobe is perfectly fine, and that she just really feels out of her skin right now and - maybe she's got Vitamin D deficiency. Yeah, she probably just needs to feel the sun and then sprout again. Their plants in the window sill do that all the time.

“Can I get a ride to Dustin’s?”

“What's the bike for if you're never going to use it?”

“It’s 99 degrees in the shade and I’m sweating so much I feel it on my balls -”

“Mike Wheeler, knock it off.” Her mom’s voice cuts across the dining room. “Give your brother a ride, Nancy.” She says, a little distant as she tries and calms Holly down from an impending meltdown. Nancy knows the scrunchy, red nosed look well. She sees the tight line in her mother’s shoulders, the absolute lack of interest from her father and wonders when she started seeing and understanding all of this being the way it was - and wonders when she realized there was little merit in fighting it.

“...I’m leaving in exactly five minutes, with or without you.” Nancy relinquishes. Mike gives her another look - only this time she can't read it. It's as if she's finally done something to catch him off guard, but not enough to make him speak on it.

“C’mon, Mike. Five minutes.”

Mike scrambles, syrup goes flying off the fork and her father admonishes him again, the stomping up the stairs does nothing for Holly’s sensitivities, and the Wheeler household continues their daily run on the hamster wheel.

Nancy’s fingers twitch. She thinks of the torn wallpaper, thinks of six kids in a Winnebago, thinks of an apartment at Emerson that was supposed to be for two, and then she decides not to think anymore.

New normal.

Nancy can’t decide if it's worse with her brother in the passenger seat, fiddling with the dials and complaining about the apparent stick up her ass, or without him, sitting in the symphony of a Midwest summer afternoon. Things chitter and crow, the sun sizzling, streams rushing gently. It's all so - so - so -

Nancy does not think.

The strip near main street is alive in a way she hadn't noticed in a long time. With Starcourt dead, with half the town gone, she kinda assumed the rest of it would find its demise soon. But the nice pizza place the kids order from (with Steve paying, of course) is still standing, even with a bit of fire damage. The dress shop where she was gonna buy her prom dress is boarded up - but only to prevent the awful summer draft from wafting in. There's a shoddy little board that says OPEN! and there's still people milling about. Further down, she sees a canopy, hears the distant hum and drone of standing fans fighting hard against the sunshine and sweat. She thinks she smells coffee - a sweet roast. That's new.

Further down she goes then, the soft sound of her flats against concrete feeling loud against her ears, feeling just a little bit too out of her skin again, and maybe she shouldn't have come out today at all, as she feels the underside of her wire bra start to pinch against her ribs, heavy with sweat. It's all too much, she realizes very suddenly, staring at the pot of lavender sprigs spilling from a hanging pot in the doorway, it's too much, the bra eating her alive and her flats too flat against the ground, her pleasant little skirt swallowing her whole -

“ - Nancy - Nancy. Hey.”

A rush of air, the smell of a french roast and the tacky grasp of a gentle hand brings her back to earth. That voice. A hint of natural raspiness and a gentle push of air behind words that have some sort of h sound. These were the odd little things Nancy began to collect in her mind - the way people spoke. The way some habits grated on her and others made a funny little swirl in her stomach.

This voice, she knows, belongs to one Robin Buckley.

Her voice, oddly enough, she realizes in this exact moment, had somehow moved to the latter category of funny little swirl in her stomach.

“Hey, Robin.”

She blinks once, twice - and then remembers herself. A smile appears on her face - she doesn't know how it comes off. She hopes it's more casual and less like I feel like I’m losing my mind on the sidewalk.

A moment passes and Nancy almost misses it - a strange moment. Where, she thinks, the two of them realize it's not the end of the world and they're standing in the biting summer sun, and they both know Nancy is a step away from insanity. Or maybe only Nancy knows and Robin just caught the edges of it. But Robin’s eyes - they're very - very - very -

“Get inside, Nancy, it's hot as Satan’s asshole out here and I don't think the boys would appreciate it if I let either of us die of heat stroke.”

It startles a laugh out of her. Satan’s asshole. Jesus Christ.

And then she sees it - the way Robin lights up when she hears Nancy’s laugh. It catches her off guard. Robin’s brightness, the absolute unadulterated childlike brightness, is usually reserved for the likes of Steve. Lately, also Eddie. The boys, her mind supplies. She said the boys, like they were their boys. Tethered to Nancy as much as they were tethered to Robin. Nancy guesses the end of the world could do that for friendships.

Friends, and the pit of her chest aches.

Before she can get lost into the far reaching synapses of her mind, Robin’s sticky hands are attaching themselves to her forearm, and she's in the middle of it then. A small coffee shop. French roast and -

“Welcome, by the way, to Lavender Row.” Robin gestures, an odd handwave-y thing. There's pots of the namesake, spilling like purple tresses, down and down and all around them.

“I thought you and Steve were at Family Video?”

“Well, yeah, we were. But apparently the end of the fucking world is not really good excuse for a week of absence from work so - “ Robin settles in behind the counter. “Welcome to our new abode.”

Our, Nancy notes.

“Steve?”

Something flashes lightning fast in Robin’s eyes and it's gone as soon as Nancy can notice. It startles Nancy and it leaves her mouth a little dry.

“He’ll be around, don't worry, I’ll let him know you dropped by.” And then she's picking up a towel and her hips turn away and Nancy’s mouth gets drier and it's so sudden, this worry in her chest and -

“I didn’t come by for Steve.” It rushes out of her mouth.

Robin tilts her head. “So…why'd you come by?”

And it shocks her system so much. The casual bluntness with which Robin speaks and conducts herself. Asking questions as if they were the most obvious things in the world. And maybe a few months ago at the end of the world, it did nothing but rub her nerves alight. But instead it just…tickles her. So much that it punches a laugh out of her chest and then startles Robin right back. There's a rush under her sternum, reminding her of her manners, head shaking as soon as the laugh leaves her.

“Sorry, that was -” She can't seem to stop shaking her head. “I was just…wandering.”

“Okay. So. Not here for Steve?”

Goodness gracious, Nancy thinks, what the fuck, Robin Buckley.

“No, Robin.” Nancy eyes the chalkboard menu. “Maybe for a coffee, though?”

Robin looks as if Nancy had just grown a second head, maybe even told her that Vecna had come around a second time and that she needed her help blasting his head off again. But the other girl just scoffs, throwing down the brown stained rag once more.

“Ice machine’s not working, so nothing over ice.” Robin shrugs, a little apologetic. “I know Ronnie’s still has milkshakes.”

Robin picks at a loose thread on the towel and it hits Nancy like a bag of bricks - that Robin is incredibly kind, kind enough to bring Nancy in from the heat, but only on the account of Steve and Eddie’s concern. That she could make Nancy coffee but she's giving her an out. Maybe a silent, subliminal “please leave me, the lavender, and the french roast alone”. Ronnie’s has milkshakes, she said.

But Ronnie’s smells like sickly sweet, over processed dairy, with sweaty kids and annoyed, ungrateful teenagers, with frustrated parents that don’t know what's happened in order for them to still be here. They look at Nancy and think they know her, everything she is right now and everything she will be.

Lavender Row, she’s come to learn today, has Robin. Sometimes Steve. And because it has Steve, it will also have Eddie. And six mangy children.

And it will have her, she decides, sliding two bucks to Robin. She still looks at Nancy like she's lost her head. And for some reason it's - gratifying.

“A little cream, please.”

On a random summer day, in the middle of Hawkins, Indiana, Nancy realizes her new normal and watches as Robin trips over air, drinks blazing hot coffee that makes her sweat awfully in the 90 degree weather, and finds that she's not quite back in her skin yet. But when she manages to get Robin to smile back at her - she feels a little closer to her bones.

There’s a lot of questions Nancy has, that all accumulate while she floats in a bubble bath and hogs all the hot water before Mike can use it. She ponders as she rubs circles on the jut of her hipbone, mindlessly, but not quite mindless. The primary question:

Robin does an awful lot of assuming, doesn't she?

Assumes Nancy was looking for Steve, thinks maybe she didn't want to hang around the coffee shop if Steve wasn't there. Which is a funny thought because if Robin thinks there's anything left to spark that powder keg, she might have some bad news. Or maybe good news. Who knows. Robin could have a crush on Steve. They certainly seem like they could be in love already ; his hand will stay in her back pocket while they walk, or she’ll curl a stray tuft of hair behind his ear when they get too long. It's all so familiar it makes Nancy a little sick. Nancy knows the safety of Steve's arms, knows them intimately and memorized them well. She thinks about Jonathan’s arms and how they had been less bulky, a little longer, and he always ran cold but he would put his chin in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind and it really did feel like safety too.

Nancy stopped her ministrations at some point, and she realizes her wrist hurts. Her hand’s gone from her hip to clutching the side of the tub. Hm.

Jealousy? The question comes up from somewhere in her brain and her makes her freeze. No. No.

Because Nancy is nice, Nancy can be good, Nancy - Nancy can watch Steve’s happiness and be fine. Can watch as Robin curls around him despite being so much taller in those boots of hers. Her stomach will settle, eventually, as he switches out Robin’s beer with a can filled with water and she will not twitch when Robin gasps in mock horror and betrayal at Steve’s actions. She will not itch when Steve and Robin whisper to each other on the loveseat at Steve’s house and giggle like schoolgirls, hands on shoulders, around waists, tucked into pockets, chins and heads buried in necks so easy, so so so easy it was all so - easy. It was easy.

There's a rolling feeling, right now, in Nancy’s stomach. She feels too warm, too itchy, and fingers twitch in the grip she still has on the tub.

The breath she lets go is uneven, clipped, and shuddering. It feels a lot like - like -

Nancy chooses not to think anymore, as she ducks her head beneath the bath bubbles. She will not come up for air, until her heartbeat rages against her rib cage, like a hummingbird caught in a net.

(But she does think - she does, she always does. And she thinks about this:

There may not be monsters underneath Hawkins anymore, but there's still one. Right here, in the Wheeler household. Green-eyed, ugly, and barely, just barely, contained.)

Pool party for the kids, movie night for us. 5pm. xo - Steve

She snorts.

Because, xo, really? Nancy’s a little sick in the heatwave that's taken over Hawkins for another summer but she's still got keen eyes. First off, Steve had chicken scratch for handwriting and second, while she was certain Steve had no qualms being casual with Nancy, he did not sign his notes to her with xo. Eddie Munson, however, said once that he liked the little giggle Nancy let out when she read a note from him in a school assembly towards the end of the year. He had an icky, yellowing bruise - it had broken her heart. Just a little. That Eddie was protected, barely, by the government and by the police, but even if a lot of people believed the cover up story, there were still a lot who didn’t. He had noticed her staring, eyebrows raised and then it started - she passed him a torn piece of binder paper with a scrawled “you okay?” And they swapped notes back and forth the entire assembly. Then the last one -

if you wanna smoke and make sure harrington hates my van even more, you're welcome to anytime. xo - ed.

It was - unexpected. She giggled. Made people stare. And it made her grin, madly.

“I like that look on you, Wheeler.” He said as the school rumbled with tired teens and elephant-like footsteps.

“What?”

“I dunno.” A shrug. “Your smile.”

She felt like a statue, in the middle of a roaring sea of sweaty bodies and voices. It was - disarming. The casualness with which he said it.

“It's good to hear you laugh, nowadays.” And that had been that. He practically bounced away. She felt a phantom ache in her torso, where she knew his wounds would have been. Stitched over, gauzed up, and forever scarred. How he walked - ran through his life, quite literally, despite everything - she’ll never know.

xo - ed.

She crumples the note from “Steve”, just a little bit, but then gently smooths it out once more. She feels an apology in her fingertips, as if a piece of paper could have feelings and feel offended at her momentary carelessness. She tucks it into her pocket, drops a yellow phone book on her table just a moment later, then dials up a number she doesn't recognize.

“Munson residence.”

And the grit of his voice tickles at the base of her spine, ever so slightly - it makes her clear her throat before speaking.

“Can I still take you up on that offer?”

It's awkward. Of course it is, a voice in her mind supplies, shaking the imaginary Nancy in her head by the shoulders and screaming, you passed notes once in an assembly and you saved the world together but you are not friends and you do not smoke and you do not drink anymore and you do not do these things, Nancy!

Do what? She wants to answer back, to this imaginary voice, I don’t smoke and I don’t hang out with metalheads? Robin and Steve do so why should it be weird that I do too?

It sends a weird zing! through her heart when she thinks of Robin and Steve, and the context in which she's thinking of them and then she's back in the bathtub and thinking of this thing she's become. Oftentimes, she feels like she’ll wake up one day and Karen Wheeler’s first baby girl will suddenly be something putrid, green, and horrifying, skin drooping and eyes watery, chest carved open for the world to see - to see how ugly this thing can be.

“Oh wowww, holy shit, you good there, Wheeler?”

Nancy feels a bit of scratchiness at the back of her throat and maybe she only just realizes she's been groaning for about a minute straight, vocal fry and all. Good fucking lord, why is inebriation no fun? Isn't this bullshit supposed to make you feel floaty? Not bring up the weirdest, most gross thoughts from the recesses of your mind?

“I mean, yeah for some people - yeah.” Eddie answers and wow, fuck, she said that out loud. “Yeah, you did.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, simmer down, Space Cadet, just answering your questions.”

“Space Cadet?”

“Yeah. You’re on Mars, Wheeler.” The joint glows orange, a funny little tangerine, and he breathes it out away from her, through his nostrils. It's - it's impressive. Makes her squirm a bit.

“Oh, Jesus almighty.” He says under his breath, staring right at her.

“What?”

“Do you do that a lot?”

“What?” And the frustration mounts in her chest. “I don’t understand -”

“Do you always look like a lost puppy when you wanna fuck somebody?”

What the fuck.

“I -”

“Wheeler, hey, I -”

“I could - smack you, you - you piece of shit -”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, okay! Okay, Annie Oakley, please don't string me up for the town to see!” And he's joking but there's a nervous giggle that follows and she knows he's nervous because as much as he doesn't like to admit it, Edward Munson is an open book. Has been from the moment he put a broken bottle to Steve’s neck and then died in a kid’s arms. He's breathy, always, but he pushes too much air out, makes these sounds like he's been punched lightly in the gut when he starts getting jittery. She knows this because Nancy knows things now, like she woke up after the world ended - but didn’t end - and just became a catalog for all the nuances of the people she knows. She knows Eddie’s hands don't shake when he holds a joint but his feet have a horrible habit of tapping ; their legs are stretched out though, sitting in the back of the van, so it manifests in what she calls happy feet. The tips of his boots, heavy, clunky - hey, Robin wears those boots - tap together incessantly. The boots. A dull, thudding noise. It brings her back to earth.

Space Cadet, she thinks. Then snorts. Then all good words die on her tongue.

He stills when he finally notices her silence. The anger, frustration, whatever, is no longer present and then he doesn't make those punched out little sounds anymore. Which is a bit of a shame, because Nancy kinda, sorta, maybe liked the sound of them and it makes Nancy shake a little. Her mind supplies the sound of Steve and Jonathan’s breathing, memories of the noises they had made, and Nancy mourns a little because she hasn’t had sex in a few months and also maybe she wishes she had gripped them harder, had been a little firmer, and had squeezed them more to make those little noises. As soon as those thoughts come she shakes them off - literally. She starts whipping her head to and fro, and to and fro, and to and fro until Eddie starts going hey, hey, Wheeler, HEY - and puts two firm hands on either side of her face.

“If this is what two joints does to you I am not excited to see what a few drinks does.” Then he pauses, considering his own words. “Actually don’t drink tonight, Wheeler, I don't think you need to be getting cross faded.”

She tries to remember the last time she got drunk and high and the memories come up short. She remembers getting blackout drunk at Halloween, two, maybe three years ago, remembers some nasty smelling brownies she hadn't partaken in but remembers all the spiked punch and then -

A little something like a whimper leaves her and it makes Eddie freeze. His hands still hold her face still, and she doesn't crumple, she does not. But she sure as hell isn't sitting up straight and her nose is twitching like hell.

“...Nancy?”

It's like a shock to her system, being doused with ice water on a day where it's 110. A little bit like lightning, a little bit like when she stared at the lavender plants and Robin for too long a few days ago. She likes it. Really, really, really likes it when he says her name. He hadn’t said anything outright annoyed or disgusted when he mentioned that she looked like - like a lost puppy. When she wanted sex. God. Except he had gotten a little crinkly, eyebrows furrowing and he had “jesus christ” or something “almighty” and maybe - maybe -

“Hey, Wheeler - “

“Would it be so awful?”

Eddie snaps his mouth shut. Then, “W-What?”

“To have sex with me.”

Absolute silence. His fingers twitch. They have calluses, she notes. They’re rough. A bit like Jonathon’s, when he spent a few weeks rebuilding Hopper’s cabin, and there was still a time when she held his hand. She likes the roughness.

There's silence and he's looking at her but not really looking at her and then -

“Wheeler, I think maybe I should take you back home -”

“Eddie, wait -”

“ - I just think maybe you've had a little too much to smoke, so I’ll drive around for a bit while you sober up -”

“Eddie, please -”

“Look, whatever you're looking for, you're not gonna be able to find it in me.”

And that’s what really does it for her. That's what tips her off the endless sidewalk, that's what pulls the rug out from her feet, that's what it's like to be buried in the snow with nothing but a t-shirt on. Because why is she here, Nancy Wheeler, in the back of Edward Munson’s van, implicitly and then not-so-implicitly trying to proposition him for sex while she's high off her rocker? Why is she doing this? Why? Why why why why why why why -

“I’m sorry.” She blurts out. Then winces - because she's never sounded this feeble in her life. It feels a bit like admitting she's wrong and then a tiny voice in her head says because you are.

Eddie must come to his own conclusion about things because there's stillness, a shift, then a sigh and his hands return to her. Gently. They grasp at the hand that's begun clutching the crushed fabric of her skirt. It's nice. It makes her feel a little less…unmoored.

The boys. She thinks back to Robin, in the coffee shop, the words leaving her mouth so easily. The boys. Tethered. She thinks about ease. She thinks about hands in back pockets, hands curling around wild hair. And selfishly, for a moment, she's happy to have a moment of ease. That right now it's Nancy and Eddie and no other combination, even if somewhere in her gut, she feels as if she just royally fucked something up. A boy. And her. A boy who just told her no, I will not have sex with you even if it was in a roundabout way. One of her boys.

She feels a little sick. She still grips onto him.

“I think you just need some rest.” Eddie says, so softly, and it's almost too much. She understands the way Steve and Robin will get jittery underneath his gaze. Because when Eddie Munson decides you are worth his whole, utter focus and attention, it's almost impossible to not feel overwhelmed in the gaze of his brown eyes. It's so gentle. It's like looking at -

“Bambi.”

Eddie splutters, like she had said something she shouldn't have known. “What?”

Nancy giggles, and then pats his cheek. The spell breaks - whatever squirmy, itchy, hot belly feeling she could've had is gone. Instead, she knows what it's like to be the center of Eddie Munson’s attention and it's a piece of knowledge she'll keep tucked in the catalog of her mind. It feels selfish. It feels nice.

“Nothing.” She begins to clamber for the back door of the van, shaky, and the come down is already gonna be awful she can tell, and she thinks Eddie can too. They stumble their way back to the front. Eddie, she noticed with a bit of grumpiness, is already mostly sober. And she just stepped on her toes. Ow.

It brings mirth back to Eddie’s eyes and - okay. Okay. They’re okay. Maybe.

They don't say much else before she's dropped off back at home. Karen and Ted Wheeler are, thank god, nowhere to be seen. She’ll stumble and wobble, and for a moment she's back under his gaze. She feels fuzzy.

“Take care of yourself, Space Cadet.”

She does nothing but stare for a minute. He starts to wiggle, obviously uncomfortable, obviously uncertain of why she's decided now to do this and she kisses his cheek. It makes him freeze. Like a deer in the headlights. Bambi.

“That was for letting me bum off your weed. And.” She wrinkles her nose, lips pinched. “And for everything else.”

She doesn't let him make sense of the words, doesn't let him stare much longer, and she begins to take the trek up to her bedroom. It's so warm, in Hawkins, sticky heat clinging to her skin along with the skunk smell of weed and she realizes that maybe she should've just asked Eddie for a ride to Steve’s house and - oh. Steve’s house. Steve. Robin. Pool party for kids and movie night for us, which means Eddie, Steve, Robin, probably Jonathon and Argyle and it's - she doesn't know how to look these people in the face right now. And then it hits her again - the reality of this evening.

It’s all bullshit. She had said. Look, whatever you're looking for, you're not gonna be able to find it in me. Eddie had said. Six kids and a Winnebago. Steve said once. I didn't apply for Emerson. Jonathan had said.

Nancy presses a hand to her face, palms pressing tight against her eyeballs and for a moment she sees small purple swirls. When she pulls her hand away, she realizes with some degree of horror, she's begun to cry.

The phone rings at 5:30. It rings again at 6:00. Then no one calls for the rest of the night. Her swimsuit lays dry, dusty, too bright and unbleached from chlorine. She hasn’t touched it since 1983. And as she coats her pillow, light pink turning to a wet mauve underneath salty rivers, she thinks she’ll never swim again unless it's to drown.

Here's the thing.

No one talks about it.

The world at large, also Hawkins as a podunk town, and also this group as a whole. Hopper smokes too many cigarettes, sometimes the older teens drink too much, and the kids let themselves burn in the Midwest sun, drink too many slushies, fall against the gravel of the pavement too often and bust open their elbows and chins. Some of their vices are a lot more obvious. Nancy watches as Steve puts the kids back together, pokes them in the ribs and says seriously, you got a death wish or something, kid? And it'll be out there in the open, for just a moment, and it'll bring the kids back.

They play D&D in the Wheeler basement, sometimes, when Karen and Ted aren't around to feel scandalized about formerly-accused-of-murder Eddie Munson hanging out with a bunch of gangly teenagers and Steve and Robin. And Nancy. Sometimes. They'll play and nowadays they don't talk about Vecna but they've reintroduced demogorgons and it's a bit - she doesn't know the word for it. It feels like light in her chest, watching them play pretend like they're still twelve, but with all the knowledge and the understanding of their years still beneath their skin. Demogorgons are demogorgons and they can't hurt them and they can kill them. With their maces and magic, shiny, pointed die and all the fury of children with rotten childhoods, they take back the years stolen from them. They die, and come back, die and come back, die and try again.

They've figured out how to deal with it.

Nancy feels a bit - well. Maybe jealous. To a lesser degree. They've figured out how to deal with it.

They choose to party and play, and they stop purposefully scraping themselves up because they know how to feel without putting themselves on the line. If they drink it's because they're fifteen and they want to drink because it's irresponsible and Steve will get so red in the face he's like a tomato. They'll get high because it's cool when Eddie does it. They kiss and do whatever teenagers do because teenagers are teenagers and they fall in love all the time. They do these things because they're kids and they're figuring themselves out. For them? For the (barely) graduates of Hawkins?

They don't connect the dots, often. Max does. Always the perceptive one. Nancy doesn't like that the answer is obvious for her.

Eddie smokes, Steve and Robin drink, and Nancy - Nancy does this apparently. Brood. Ask close male friends - acquaintances - for sex because she's - fucking insane, apparently. Insatiable, a priest would say. A slut, Tommy Hagan and Carol told her, more than once.

She’ll drag herself out of her bubble bath, out of the bathroom, in the quiet of her house on an evening when there's no one around, and she'll go to her bedroom and put on the biggest sweater she owns, mourn the fact it's not nearly big enough, and try and touch herself because fuck it, okay? Because the sweater is not nearly big enough and she doesn't feel safe, not wrapped up in any bullshit sweater she has, not in Hawkins, not anywhere, not right now, and she's embarrassed to admit it, even in the quiet of her bedroom, alone with her thoughts, she Nancy never touched herself like that.

Nancy figured out sex from really bad health classes, and then some really bad magazines that her mom ended up finding underneath her dad’s bed, and then Steve and then Jonathan but there's no one but her right now. In the dim sky, a melted blend of spruce and navy, she’s just got a tight belly and a wetness between her thighs and it's just her, just her -

She clamps her knees shut, a bolt of pain leaving her breathless because she really needs to trim her nails, but it's - nice. Not like going on a ride at the county fair, where they raise you up and then drop you suddenly. More like the lazy river at the water park - cresting slowly, and falling down with the gentle waves. Even if her fingers don't really reach far enough, not in the way that she really wants to feel deep in her bones.

So. Nancy’s a slut. Maybe. It still stings when she looks in the mirror and says it out loud, still thinks of the red paint and the absolute humiliation that she still carries in the crevices of her ribs. But yeah. Nancy Wheeler likes sex. Likes it when boys have sex with her and likes it when their hands are rough, likes the smell of it, likes the feel of it, likes the sweat and likes it so much she’s kinda desperate for it sometimes. Because once you know it, the high of it, it's hard not to crave it again.

She looks out the window, eyes falling to the driveway where Eddie had idled while she kissed his cheek and thought of him as Bambi. Thinks about his need for weed, fighting the itch in front of the kids, smoking cigs for weeks and then getting back to his regular bullshit eventually. Something stronger, he would mutter, staring at his joints but never touch the bags of specialty goods she knew he kept under lock and key in his bedroom. She thinks about Steve and how he had admitted, one night, after Vecna, after he carried Eddie through the Upside Down and brought him to the hospital that he drank because it meant he could sleep dreamlessly. That he didn't have to think about how he felt Eddie’s heart stop for a whole minute. They called it and everything, right in the middle of that ambulance. And even though Eddie was alive, real underneath his hands right now, it was a reminder that without El, he would have failed to save him. They haven't spent a moment alone like that in a while, now that she thinks about it.

She thinks about the mindlessness of sex. The high. The way, for a moment, it was nothing but bodies. Flesh.

I guess we all have our addictions, she thinks - and then shudders. It's getting cold in the evenings. As cold as it could possibly be in the gross heat. Or maybe, it's because she's naked sans a sweater and there's stickiness beginning to dry between her thighs, so she bites her pillow and screams.

Nancy knows herself. Knows that she likes getting her hair permed because she likes the way tighter, fluffier curls frame her face. She loves her bangs. She loves the routine, the upkeep, in order for her hair to stay nice. She really likes pink and it's stayed firmly in the number one spot of favorite colors for as long as she can remember. She likes the brightness of it. Nancy loves wearing skirts, likes the feeling of her bare knees knocking together and sometimes, when she's alone in her room where no one can see, she likes swish and twirl.

Nancy knows herself. It's just -

“Nancy Wheeler?”

Nancy tries not to jump - or at least, tries not to make her shock so evident. She does nearly drop the can of tomato soup from her hands and it causes a fuss as she reorients herself, trying to put her attention on the girl who decided to strike up a conversation in front of the canned goods.

“Hey!” Nancy puts a lot of enthusiasm into her greeting, then tries to grasp at whatever threads of memory she had from high school, while a small part of her brain kept repeating who the hell, who, what, why -

“Hey, don't stroke out on me, Nancy, it's been a while, it's okay if you don't remember me.”

“Oh, thank god.” It rushes out of her before she can stop it. She slaps a hand over her mouth, apologies already on her tongue and then -

Oh.

“...Why are you laughing?”

The girl - a good and proper three inches taller than her, neat little coveralls rolled up at the ankle, hair a messy crows nest of brown curls - is bent over, belly laughing with a degree of might she's only witnessed when the kids get on a roll with their inside jokes and then ended up on the Harrington’s floor with teary eyes. She tries not to feel too indignant about - about all this. She gives an awkward smile to the grammy woman passing by, who only gives her a look she would call “extremely displeased with this generation’s bullshit”.

“Just - you’re still as honest as ever.” The other girl fans her face and Nancy notes the (astonishing) ability she has to turn into a tomato. It's a strong flush, and Nancy can travel all the way down her neck, down past where the coveralls strain against her breasts.

Nancy clears her throat. “Well. I hate to admit it -”

“Though you just did.”

“Excuse me -” Her lips pinch, familiar frustration causing the breath in her throat to catch. Miss Coveralls decides it's funny, watching Nancy grow angry and fumble.

Nancy thinks of the mantra Robin will mutter when the kids are particularly…kid-like, pacing back and forth rough enough that Nancy’s convinced there will be a hole there before the year’s out. Something like: I'm choosing peace kindness, I’m choosing peace and kindness, I’m choosing peace and kindness, I’m choosing -

So, Nancy takes a page from her book.

“I hate to admit it,” Nancy starts. “But I don’t seem to remember you.”

Miss Coveralls gives a grin - a little more genuine, Nancy thinks.

“Allow me to reacquaint us,” a hand with a bad nail job comes out, fingertips stained with the black polish. “Julia Harvey, but because I was the third Julia in the class, kids usually just called me -”

“Harvey.”

And little memories come back - barely. Julia Harvey. A small part of Nancy’s life, somewhere back in the fifth or sixth grade. Before middle school, before Nancy met her best friend, and when Nancy would spend recess reading fairy tales. Until one day someone (probably Tommy Hagan, now that she thinks about it) had taken the book and mocked her for being such a baby. She hadn't brought any more books to recess after that. Tommy didn't bother her much but when he did - boy did he make sure to bother her.

“So you do remember?” Nancy senses a bit of disbelief in her tone.

“A little,” Nancy shrugs. “Not much.”

“Well. Good.” Julia leans against her cart. “Means I practically have a clean slate to start with you. Unfortunately, Jessica Green has some beef with me and it made getting groceries last week a bit awkward.”

Julia has a tone similar to Robin - not the same raspiness or weird little breath pushes, but has the same general…attitude. Likes to throw her hands up to emphasize something. It warms Nancy’s chest and she can't really help it.

“Jessica Green bought weed for $30 and kept talking about how high she was when it was really just a baggie of parsley and black pepper.” Nancy says flatly.

And Nancy thinks yes! because apparently that was the right thing to say. Julia’s back to belly-laughing, back to flushing that fire truck red and it stirs something in Nancy’s belly. It makes her fingers shaky - enough to the point where she's clutching the tomato can too hard in her palms. But it makes her - makes her determined. For what she doesn't really know, all she knows is that she's been scraping at her bedroom walls for so long and it feels as if there's an opportunity in front of her.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

Nancy learns a lot about Julia Harvey within the next eight hours.

“I moved to Chicago right after fifth grade,” she says around a pile of fries at the diner. She likes to put her ketchup on top and not the side, just like Robin, and Nancy personally finds it gross but her distaste makes Julia grin. “I’m packing up my grandparents this week and helping them move to Florida.”

Nancy wrinkles her nose.

“I know.” Julia twists a stray brown curl around her finger. “Fucking Florida.”

Nancy ends up stealing some of her fries.

“- I work at a museum now,” Julia mentions as they put away the groceries Nancy bought. Julia keeps hers in a baggie on the counter, all easy foods for a car drive. “I’m helping them establish a database on the computers for archival purposes.”

“Oh wow,” Nancy breathes, and she decides she really likes it when she gets to watch people talk about what they're passionate about. “Anything you specialize in?”

“I mean - kinda? I studied Greek and Roman history so that's where I tend to really know how to organize.” She wiggles her eyebrows as if her competency was the sexist thing in the world. Nancy still blushes for some reason.

“I really like organizing everything we have on the Nine Lyric Poets. Anacreon, Pindar, Sappho -”

Nancy likes that one. Sappho. It sounds soft rolling off the tongue.

“ - I dunno, I just really think Metallica is neat.” Julia says around a really awful vegetarian sandwich Nancy threw together for her, for dinner. “I’m more into Blondie though.”

“I know someone who can play their songs really well.” Nancy says, and she notices the patches on Julia's coveralls then: one of some lavenders, another of some places in Chicago, one that looks like a handmade heart, and the other of a green - carnation? “Metallica, I mean.”

“Oh, now that's someone I would like to meet,” Julia gets sparkly eyed when she's excited. “Playing the guitar - kinda attractive don't you think?”

Nancy thinks about Eddie and the joints shared between them, thinks about the calluses on his hands and how they felt, and a bit of embarrassment tickles her gut, and she tries not to think of the idea of watching as Julia held those hands. She looks at Julia’s black stained fingertips and clears her throat.

“Sure, yeah.” And gives her million-watt Wheeler smile. Before Julia can go on, maybe ask Nancy about meeting said guitar player, Nancy nudges her hand with the edge of her cup. “What's your favorite Blondie song?”

Julia’s head tilts, and her bound of curls tips with it. Nancy finds herself a little entranced by the movement. Julia, she decides, is really lovely. She doesn't catch the look that she gives her before she turns to the kitchen to put her plate in the sink.

“Sunday Girl.”

Nancy thinks she may have heard it, she doesn't really remember. She's thinking about painting her nails tonight.

“ - Yeah, I got a lot of friends back in Chicago.”

Julia finishes the ring finger of Nancy’s hands. Nancy doesn't own any black polish, just a deep red that was dark enough, she supposed. Julia had given her a look, and she really couldn't understand it. But they had sat down on Nancy’s floor, eventually laid out on their bellies as her stereo played a tape of Like a Virgin softly in the back. Nancy’s singing, in the quietest breath she could manage, as Stay bounces off the walls of her room.

“I ended up making good friends with a lot of the kids in the art department, just because I would help organize showcases and exhibitions and whatnot.” Julia swipes the polish with a flourish. It makes Nancy grin. Her cheeks are kind of starting to hurt.

“You got any here? Like uh - uh -”

And for a terrifying moment Nancy thinks she knows what she's going to say next. Who she was going to say next. Because in Hawkins it was impossible not to know who was living in who’s pockets and who you could find just by checking another person’s house. Nancy’s mouth goes dry as her chest tightens, watching Julia rake through her memories and -

“Carol? Carol - I don’t know her last name.” Julia shrugs. “She was kind of a bitch. But we were like, twelve, so what do I know?”

Nancy lets out a breath - enough to make Julia notice. And for a moment, the air becomes a little frigid. Because even though they've spent a better part of the day together, shared two meals, and filled each other in on the mundane details of the life that has happened in each other's absence, they do not know each other. Nancy shifts in the awkward silence and shakes her head.

“Carol is a bitch. Last time I checked.” Nancy doesn't let herself stray too far into that memory. She thinks of soft brown curls falling down a leather jacket, sun kissed freckles spread across a displeased face, and the funny little hip pose that Steve does. She opens her mouth, then shuts it just as quick. She mirrors Julia’s shrug.

“Yeah, I guess I have….friends.” Comrades, brothers-in-arms, people I have watched nearly die, people who have bled on me, people I have cried on, people I’ve disappointed and annoyed, people who have made me so angry, people I couldn't bear to lose at this point.

“Yeah, friends.”

They slip into a comfortable silence after that. Or at least, Julia lets Nancy’s stilted answers be, and somehow they finish Nancy’s nails without any more questions. Nancy waves them around, admires them in the yellow light of her lamp

Nancy remembers vaguely, some class back in high school, probably English, probably with Mr. Mart, that talked philosophy. Nihilism, absurdism, existentialism - lots of isms. She thinks, somewhat distantly one day, walking down the blazing hot pavement in her too flat shoes and agonizing underwire bra, that she's sitting on the boat towards nihilism. Nancy may be having the worst summer of her life, maybe going sick from the heatwave, maybe she's having the worst breakdown of her life but she can look in the mirror long enough to realize her new normal is somewhat…bleak.

It’s just fine, Nancy thinks, just normal post-saving-the-world feelings. Things feel bleak and then they get normal. Because that's how it always shook out. She had her guns, and a lot of bad nightmares, but she always had school to keep her on the ground always had -

Well. Always had someone around.

Her mental row boat down the river of nihilism comes to a halt in front of the new fountain they installed. Just outside of Hawkins Library, where the four major offices intersect. It's got - God, Nancy’s stomach starts rolling, hummingbird heartbeat picking up.

It’s got the names of everyone lost.

Missing and dead. Fallen through the cracks. Disappeared in the night. Gone, because there was only so much a tiny hospital could do.

She circles around it, maybe dozens of times, fingers burning a little under the heat absorbed by the metal plaques. She finds it's not the worst pain she's experienced. She runs her name over a few classmates Lily Hart, Caleb Monroe, a few kids who she tutored Annie Gleason, Mary Manson and over some people she hates Jason Carver, and then -

Barbara Holland.

Oh.

Her fingers rub at the engraving. It's a sensation she can't really describe.

Barbara Holland.

There's some story they fed to the town, to the world when the news came a-callin. To save Eddie Munson, Henry Creel became a serial killer, sans otherworldly powers, and everything was pinned on a psychopathic man, as the papers said, who kidnapped and tortured Munson and pinned it on him. And every inexplicable case, including Barbara, including Will and the “body” they found at the quarry, could be traced back to an insane boy who grew up in Hawkins. And Eddie was saved. By the skin of his teeth.

And Barbara Holland got her name in the middle of a fountain that people would sit their grimey asses on.

Of course it doesn't change how she feels. Not in the slightest. Doesn't stop her from feeling uneasy everytime she looks at Steve’s pool. Doesn't stop her from sitting in the bathtub and thinking about how if she fell asleep and slipped under, she and Barb could be matching, even in their deaths. She's got a friendship bracelet wrapped around her wrist. She hopes Barb didn't lose hers when she - when she -

“Nancy?”

lavender, coffee, and then something inexplicably -

“Robin.”

It comes out froggy. Immediately, before Nancy can take in the sight of a Robin unbothered, maybe a little red from the heat, her face crinkles. A hand comes to Nancy’s wrist, where it can't seem to stop rubbing at Barbara Holland’s name.

“Nancy, what's wrong?” Robin asks, featherlight, voice coated in a rasp that Nancy can't seem to stop observing - obsessing over. Then her hand moves from wrist to face, cupping Nancy’s cheek with a touch reserved for newborn ducks and eighteen-year-olds breaking down in the middle of town, for the everyone to see.

Karen Wheeler’s first baby girl

“Nancy, you’re -”

putrid, green, and horrifying,

“You gotta breathe -”

skin drooping and eyes watery,

“Breathe with me, Nancy?”

chest carved open for the world to see - to see how ugly this thing can be.

“Nance,” Robin breathes, and somehow she's got Nancy's hand from the metal plaque where Barbara’s name is and has got it across her chest. Right in the middle, Nancy’s fingers trembling left towards Robin’s heart. And then it registers - her own breathing, ragged, coated in phlegm, the hot tears mixing with her sweat on her neck - they way Robin had said Nance.

“Nance, you gotta breathe.” Robin’s got one hand on Nancy’s chest, putting pressure against her sternum ever so slightly, the other wrapped around Nancy’s wrist against her chest like Nancy might float away any second. And it's there, again, like lightning in her chest, like pain blooming at the back of her head and then leaving clarity behind her eyes when it clears. Robin is so scared, terrified, as she watches Nancy fall apart, but puts her hands between Nancy’s breasts and presses, and it reminds Nancy that she's got lungs. And she needs to breathe.

“I’ve got you, Nance.” And it's so quiet, so private, and it lights up the marrow in her bones. Nancy wants to laugh, a grin cracking, deliriously, because she loves the way Robin says Nance, like they know each other well enough to be Nance and Robin. Nance and Robbie, she thinks with affection.

In her swirl of tender delirium, Robin starts moving, though her hand leaves Nancy’s chest and for some reason it leaves her feeling a little hollow. Not in a cavernous way, but not quite like the pinprick of a needle. The warmth left behind feels like a very real reminder, a bit like something that would say Robin was here. In the haze of 101 degrees, Nancy thinks people might be staring. Maybe at the ruddy, runny face of Nancy Wheeler (skin drooping and eyes watery, goddamnit Nancy, get it together) or maybe at the center point of where she and Robin connect. Robin holds hands like she's on a coaster, 24/7, seven days a week. Robin’s hands are maybe not as rough as Eddie’s but just about as well taken care of as Steve's. Nancy does not remember what Barbara’s hands felt like, anymore.

It makes her heartbeat stop, realizing that. There's so many things Nancy remembers. Barbara did not wear perfume, she preferred scented lotion. Strawberry scented. Barbara was in band in middle school and played the trumpet, but always preferred the oboe she learned in elementary. Barbara had a bad habit of picking at her acne scars, because it's just a bad habit, Nance, she would say and then shove Nancy for being so uptight about her skin habits. Barbara hadn't had sex before she died. At least. That's what Nancy thinks. Barbara and Nancy, for all those hours on the phone, didn't talk about sex. They talked about college and Nancy’s blooming interest in journalism, in Barbara’s secret passion for composing things because Barbara was that good.

Nancy remembers so much of her, of her soft strawberry blonde hair and her brown rimmed glasses, but doesn't remember the way her hand felt in her own. She doesn't remember how Barb liked her coffee in the morning, doesn't remember if they ever touched so casually in the bathroom the way Steve and Jonathan had while they brushed their teeth with her. And it makes her stomach drop because why did she want to remember that and why does it hurt so bad that she doesn't?

When Nancy comes to, it's because there's a waft of sweet french roast in her nostrils, a light note of cream on the wind. Her eyes dial back in, on the hand in front of her, so soft on her wrist. Her knees stick a little to the cool metal of the barstool, knees knocking into wood. It's so goddamn hot, and it's too damn bright. And she's still crying, absently, she realizes. The tears never stopped. She hiccups. And then feels his presence at her side.

“Nancy, hey, Nance.”

And she doesn't mean to, she really doesn't, but the flinch happens because Nancy has missed out on two pool parties, has missed out on two sessions of D&D, has pointedly avoided the lake, has driven the backroads just to avoid passing by Eddie’s new trailer, and she's - she's ashamed. And she wasn't quite ready to come face to face with everything - everyone - that she has narrowly, purposefully, avoided.

Steve’s breath comes in clipped.

She clears her throat, wading through copious amounts of liquid and phlegm, but everytime she gears up to speak, she can't seem to get anything out. Her horrible attempt at this charade, false confidence, apparently spurs Robin back to action.

“Stupid, Buckley, stupid,” Robin says a little too loud.

#ronance #stranger things #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #rip to my st fixation #i probably won't watch the last season but goddamn does some of the writing in this go hard #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #don't ask me why i'm apparently obsessed with the name julia #did a fucking double take when i got to that part lmao #tumblr fic #ugh i really like some of my writing here........#idk if i can even muster up the motivation to properly finish this

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honeysuckleharringtons · 1 year ago

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"Brew and Me" Series ~ S. Harrington x Reader

Summary: A dual timeline series about Y/N Byers, a part-time barista/student and full-time mother, and Steve Harrington, a quippy but attractive nursing student, and the game she creates in order for him to score a date with her.

Series Word Count: TBD

Series Warnings: in-depth details about teen pregnancy and its symptoms, in-depth talk about absent fathers and shitty men, details of earthquakes, mentions of hospitals/medical talk, food talk.

⚠️ PLEASE CHECK INDIVIDUAL CHAPTER WARNINGS BEFORE READING ⚠️

lil sneak peak snippet can be found here! ☺️

Part One: "Double Shot" ~ 1.8K words

Summary: (Then) In the small town of Hawkins, Indiana lies the Byers family, a family of four who might just be gaining a fifth member of the family. — (Now) Brew and Me, known for its punny motto and delicious coffee, might soon be known for bringing people together in unexpected ways.

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, small mention of abortion, vomit/morning sickness talk, mild swearing, mentions of food, mentions of medical-related things (not detailed, just mentioned)

POSTED ON: December 3rd, 2023

Part Two: "Déjà Brew" ~ 2.1K words

Summary: (Then) Back in Hawkins, Reader is still reeling from the news she's just received. Turns out, sometimes the love of a mother might just be the very help you need when times are tough. — (Now) At Brew and Me, Reader struggles with the stress of motherhood and working. Turns out, a visit from her least favorite patron might be the thing she needs to cheer her up.

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, mentions of food, mentions of medical-related things, small mention of childhood cancer (not related to any of the main characters in this series)

POSTED ON: December 3rd, 2023

Part Three: "Spilled Milk" ~ 2.5K words

Summary: (Then) Morning sickness has finally caught up to Reader, and unfortunately it has her spilling her guts in more than one way. — (Now) When Steve brings his roommate along with him to the coffee shop, the situation soon goes south when his friend starts to spill Steve's not-so-secret crush to a certain barista.

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, vomit/morning sickness talk, mentions of food, very mild swearing

POSTED ON: December 10th, 2023

Part Four: "Macchiat- Oh No..." ~ 2.4K words

Summary: (Then) Back in Hawkins, the time has come for Reader to break the news to her boyfriend… only, he doesn't take it as well as she'd hoped. — (Now) When Steve stops by for his daily coffee, things take a sour turn when his ex-girlfriend walks in.

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, mentions of vomit, adoption/abortion talk, mild swearing, Reader slaps and hits Jason, food consumption (Reader and Steve share a cookie), Jason is sorta out of character

POSTED ON: December 25th, 2023

Part Five: "Seasonal Specials" ~ 1.9K words

Summary: (Then) Christmas Eve has rolled around, and unfortunately for a very pregnant Reader, she is stuck at home with a migraine. Luckily for her, her younger brother doesn't make for too bad of company. — (Now) A slow shift at Brew and Me turns out to be a good night for advice and a call from everyone's favorite nursing student.

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, discussions of homophobia, discussions of abuse and allusions to physical abuse, discussions of slut-shaming, Reader is lowkey bad at advice when it comes to these topics LMAO, explicit language, food consumption (Reader drinks hot chocolate), not really a warning but Will is gay and autistic in this series

POSTED ON: December 25th, 2023

Part Six: "Full-City Roast" ~ 2.7K words

Summary: (Then) Valentine's Day has arrived, but unfortunately for Reader, it doesn't seem like much love is left in the air. — (Now) As the year comes to end, fireworks are going off everywhere, including in everyone's favorite little coffee shop.

Content Warning: the flashback chapter is pure angst tbh, partially takes place in a hospital, labor and delivery and medical talk, mentions of food

POSTED ON: January 7th, 2024

Part Seven: "Pour Over" ~ 1.6K words

Summary: (Then) Between postpartum blues and her baby's needy coos, Reader's having a hard time adjusting to her new life. But she quickly learns that sometimes you get by with a little help from your friends. — (Now) After dealing with her fussy child all night, the last thing Reader wants is a complicated day at work. Luckily for her, a certain nurse knows just how to make her day a little easier.

Content Warning: Content Warning: postpartum talk, anxiety talk, mentions of vomit (nothing in detail though), very mild swearing, mild hospital talk, mentions of food

POSTED ON: January 27th, 2024

Summary: Summary: (Then) Motherhood gets a whole lot more complicated for Reader when someone who she thought was gone for good shows up to meet her baby. — (Now) When Steve confides in Reader about his not-so-good relationship with his father, Reader reminds him that he's so much more than someone's opinion of him.

Part Eight: "Lukewarm" ~ 2.8K words

Content Warning: explicit language, infidelity/cheating (not by Reader or Steve), allusions to physical abuse, Lonnie is a creep and a douchebag, Steve's dad is an asshole, mentions of male genitalia as an insult, mentions of food, light mentions of medical stuff related to Steve's job

POSTED ON: February 26th, 2024

Part Nine: "A Steep Hill" ~ TBD

Summary: (Then) Despite the tragedy that's struck the Byers family, Reader finds herself quite happy with her new life. After all, there's nothing that brings people together like going up a steep hill with one another, right? — (Now) Steve is determined to make one last ditch effort at winning Reader over. However, his moment is ruined when a certain someone shows up at the coffee shop.

Content Warning: TBD

TO BE POSTED: January 21st, 2024

Part Ten: "I'll Chai My Best" ~ TBD

Summary: (Then) When Reader is reconnected with some old friends, she's reminded that sometimes it's okay to be vulnerable. — (Now) Reader's silly game with Steve's rears its ugly head, but the two remind each other that sometimes, it takes a couple awful tries before you get to make the beautiful latte art of life.

Content Warning: TBD

TO BE POSTED: January 28th, 2024

Finale: "A Whole Latte Love" ~ TBD

Summary: (Then) Reader's first day at her job takes an unexpected turn when a six-foot-something, handsome as all hell nurse walks in and, quite frankly, takes her coffee-flavored breath away. — (Now) Steve and Reader discover that with a little hard work and a whole lot of love, life might just treat you as sweet as the world's best latte.

Content Warning: TBD

TO BE POSTED: February 4th, 2024

series artwork: made by me!

series dividers: @firefly-graphics (edited by me to fit my theme better! feel free to tell me if this isn't allowed!)

support banners: @cafekitsune

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @aftermidnightwriting @manuosorioh @esoltis280

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paperbackribs · 1 year ago

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The Gift (3b of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part A) next: Chapter 4 Break the Illusion Ao3 Link - Chapters will be updated ahead of Tumblr Content: steddie fic, 2K words

Last chapter, Steve had a haunting vision of his Nana before comforting Dustin about Eddie's near death. This chapter, family weighs in on Steve's decision to save Eddie (Part A) and it's time to explain himself to his friends (Part B).

Chapter 3 Boys Are Witches Too (Part B)

…Over the phone, Steve gives his mother a brief outline of the past week, leaving out the more violent events.

Her gifts have always leaned more towards the earthy than the ethereal, like Steve’s and his Nana’s. So, when he tells her that he Knows this is done, a deep sigh of relief comes down the line. She hadn’t been able to convince him to leave Hawkins in ‘83 and now she won’t need to keep trying.

He hopes, a week later, standing in his kitchen this time, that his friends likewise accept his story.

Everyone has rested and is mostly healed and now the whole group are in Steve’s living room waiting to interrogate him.

Not that this is what they’re calling it, Steve thinks wryly, as he gathers drinks and chips to take back. He’s careful as he walks through the door so as not to overcompensate for the absence on his left.

This is just a ‘gathering’ for everyone to catch up on the latest Upside Down escapades.

Except they had already heard about Hopper’s insane tale of Russian capture and escape. Steve sort of had the image of Mrs Byers in an Emma Peel-like leather catsuit, which, frankly, was sexier than he wanted to think about.

He had shared the thought with Robin over the phone last night and was embarrassed at how quickly she’d moaned at the image.

“Steve,” she had warned. “Joyce is a stone-cold fox, and you need to respect that.”

It still leaves him with a smile on his face as he enters the living room, only for the entire group to swivel and stare at him, clearly having been just talking about him. Steve almost unconsciously steps back, alarmed at being the focus of their collective attention.

They’d caught up on the California crew too, including the chilled dude with the best hair Steve had ever seen in Hawkins. And he begrudgingly counted himself in that comparison.

El had come back with a stoic confidence that he supposes comes from having confronted and won against the most shit potluck of a family daring to call themselves brother and father. Still, she had stuck close to Hop ever since they’d reunited.

He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her, but Erica had been a little too quiet. It was easy to get lost amongst the rambunctiousness of the boys, but he’s watched her and wondered if there was more to it than that.

He still regrets not approaching Max after Billy’s death last year. Maybe if Steve had been present, she wouldn’t have gotten to the point where Vecna could scuttle his way through the cracks of grief and confusion losing her stepbrother had forced open.

By force of Hop’s return and Doctor Owen’s machinations, Eddie is in the midst of being freed from all charges. But no mobs have shown up at his doorstep in Forest Hills yet. So far, so good.

Everyone had eventually shared their stories.

Everyone but Steve.

So here he is, he thinks facing them with an uncertain smile, ready to share his part in Eddie’s return from the dead.

Eddie had also been quiet; at least when Steve was in the room. Quiet, but following him with that intent gaze again.

An extension of Steve’s powers has always been the knowledge of when he was the at centre of someone’s attention. It had been a heady feeling when fuelled by popularity at school. It had also been a considerable deflator of his ego in the later years while he had sat alone in the cafeteria, nursing a bruised face and body more than once. Now, he thinks he could feel Eddie’s gaze even without any ethereal awareness.

Steve looks over; his eyes, one warm hazel and the other a vibrant white lock onto Eddie’s brown gaze from across the room. That hum of connection strikes like gentle lightning between them; Steve faintly hears the beginning of a song.

Gone are the two deep pools of warm melted chocolate that once graced Eddie’s face, one now replaced by a lighter version that mirrors Steve’s remaining eye. Where Steve has given loss, Eddie has received an unexpected gift.

“Are you going to tell us now,” Eddie’s voice carries across the room and Steve nods in resignation.

However, he refuses to stand in front of the group as if he’s giving a class presentation like some nervous sophomore. He props himself against the chair arm of Robin’s seat, legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded. She leans against his right side in support.

Steve pauses to gather his thoughts, trying to figure out where to start with such a complex explanation of history, family, and hidden practices.

And it’s not that he’s ashamed, but nor is it in his nature to share and this has always been held tightly to centre of his being, unspoken from all others except family and Robin.

As if reading his mind, Robin squeezes his knee before leaning forward, “Dingus here is a Witch. Like Capital W, can cast a spell on you, see the future, and save a life.” She waves her hands next to him like Vanna White revealing the letters on Wheel of Fortune. He decides not to correct her use of the term spell.

The room explodes.

“You can see the future?” Says Lucas.

“Witches are girls,” calls out Mike. Will elbows him in the ribs, “I bet boys can be too. He’s like a wizard.”

“Are there others like you,” Dustin leans forward, fingers folded under his chin like a miniature detective only missing a magnifying glass and pipe.

“Where’s your broom,” Max heckles, though her eyes are a little too wide to believe the sass in her tone.

“What about your family, Steve,” he hears but doesn’t see Mrs Byers ask gently, who is to his far left.

Nancy holds out her hands, trying to rein in the chaos. “Hey, let him speak. He said he’s going to tell us, so let him.” Steve appreciates it, even though she looks like she’s about to whip out a pad to take notes.

Steve points a finger at them one at a time. “Witches are girls and boys, Mike. Thanks, Will, but don’t call me a wizard. I’m a Witch, there’s no gender. It’s like saying I’m American. I just am. Dustin, yes, there are. Not a lot, but enough. My mom and her side of the family are Witches, it’s how I knew what to do.”

He simply glares at Max briefly, refusing to dignify her with an answer. She pokes her tongue out in response.

“And what is it that you did,” asks Hop, still so strange with his drawn face absent its moustache, the harsh lines on his face speaking of the hardship he had suffered as a prisoner in Russia.

“Because I saw you in that room, Steve. Eddie may have been the one in the bed, but you looked like you were going to keel over at any point.”

Dustin whips his head back to Steve like he hadn’t even considered he could have been anything but okay.

Steve appreciates the sentiment when, even now, his body aches from being dragged over the Upside Down and torn into by those bats. Despite the healing pouch his mother had overnighted to him, he’ll still have a lot of scarring, including the red ring around his neck from a demo-bat’s whip-like tail.

Flashing to the feeling of blood-slicked wounds closing under his hand, Steve thinks he’ll probably be far more marked than the guy who actually died.

But he is recovering. He’s okay. And he says as much to the waiting group. “I’m fine. It was… powerful, what I did. But I’m alive and Eddie’s alive,” Steve points to the other boy like that will win his argument. “So, it all worked out fine.”

Eddie’s lips tighten in response, but he remains silent.

“Yeah, but Steve, what did you have to give up? I’ve been holding back so you only had to do this once, but come on, look at your eyes.”

Steve looks back down at Robin’s upturned and suspicious face in betrayal. He knew she had been too blasé. Too accepting. Too ready to joke about Mrs Byers as an international spy of mystery.

Robin’s brows are drawn, and he can see that she is deadly serious. She’s not going to let him get away with a muttered ‘It’s okay.’

Steve takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling. “It was powerful. And… It’s called The Sacrifice for a reason. But it was worth it!” He looks over at Eddie, whose face is stone for all that Steve can work out what he may be thinking.

“All I needed to do was give away one little thing and you would live. I could See that. You were going to die otherwise and… this just needed to happen. Okay?”

Eddie’s lips relax somewhat, “Okay. Don’t mistake me, I’m grateful, Steve. Thank you. I like living, you know. But I get the sense that this was a Gandalf moment. You threw yourself over into the abyss with the Balrog.”

Steve shakes his head in confusion, “Come on, man. I won’t use sports metaphors on you, and you don’t use fantasy stuff on me. Yeah, I had to give something up, but it was small in the scheme of things. I wasn’t killing myself with a Bolrag.”

He looks out at everyone, noticing varying degrees of conviction reflected in their expressions.

He sighs, “It’s just an eye. I have two, I’m fine. I just run into the walls a little now.” He says it with a light grin, but he gets no laughter back. Which, rude. He had bumped into doorframes somewhat until he began to adjust, so they should acknowledge the joke.

“Too soon?”

“Steve!” Dustin’s eyes are wet again and Steve’s heart sinks. He keeps failing this kid. “Did you nearly die?” He demands.

“Uh,” Steve panics. And, in panicking, forgets that he could just deny it. “A little?”

He flinches at the roar of the room. The kids start shouting questions and accusations again while Robin pushes him in anger so hard that he slides off the chair arm and onto the floor with a thump. Steve winces as the impact painfully spreads through his backside.

Everyone stops, mute. Robin’s shocked face looks down at him from above before she snorts in laughter. He looks up at her face as her eyes and nose crinkle and starts laughing too.

The rooms presumably look on in surprise as the two of them giggle and laugh like loons.

Robin slides out of the chair to heavily land on him, hugging him fiercely to her. “I knew it. I knew you were doing something dangerous, you absolute idiot.”

“I love you too, Robin,” he says dryly, knowing that she will hear the simple truth of it despite his tone.

“Shut it,” she hiccups wetly into his neck with a weak giggle.

The two of them go tumbling as the kids suddenly pile onto the top of them too. For a moment, under the heat and weight of the love of the party, Steve sees a flickering image of them all as if he were watching through his spirit eye, outside of his body. It lasts for only a moment before Mike’s pointy knee connects hard with his inner thigh.

“Mike! Get off!” Steve pushes and the children scatter like petals around him. He rubs at his leg, trying to lessen the sharp feeling of assault. Stops himself from rubbing at his sides too, which feels stretched and uncomfortable over the healing skin and further aggravated by the weight of the squirming kids.

Mike grins unrepentantly, “Sorry.”

Hop starts to update them on the latest rounds of government NDAs to expect and his negotiations with the Sheriff’s office. And Steve knows that they have all accepted it. Steve is a Witch. He’s down one eye. But he’s one of them and that’s that.

Eddie, he notices, picks up a bit more energy. He joins in with a few sharp criticisms of his own for the treatment he’s experienced from Hawkins PD. But Steve doesn’t get to speak to him again until everyone has left. While people trailed out saying their goodbyes, Eddie kept himself busy with taking out the empty Coke cans and chip bags to the trash.

Robin lingers by the front doorway, head cocked to the kitchen in question. He answers with a shrug and nod, and she’s accepted he is fine for whatever is coming, on the condition, she notes by waggling her eyebrows, that he fills her in later.

He shoos her away in agreement and turns back into the house to find Eddie.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

Taglist

My taglist is always open so let me know if you want to be added. Likewise, if you want to be removed let me know too. :) If I've missed you, definitely let me know because it's an accident!

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Edit: @swimmingbirdrunningrock

#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #for chapter notes on references you can check them out on ao3 #paperbackribs writing

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love-kurdt · 11 months ago

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Now That We Don't Talk (byler): 1

word count: 13,034

warnings for this chapter: mild sexual content, a few homophobic slurs. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short, if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, pls dni.

When Will Byers first moved to California, it had taken him two whole months to fully unpack his boxes. And it wasn’t really a mystery as to why; he had no desire to be there. Yes, he’d admit that he wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of Hawkins, either, considering the events of the past few years, but when it all came down to the nitty-gritty, Hawkins was the lesser of two evils. Because Hawkins had Mike, and Lenora was… well, Mike-less. He’d never really thought about life without Mike in it up until then, because he didn’t think he’d ever have to. But then he did have to. And it was an awful feeling.

They’d driven away from the old house, and Will watched as Mike became smaller and smaller, until he was merely a stick figure in the passenger side mirror. Will blinked his tears away and turned his gaze to the road ahead, trying to focus on the lyrics of whatever song by the Smiths that Jon was playing, but it was impossible to take his mind off of his new reality. As cliché as this sounds, Will felt a piece of his heart break that day. And from the look on Mike’s face as he stood idly by, bike leaning against his hip, he was hurting just as much as Will was. He’d looked lost, confused, and hurt. Will could totally relate.

When the Byers arrived in their new house, Will had mixed feelings about it at first, because that’s what usually happens when you arrive in an unfamiliar environment, but those feelings pretty much dissipated within a day. The house was bigger, for one, which was nice in a way. It had two floors, and had enough rooms in it so that El, Jon, and Will didn’t have to bunk up like they’d been doing up until the move. It was in a bigger town than Hawkins was, so not everybody knew each other’s business. Which was great, considering that the Zombie Boy name hadn’t been able to tag along for the ride.

It was a lot warmer than it had been in Hawkins, and he’d grown to hate the cold over the past few years, so that was a welcome change. It was a welcome change for everyone. They’d taken time during their first week in their new home to just sit together on the deck, basking in the sunshine. They learned quickly that sunscreen was a must in California, even when it wasn’t scorching hot. Will had burnt his nose on more than one occasion, and El proceeded to call him Rudolph at every possible opportunity.

El’s addition to the family was another perk of moving. El and Joyce had been able to bond really well, albeit over the loss of Hopper, but also because Joyce finally had a daughter. El and Jon got along well, too, which was nice. And Will was cool with her. She never did anything wrong to him… besides dating Mike, of course, but that was completely out of his control. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d ever want to be with Will in that way. He’d set that in stone over that one summer when he told Will, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

Not even half an hour after their fight in the rain, Mike and Lucas had biked over to Will’s house to apologize. Of course, his demolition of Castle Byers and the return of the Mind Flayer had Will kind of preoccupied at that point, so nothing officially happened to resolve that situation. It was the Subject Change of the Century; they got so wrapped up in the Upside Down stuff that Mike and Will put it off, then put it off some more, and then swept it under the rug altogether.

Nothing was the same after that night… at least, not on Will’s end. What Mike said to him kind of changed his life. He’d become so dependent upon Mike’s overwhelming presence near him all the time that he kind of lost sight of himself and his own identity. In his mind, he wasn’t Will; he was Mike’s-Friend-Will. He felt worthless without Mike, and was always so quick to forgive him out of fear of losing him that he’d inadvertently become Passive with a capital P. And he didn’t want to be that way anymore. So Will created a strictly platonic boundary between them, one that allowed the tension to dissolve, and to give himself space to grieve the idea of Mike he’d created; the one who loved Will back. And then… they were back to best friends again. Just in time for Will to move. At least he and Mike would still be able to talk over the phone.

Will could not have been more wrong. Mike did not make a single call for the entire seven months that he was in Lenora. He didn’t send a single letter, either. Well, at least not to Will. El was in correspondence with him literally every week, practically skipping into the house after trips to the mailbox with letters upon letters in her hands, beaming with excitement. Will hated to admit it, but it got really annoying after a while. Then, she’d started building a shoebox shrine to Mike, and Will was just like, what’s so special about him? He’s just Mike. But then he realized that if he were in her shoes, he would be doing the exact same thing. Because he was Just Mike, and that was why Will loved him.

After watching this go on for a few months, Will kind of fell into a depression, and El was too busy swooning over all the “From, Mike”s to notice that he was falling apart. Will had resigned from the idea of reaching out to Mike, because Mike hadn’t made any kind of effort to reach out to him. That was when he decided to finally start unpacking his boxes. Unpacking meant that the move became real. Unpacking meant that it was permanent. Unpacking meant that he’d have to officially start his new life, at a new school— high school— without Mike in it.

Each box represented a call and letter El received. His clothes were put on hangers in the closet, and his art supplies finally found a place next to his bedroom window. And all of Mike’s writing was shoved away into the darkest depths of Will’s lowest desk drawer, never to see the light of day again. Yeah, Will was being petty, but he was angry. He deserved to be angry, damnit. He was angry at Mike for abandoning him, and he was angry at himself for being delusional enough to believe Mike cared that much about their friendship.

But then, Will started the painting. The Painting. He’d sworn to himself that he would stop making art that revolved around Mike. He would no longer be Will’s muse. He’d started off the piece as a typical landscape, but he added the Thessalhydra, and then he added himself, Lucas, Dustin, and… Mike, at the front, leading the Party to victory. Screw it, Will had thought to himself, everyone else is in the painting, it’d be weird not to include Mike. When he painted the red heart on Mike’s shield as a finishing touch, it hit Will like a truck that he’d created one of his best paintings to date with Mike in his subconscious thoughts the whole time. Mike was inescapable. There was no use in ripping himself up over what he couldn’t control, so Will figured he’d just give Mike the painting during Spring Break.

Spring Break happened, and boy (man, really; the boyish look had almost completely faded away), Mike had changed, in more ways than one. He’d shown up the airport gate nearly half a foot taller, with sharper cheekbones, longer hair, and a deeper voice, wearing the dumbest looking outfit Will had ever seen. He was so happy to see Mike. Mike hadn’t been as excited as Will was, considering the timid clap on the shoulder he’d been given while Will had gone in expecting one of Mike’s amazing, tight hugs. He’d always given the best hugs. Not anymore. So Will tucked the rolled up painting back under his arm and took a step back, letting El and Mike have their time together as a couple. He admired Mike from afar, but that was all Will ever did.

Mike had changed, in more ways than one; he’d gotten so much more attractive… but he’d also turned into a total asshole. Will finally confronted him about his standoffish behavior at Rink-o-Mania, and he’d placed all the blame on Will, not once taking responsibility for essentially forgetting that Will existed, and on his birthday, no less. When he asked why El got so many letters while he got absolutely nothing, Mike replied that it was because she was his girlfriend. Which, yeah, obviously. But when Will followed up with, “...And us?” Mike had snapped, “We’re friends. We’re. Friends.” As the two of them laid in bed that night, it set in that Mike had taken Will’s question in a romantic context. That made his heart flutter a little bit, but he shut himself down immediately, because he was not going down that road again.

Will’s mood hadn’t shifted much when they initially arrived back in Hawkins, following the worst road trip he had ever had the displeasure of going on. He had been trapped in a weed-infused van, sitting inches away from a wordless Mike. He’d given the painting to Mike and lied about its origins just to boost his ego. And worst of all, Will endured an Emotional Michael Monologue in which he told El that he loved her multiple times. When they got out of the van, Will had taken the biggest sigh of relief, because thank God the suffering was over. Oh wait, no, scratch that, because the suffering had only just begun; Vecna was the “Him,” Will was feeling all those years, and “He,” was destroying Hawkins as they spoke.

About a month into the Vecnapocalypse (Dustin had been the one to coin that term, and Will doubled over laughing during a very important group meeting when he’d first used it), Mike had told Will that he’d finally broken up with El. Will was secretly elated; the mope-fest was finally over. But when Mike revealed the reason why they’d broken up, which was the very painting that Will had used as a device to try and clear the air between Mike and his sister, Will’s back-breaking efforts seemed to be all for nothing. They had a little argument-turned-heart-to-heart about it, but they hugged it out in the end like best friends do. And things were fine. They were a team again, and that’s what mattered most.

The dynamic between Mike and Will changed, though, throughout the course of the Vecnapocalypse. And Will wasn’t complaining. They’d gone from being virtually radio silent to… whatever the situation was. They’d flirt, hold hands, listen to each other’s mixtapes, and partnered up together during missions. This continued on for a while until one particular moment in the Upside Down, when Mike had leaned in a bit too close, almost as if we were about to… no way. Will was beyond tempted to lean in as well, caving into the deepest desire he’d ever had in his life: kissing Michael James Wheeler square on the mouth. And he almost did. However, in typical Mike fashion, ever the dramatic, Mike jumped backwards, stumbled outside, tripped over a gigantic vine, and triggered a bunch of Demobats to swarm the Upside Down version of the Wheeler house. After that shit show, Will couldn’t help but be a little bit bitter towards Mike. That side-battle could have cost them everything. Vecna could have won. And on top of all that, Will was tired of being led on by Mike and all of his contradictions, so he kept Mike at a physical distance from there on out. They never brought up the Almost-Kiss ever again.

Things got even stranger a few years later. On one particularly gross day in August of 1989, he’d dropped by the Wheelers’ to ask Mike if he wanted to watch a movie later that night. Will headed up to Mike’s room, and the door was slightly ajar, so he lightly knocked. No response. Mike probably had his headphones on or something. Will walked in, but he was nowhere to be seen. Mike’s notebook was lying open on his desk beside a pile of multiple ripped-out pages, with one of his signature blue LePens sitting on top of the page, the cap cast to the side. Mike had a bad habit of accidentally letting his overly-expensive pens dry out, so Will figured he’d do him a favor and put it back on and save him the trouble. He took a few steps over to Mike’s desk and reached for the pen, but immediately paused in his tracks when he noticed the first two words written on top of the page.

Dear Will,

He shouldn’t have read any further, because he wasn’t sure if it was Mike’s intention for him to even see it, but it was too late to go back. His eyes involuntarily scanned the page, widening more and more with every sentence.

Dear Will, When I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my life. Poetic, I know. It kind of came out of nowhere. You know I’m not much of a poetry kind of guy, I’m more of a storyteller, but the thought came to me in a dream I had about you, and I just had to write it down in one of these letters.

Hold up, Will thought. What the hell? He… had a dream about me? Why would he have a dream about… Why me? What letters? What was he talking ab— His eyes hesitantly drifted to the pile of papers beside the notebook. He gulped, his suspicions confirmed.

You’re asleep in my bed, and I’m hunched over my desk, writing this letter because I am freaking the fuck out. And not because I almost ruined our chance to defeat Vecna. Well, that too, sorry about that. But the primary reason for my current freak out session is because we almost kissed. And that’s weird.

He flipped to the next one.

Something is wrong with me. I swear to God, I didn’t mean for this to happen. But I keep staring at you for longer than I should. And I can’t look away. I haven’t been able to since the Almost Kiss™. You’ve caught me looking these past few times and I feel myself burning up like a match every time. And I’ve come to the conclusion that you, Will Byers, are my flame.

And the next one.

I’ve kind of gotten used to sleeping in the same bed as you, subconsciously cuddling through the night, and waking up tangled together. Your face is so relaxed right now, and you hum contentedly to yourself every few minutes. It’s so fucking cute. I’m glad you’re not having as many nightmares anymore. Or, at least you’re having slightly better dreams. I should go to bed soon. I don’t want you to catch me writing. But yeah. You’re adorable. And I really like you.

And the next one.

I was so caught off guard by the fact that you called me cute that I couldn’t get any words out. You turned around quickly to get your bike and hopped on, giving me a small wave as you left my driveway. And it hit me then: I love you. I am in love with you. Unabashedly, wholeheartedly, head over my fucking heels in love with you. And believe me, this has been a long time coming, and not just because you complimented me. I think I’ve loved you for a long time. I just didn’t know what it was.

And the next one.

Why does loving you feel so wrong, yet so right? It seems like for every thought I have about you, another comes to bite me in the ass. I wish I could just think about you in peace without all of the shame. But at the same time, I know it isn’t normal for me to like you, to love you, to want you. I’m usually able to stop my mind from wandering into that territory, but there’s something about you that is making it more and more difficult for me to resist those thoughts from entering my head. I think the main culprit is your shoulders. Yes, I said it. I am attracted to your shoulders. Specifically when you wear your polo shirts that are a size or two too small and hug your upper body a little too tightly. Or when you steal my leather jacket and shove it on, and it accentuates your arms, rather than making them disappear like it does to mine. You’re so attractive, it’s actually crazy. I think my brain needs to catch up to my heart. Because my heart is thriving, but my brain is a killjoy.

Another.

I turned to my dad with a wild look in my eyes (probably), and said some shit like, “Yeah, me and my boyfriend, Will Byers, had such a great time last night! We stared longingly into each others’ eyes for hours, then we cuddled, then we kissed, and then we got each other off! It was so hot, Dad. Truly. I wish you could’ve seen–” … I know what I said was a lot. I mean, it was pretty vulgar. Plus, it's never actually happened, and it never will happen. So I'm sorry about that.

Another.

I found this set of dice, though, and they were just… so you. They were a deep, translucent purple with gold stars painted around each number, all of which were also gold. They reminded me of your Will the Wise costume. I know you haven’t worn it in a long time, and that’s probably my fault. I think the last time you wore it was the day we had that fight in the garage, when I told you it wasn’t my fault you didn’t like girls. And the sick, twisted irony of that is, in reality, I’m the one out of the both of us who doesn’t like girls.

Another. Another. Another.

I think about you and those fucking gorgeous lips almost every waking moment. And the urge to follow through with my desire to kiss you always gets stronger whenever you’re in the room. Which is unfortunate, since you’re always in the room now— specifically my room, because it’s summer, so of course we’re hanging out every day. We made that stupid promise to dedicate one-on-one time to just the two of us. If only “one-on-one” was synonymous with “you-on-me.” Or “me-on-you”…? Either would work for me, honestly. But there’s something about the thought of you straddling me and leaning your entire body weight onto me that makes me weak in the knees. I’m kind of glad your mom wanted you home tonight, because there’s only so long I can refrain from lunging into your space and holding your face in between my hands and

But then, your very short swim trunks clung to your thighs, and eventually, I was able to see the full outline of your dick. Like, the whole thing. Those shorts do not leave anything to the imagination. And, imagine I did. I began to fantasize about the most lewd things: getting you off with my hand, sucking you until you came down my throat, using those thick thighs to grind myself down onto, groping your perfect ass as you flip me over onto my back, feeling the sensation of our cocks rubbing together through our clothes, feeling you on me, inside of me. That last mental image snapped me out of my thoughts, and I realized I was rock hard in my own swim trunks.

We fell asleep, together, on the couch last night, cuddling like we had during the time that you lived with me, and I felt something similar to homesickness. Nostalgia. When we woke up, I was resting my head on your chest, and I shifted my eyes upwards to look at your lips, which were slightly parted by the soundest of sleeps. I wanted to kiss you. I really, really wanted to kiss you, Will. And I want you to hold me in your arms forever, because it’s the only place I can truly call home.

Will continued shuffling through the letters, counting twenty five. Plus the one in the notebook, which made a grand total of twenty six. He could barely believe what he was seeing. This had to be a kind of creative writing exercise or something. Or maybe Mike had met another person named Will and… fallen deeply in love with them? Or maybe it was a cruel joke Mike was playing on him, because he’d decided that writing love letters would be a good prank to pull on his gay best friend. Mike had no right to do this to him. No fucking right. Will ripped the last letter out of the notebook, gathered the rest of them between his sweaty hands, and headed down the two flights of stairs leading to the basement.

When he’d attempted to confront Mike about the letters, Will was pinned against the wall and kissed as if it were something he should have been expecting that entire time. There was no way Will could have fathomed that this was how his time in Hawkins was going to close out. He’d been looking forward to the point in his life where everything could just be normal for once; he’d been on a decent roll for the past two years. But Mike just had to go and drop the bomb on Will that he wanted the two of them to spend the rest of their lives together, and that threw Will for a goddamn loop, because in what world– in what universe– was Mike Wheeler loving him, Will Byers, even remotely viable? Had the Upside Down come back again? Was Will trapped in a nightmarish torture chamber, with Mike as the subject of said nightmare?

He would believe it, honestly; when Will mentally added up the Vecnapocalypse period of their relationship (including the Almost-Kiss), the endless mixed signals afterwards, senior prom, the letters, and the probability that Mike would have just let Will leave town without admitting his stupid, dumb, impossible feelings or letting him know about all of those love letters he’d written over the past few years, it made sense. And that kiss, if he’d really meant it, made Mike’s stance on their relationship crystal fucking clear, leaving Will feeling breathless and blindsided. By the time he escaped the Wheeler house that humid August evening with tears following the semi-permanent track marks that stained Will’s face due to crying for literal years back to back, he knew for sure and certain that he couldn’t spend one more week in Hawkins, Indiana. He was done.

Will had been pretty damn quick about escaping Hawkins to begin with, but the urgency to get away from Mike only accelerated his timeline. He spent the rest of the summer avoiding Mike at all costs; he’d been working at Melvald’s with his mom all summer, but started picking up extra hours under the guise of wanting to save as much money as he could for a new car– which he’d already had more than enough money for, but still. Time spent at work was time spent away from Mike. And a couple extra paychecks couldn’t hurt. Joyce certainly didn’t complain; she loved having Will around, and savored every moment she could with her Baby Boy before he moved to the Windy City.

Will realized, as he sat on his mattress amongst heaps of boxes scattered across the floor of his dorm at the American Academy of Art, that anger seemed to fuel his unpacking process. It ignited the flame of desire for transition and change in his life. And oh, after the summer Will just had, did he desperately need a change. This particular change, Will decided, would be good for him. He was out of Hawkins, at his dream school, about to begin studying the subject that he loved most in the entire world, and Michael Wheeler wasn’t around anymore to throw him off. He grabbed a marker out of his pencil case and marked off the date on his calendar: Sunday, August 20th, 1989. This was going to be a good, drama-less, normal year. Will could feel it.

“That’s everything, huh?” he turned to look towards the doorway, where his mom stood with misty eyes. She took a few steps inside, letting the door close, and Will hopped off his bed and wrapped her in a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, this is it,” Will said, his voice shaking a little bit with overwhelming emotion. It was bittersweet. Yes, he hated Hawkins, and was grateful to have finally escaped, but he also hated the idea of leaving his mom back in Indiana. She’d brushed Will’s concern off, saying she wouldn’t be alone, because his stepdad would be there with her. Will didn’t even like referring to Hopper as his stepdad. He’d accidentally called Hopper “Dad,” over dinner a year ago, and after an emotional encounter where James Hopper, the Hawkins Chief of Police, shed actual tears, the name kind of stuck. Hopper couldn’t make the trip up to Chicago with Joyce, as he needed to help El move into her dorm at Vanderbilt University.

Joyce pulled back to smile up at Will. “You are going to do, and are already doing, great things in this world, Will. You deserve every opportunity you’ve been given, and more. I am so proud to be your mom.” He felt tears pricking his eyes. He’d miss his mom the most.

“I love you,” Will replied, hugging her once more in order to avoid an emotional breakdown. He’d gotten close to having one at least five times throughout the day, but never did. He saw the door open out of his peripheral vision, and he lifted his head to see a guy step into the room. His hair was shaved down to a buzzcut, and a copious amount of freckles splayed themselves across his face. He casually strode right past Will, without even acknowledging his existence, before tossing a duffel bag onto his bed and unzipping it. Only now did Will notice the near-complete setup on the other side of the room; he’d apparently been here for a while.

Will decided to talk first and introduce himself, because this guy clearly wasn’t willing to make any effort. He wanted to make a good impression, even if Buzzcut Dude didn’t.

“Hey, uh, I’m Will. Byers.”

“Aaron Heathrow,” Buzzcut Dude– Aaron– replied, turning towards Will. They gained eye contact for the first time, and Aaron’s eyebrows curved into backwards S’s on his forehead. He looked Will up and down and scoffed, returning to his unpacking without another word. Well. This was going to be an awkward arrangement, that was for sure.

“Honey, let’s go check out the common area!” Joyce broke the silence, and Will couldn’t help but glare back at her. He wanted to deal with this on his own. Will loved his mom with his entire heart and would literally die for her, but this was not his idea of a fresh start. Joyce gave him a knowing look and Will, knowing his mother’s stubborn nature all too well, followed her out the door and down the hallway. She led them toward the armchairs in the common area and gestured for him to sit down next to her. Will knew where this was going, but he obliged anyway.

“Are you sure–”

“Mom, oh my God, I’m fine–”

“He just seemed very–”

“Yeah, okay, he was rude,” Will kept his voice low at the risk of people overhearing, but keeping his tone firm. “But not everyone in this world is kind. I, of all people, should know that.” He watched as his mom’s features fell from their usual anxiety-riddled state and into more of an empathetic sadness.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she murmured, and for a second, he felt badly for snapping. He shook off that shame, because as unfortunate as this situation was, Will knew in his gut that he was right; the world didn’t owe kindness to him. But he also knew he didn’t owe kindness to the world, either. It had taken enough from Will already.

“I just want to stick this out for a little bit before jumping to conclusions,” he said, and his mom went to talk, but he continued on before she could. “I’ll switch rooms if anything does happen, I promise.” He took his mom’s hands in his own in an attempt to put her mind at ease, which would not be an easy feat, but he could at least try.

Apparently it worked, because the next thing she said to Will caught me off guard: “Okay, sweetie. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Who was this woman, and what did she do with Joyce Byers-Hopper? Hell if Will knew.

“No, it’s fine,” he assured her, “I just… I want to start making my own decisions and being more independent and stuff. And I want you to know that I’ll be okay.” He placed a hand on Joyce’s shoulder, knowing that this transition would be incredibly difficult for her to process. After everything that had happened with the Upside Down, Will had been shocked when his mom was so encouraging regarding his pursuit of art school. He’d assumed that she would want him to stay as close to Hawkins as possible. But in the end, she had been the one to slide the American Academy of Art pamphlet across the table.

“I know you will,” Joyce smiled up at Will, reaching up to pat his cheek. He leaned into the affection, knowing that this would probably be his last time seeing his mom until Thanksgiving. She raised her left wrist up to her face and squinted at her watch. “I should start heading home, before it gets dark. I love you, my sweet boy.”

Will couldn’t help but pull Joyce in for one last hug, feeling the emotion creep back into his voice as he told his mom that he loved her so much and to call him when she got home so he’d know she was safe and sound. He walked her out of the main lobby, waving as she headed back to the visitor parking lot. When she pulled away, Will turned on his heel and headed back up to his dorm room. His dorm room. Holy shit. He was in college. What even was life?

Will opened the door to his room and saw Aaron laying on his bed, his basketball short-clad legs spread obnoxiously far apart in front of him as he read what looked like a book about the Reign of Ronald Reagan. Lovely. Will diverted his eyes before Aaron could catch him staring, and focused on the pile of boxes he had yet to unpack. He picked one up, set it down on the edge of his bed, and unfolded the pre-bent corners on the top to reveal his extensive sweater collection. Perfect.

He pulled out the blue sweatshirt on top, letting it fall into its full form in his hands. Oh, god. This was Mike’s sweatshirt, the one Will stole from him last winter. He laid it out on the mattress and reached in for the next sweater, but there weren’t any more. He peered inside the box to see the dice… that Mike had given him for his seventeenth birthday, the picture frame… that held a photo Jonathan had taken last year when Mike had the genius idea to hop his six foot three self up onto his handlebars, and the binder… that held all of Mike’s letters that he’d written to Will. He’d kept everything in a shoebox under his bed back home, and he had no recollection of packing them. How did they end up making it to Chicago with him? No matter how it happened, it had, and Will was stuck with all these memories of Mike. He would never throw them out, because that would most definitely keep him up at night. And he didn’t want to hide them away, because despite the sadness he felt when he looked at them, they were also accompanied by a strange sense of appreciation for what he and Mike did have: thirteen years of friendship. That’s still something, right?

Will shrugged the sweatshirt on. I’m wearing it because it’s comfortable, he tried to justify himself to himself, not for any other reason. Now that that was settled, Will was determined to unpack something that would make his room feel like his own. He set the dice and the picture frame on his desk and reached over to the rolled-up posters that sat on top of all his bags. He removed the tape from the edges of one of them and unrolled it to reveal the album cover of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John. He smiled to himself and grabbed a few thumbtacks from his box labeled “School Supplies,” before standing on top of his mattress and hanging the poster on the wall. Once Will was satisfied with its placement (five attempts and three concerningly lost thumbtacks later), he got off of his mattress and took a step back to admire his work, putting his hands on his hips.

“Elton John?” he heard a voice ask from behind him, and Will turned around to face Aaron, whose facial expression had settled into what looked like disgust. He’d forgotten Aaron was even there. “Jeez, man, if I knew I’d be dorming with a fag this year, I’d’ve brought my gun.” He knew it. He knew Aaron was a homophobe, he knew it from the second he’d looked Will up and down when he introduced myself earlier. Maybe Will’s mom was–

“Better to shoot you with, my dear,” Will replied coolly, before snapping his mouth shut and widening his eyes at the realization that he was the one who had just said that. He’d never been good at comebacks; that was more of Mike’s specialty. In high school, Will was the one stuttering out the lamest retorts of all time while Mike verbally kicked their bullies’ asses right back at record speed. Will envied his lack of filter sometimes.

“What did you just say?” Aaron narrowed his eyes and moved to get off his bed and meet Will in the middle of their room, so they stood face to face. Will could feel Aaron’s breath on his face, and it smelled like stale sour cream and onion chips, but he stood his ground.

“I said,” Will lowered his voice, moving closer into Aaron’s space, “I’m a pretty damn good shot, so you’d best leave me alone.” He took a few steps away from Will and put his hands up in surrender. Good. When Will promised to himself that things were going to be different, he meant it. He was not going to take any shit from this guy, or anyone else for that matter. Not anymore.

“Where was I?” Will asked himself, flipping right back into the good mood he’d been in before. He picked up the next one and hummed to himself before hanging up his poster of The Cure’s Boys Don’t Cry.

This campus was so confusing. Will had to stop and turn around on the sidewalk at least three times before he found the Convocation Hall, where he was due… right now for orientation. He pulled the unnecessarily heavy door open with all the strength he had, which was not much, but he managed to make it through and reach the sign in table for last names A-E.

“Hi! Welcome to freshman orientation!” the girl seated at the table smiled at Will, and he noticed little white stars drawn in the corners of her eyes. “Can I have your last name, please?”

“Sure, it’s Byers,” he replied, “B-Y-E-R-S.”

“William okay? For your name tag.”

“Just Will’s fine.”

“Alright,” she nodded, handing him one of those cheesy Hello My Name Is stickers. “So you’re gonna be over in circle seven, head on over there and take a seat!”

“Thank…” Will trailed off, having to squint so he could read the name she’d written on her tag. Kate. “Thank you, Kate!”

“You’re welcome!” she called after him, and he walked over towards the table with the giant green “7” centerpiece. He glanced down at his tag, noticing what Kate had written on the tag: Just Will. He swiveled around quickly, and watched as Kate snorted a laugh, giving him a thumbs up. She was funny. Will smiled back, returning the thumbs up before approaching his group.

He had no idea what to expect; they’d obviously be going over typical orientation things like campus life, rules and regulations, and maybe a fire escape route or two. But they would also more than likely be doing icebreakers, like a “getting to know your peers” kind of deal. Will hated icebreaker exercises, because not much about him was interesting. Not much that he was legally permitted to share, anyway. And even if he could, he wasn’t sure if he would want to revisit that time in his life, or if he wanted others to know about what he’d been through. He was kind of grateful that his NDAs revoked that decision for him.

Will reached the only empty seat left at his table– karma for his tardiness– and sat down with his group, who was already knee-deep in conversation. The only seat left was between two girls; one of them looked like she could star in a live action anime series, and the other looked like she’d fit right in with a stoner rock band.

A guy with bleach blonde hair noticed Will’s presence and glanced up, a smile spreading across his face. “Aye! A newcomer! Welcome! What’s your name?”

“Uh, Will,” he eloquently said.

The guy stood up, crossing the circle in order to shake Will’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Will! I’m Pete, your group leader, and…” he looked around at everyone else, “Why don’t we all go around the circle to catch Will up?” The girl sitting next to Pete lifted a hand in greeting, starting off the Name Game.

“Hey, I’m Claire Bierker.”

“Ryan Baker.”

“Jackson Boonstra.”

“Ivy Baldwin.”

“Hannah Reid.”

“Wait–” Pete cut Hannah off, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Reid? I have you on here as ‘Beid.’”

“Yeah, um, about that… there might have been a typo on my application, something to do with my terrible handwriting.” The rest of the group laughed at that, including Pete.

“Well… I think you should be fine here. Will, take your seat between Hannah and Ivy, and we can get started on our other activities.” Half an hour went by, and they’d kind of drifted away from the initial Orientation outline that Pete had been working off of. Will was kind of glad that this was the case; if he had to tell one more person about his favorite food, he was gonna riot. Beside him, he felt Ivy nudge his arm with her elbow.

“So. This is gonna be a fucking blast,” she muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Will replied.

“What’s your major?”

“Painting,” he said, “You?”

“Ceramics.”

“Woah, really? That’s so cool!”

“Thanks,” she grinned. Will felt Hannah lightly tap his shoulder with her fingertips, and he turned his head to give her his attention. It hit him that he hadn’t been to a social function since that last high school party he and the Party went to; he wasn’t used to this amount of attention.

“I can’t help but notice your guitar pin on your backpack,” Hannah gestured downward, where Will’s black Jansport backpack sagged onto his shins. “Do you play?”

No. The pin was Mike’s. I might have stolen it from him.

“My… my friend does,” Will hesitated, trying his best not to outwardly cringe at himself. Mike was not his friend. Mike ruined my fucking life. He wrote twenty-six letters to me, confessed his undying love for me out loud, kissed me with an urgence that haunts me every night, and then expected me to just– “I don’t play any instruments. I wish I did. But I love to listen to rock music.”

“What are your favorite bands?” Ivy asked Will, and he hummed in contemplation. He leaned back in his chair, wrapping his feet around the front legs for gravitational support. That way, he could see the two of them without getting whiplash.

“The Cure, Pink Floyd, The Smiths, the Beatles… I also like Bowie and Elton John.”

“Look at you! Hannah, this is my kinda guy!” Ivy exclaimed, smacking Will’s shoulder so hard that he almost fell backwards onto the floor. Hannah saved him, though, pulling him upright again.

“Let’s not scare him off, now,” Hannah laughed uneasily, and Will shook his head.

“No, you’re not gonna scare me off. This is kind of… nice, actually,” he admitted, folding his hands together in his lap. “Would you guys wanna hang after this snooze fest is over?”

“I’m so down,” Ivy replied instantly, and Hannah agreed not even a second later.

Maybe making new friends wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d imagined.

They ordered a pizza and, in the meantime, headed up to Will’s dorm. He unlocked the door and braced himself for Aaron’s usual disdain, but was pleasantly surprised when his roommate was nowhere to be found. He exhaled, and headed inside, holding the door open for the two girls. Hannah immediately gravitated toward his desk, where his set of dice rested atop the little purple pouch they came in.

“Oh my God, you play D&D?” she gasped.

Will nodded, taking a few steps in her direction. “Yeah, I used to play more often with my friends back home. But… I kind of stopped a few years ago. They all lost interest.” ... ‘Lost interest’ was a fucking understatement.

“Well that’s depressing,” Hannah slumped down onto Will’s comforter, haphazardly splaying her arms out on either side. “Tell you what, though,” she lifted her head to look at him, “My roommate, Kate just so happens to be the the DM of our school’s D&D Club, and she was telling me that they’re gonna be at the activities fair next week. Maybe we can check it out!”

Wait a minute… Will knew that name. “By any chance was Kate at–”

“The A-E sign in table at Orientation? Yup, that’s her!” she grinned. “She’s a junior. They paired all the freshmen with upperclassmen this year for some reason. Something about mentorship? I dunno,” she sat up and shifted her gaze to Aaron’s side of the room. “Who’s your roommate? He has…” she squinted, reading the titles of the books on Aaron’s desk before widening her eyes in shock. ��He has an interesting taste in literature.”

Will could only nod. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help but notice Ivy’s fixation on something on his desk. Maybe she was just admiring the dice, or checking out Will’s pile of books. But as he moved closer, he realized that she was staring at none other than the picture frame. The one and only picture frame Will owned. The one and only picture frame Will owned that just so happened to hold that one photo of– “Who’s this attractive string bean?”– Mike.

“Oh, he’s just a friend,” Will said, and Ivy shot a suspicious look in his direction.

“Looks like you two were close,” she smirked up at him. “Really close.”

“Were. Past tense,” he repeated back to her firmly. He really didn’t want to dredge up his turbulent… whatever-ship with Mike Wheeler right now. He just wanted to focus on the Here and Now of it all.

“So, Will, are you dating anyone?” Hannah asked, changing the subject. And for that, Will would be eternally grateful. Because even from hundreds of miles away, Mike Wheeler still managed to stress him out.

“No, my love life is kind of dead at the moment,” he shrugged, and Hannah’s eyes lit up.

“Maybe we can find you a cute girl!”

Woah. Will hadn’t been expecting to have to come out so soon, but… there’s a time and a place for everything, and apparently, this was both the time and place, no matter how apprehensive he felt about it.

“Um, about that…” he began, but was cut off by the sound of Ivy’s palm smacking the surface of his desk.

“What did I tell you?!” she exclaimed, her wild eyes meeting Hannah’s. “I called it. I. Fucking. Called. It.” Will was so confused.

“Huh? Called what?”

“You’re gay, right? You’re into guys?” Ivy asked, and he nodded hesitantly.

“See?!” she screeched suddenly. “I’ve got lesbian intuition!”

“Guess I don’t have to formally come out, then,” Will chuckled.

“I’m so sorry about her,” Hannah placed a hand on his shoulder, and he shook his head. He took her hand in his, lowering their connected hands off his shoulder and swinging them back and forth between them.

“No, it’s okay, it made things easier for me, I guess. I’m kind of glad I didn’t have to prepare a dramatic speech or anything.”

“Yeah, God, that’s always a pain,” Ivy added. “It’s so stressful running the risk of ruining a friendship or relationship just by being yourself.”

Will knew that experience all too well. “Yes, it’s horrible.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be good friends, William Byers,” Ivy smiled, taking both his and Hannah’s free hands so they formed a triangle. “Best friends, even.”

Will’s first class was Painting I with Dr. Miriam Horovitz, located clear on the other side of campus. He knew from the get go that it would take a while for him to figure out where the hell he was going, so he left an hour early, just in case something like this happened. And it did. So when he finally sat on a worn-down stool in front of an empty easel, it felt all the more surreal. He’d made it. To class. But also… he’d made it to art school in Chicago.

Dr. Horovitz was a short, middle-aged southern lady who had the combined fashion sense of a Flower Power protestor and a gothic, medieval witch. Mike would have loved– no. No. Not now. Will needed to focus, specifically on the assignment Dr. Horov– Miriam, as she insisted upon everyone calling her– was explaining.

“So for your first assignment, I want y’all to paint something that brings you joy, but also inflicts immense pain. It could be a feeling, a person, a material object… it’s up to y’all where you want to take your projects. I’m just tryin’ to figure out everyone’s specific styles.”

If Will were given this assignment a year prior, he would have done something related to the Upside Down. But now, as he closed his eyes, his thoughts went awry. Vines, snakes, fire… Mike. Vecna, gouged out eyes, mold… Mike. The rain fight. The Almost Kiss. The neverending flirtation. Prom. The letters. No, Will, I’m in love with you. Don’t say that, please don’t say that, you don’t mean it. Mike’s sobs echoing up the stairwell on his way out.

Well… looks like Mike is gonna be the subject of my first ever project in art school, Will thought, rubbing a hand down his face with a groan. Fuck me.

Will glanced at myself in the mirror, which he currently stood in front of, shirtless. He’d been insecure about his body for years. He had always been more on the skinny side, but then he got tall and skinny, his knees turned into knobs, and his voice dropped— but he kept his baby face. He was a walking contradiction. It didn’t help that his clothes just made him look worse. They were more often than not hand-me-downs from Jonathan, or purchased for a buck each at the thrift store. When Will was younger, he would secretly resent his mom for not being able to afford newer, more flattering clothing. Then, he learned about the concepts of money and divorce, and that resentment never once entered his mind after that. He could never blame his mom for their circumstances, and would never dream of holding their poverty against her, but still. It was embarrassing. Especially when most of his other friends walked around looking like they’d come fresh out of the Starcourt Mall. Thankfully, when he’d moved to California, Will’s shoulders had filled out a little bit, and he could wear most of those clothes without cringing anymore. And after the events of the Upside Down, he spent some of his government hush money on a new wardrobe.

Even then, despite the broader shoulders, newer wardrobe, and a few years’ time, there still wasn’t really much to see, physically speaking; he looked less like a young man, and more like a boy with unbalanced muscle mass and light, barely-there stubble on his jaw. To be fair, he was only five months into being eighteen, and had plenty of time for his body to mature. Working out would probably help quicken the process.

“Alright, man, you ready to go?” Aaron came out of the bathroom rather abruptly, startling Will out of his thoughts. Aaron’s eyes lowered down to Will’s torso, lingering for a few extra seconds before he said, “I’m glad you decided to come with. You definitely need it,” with a light chuckle. Will felt his face burning up with self consciousness as he scrambled to his dresser, throwing on the first shirt he could get his hands on: a plain white Fruit of the Loom tee, the kind that came in a multipack. It was a bit loose on him; his mom had been a bit optimistic when she’d talked him into buying the mediums.

Will could have easily turned down Aaron’s offer to go to the gym with him. Aaron’s new membership included a promotional perk which gave him the option to invite a second person for free. In turn, once the person paying for the membership had built up enough points, they could redeem said points for a private training session. Aaron, a cup that apparently overfloweth with boundless generosity, offered that guest spot up to Will. Because he was poor. And skinny. And he liked Elton John. That was, like, the trifecta of male incompetence. Will often thought about why Aaron insisted upon coming to the American Academy of Art if he hated gay people so much. He assumed that in order to get on Aaron’s “good” side– whatever the hell that even meant, if it even existed–, he would simply have to play the role of a straight guy, which was what he had been doing for his entire life up until a few months ago, so it wouldn’t be difficult to do.

Will hastily laced his black high top Vans up, tying them a bit too tightly, but he was too intimidated by his roommate’s eyes drilling lasers into his scalp to care. He grabbed his empty drawstring bag, because what do you even bring to a gym, tossed his wallet and keys into it, and followed Aaron out the door. They headed down the hall and descended the stairwell, and Will watched as Aaron’s calf muscles flexed with every step.

“So. How’re you liking the school so far?” Aaron called back to him, and he got confused for a second, because, was he talking to him? “Any interesting classes this semester?” Oh. Okay, so he wasn’t just hearing things.

“Uh… it’s good,” Will replied, quickening his steps to catch up to Aaron, “I really like my painting class. The campus is just kind of confusing to navigate.”

Aaron chuckled at that, holding the door open for him once they reached the dorm hall entryway. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. I must have gotten lost seven or eight times in my first year.”

“Oh, you’re a–”

“Junior. Architecture major.”

Huh. He’d kind of forgotten about the Junior-Freshman pairing system. And it made a lot of sense why Aaron had decided to pursue architecture. It’s the straightest art form there is. They approached the student parking garage, and Aaron fished in his pocket for his keys.

“Oh, nice,” Will said, “what made you choose to go here?”

“They have the best architecture program in the state,” Aaron shrugged. “I’m really into postmodern stuff as well, and most schools don’t really teach that. But they do here.”

When they got into the car, Will had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes into the darkest depths of his skull, because of course it was a Mercedes. Aaron checked his reflection in the rearview mirror before reaching an arm behind Will’s seat, leaning back and looking behind him as he backed out of the parking spot. Will was shocked; Aaron seemed to despise being within two feet of him, and now he had almost come into contact with Will’s shoulder. Were they… making progress? “By the way,” Aaron said once he’d changed gears, “I’m sorry for being such a dick. I think I misjudged you.”

See, now, Will’s kneejerk reaction had always been to cut the person who was apologizing off with a lighthearted, reassuring, “No, it’s okay.” He always felt the need to absolve people of their guilt, but now, that need was seemingly gone, because he let Aaron continue with his apology without interjecting once. And it felt nice to not take on someone else’s burden.

“I just can’t stand all these fucking homos around here, I thought I was stuck living with one.” If he hated homos so much, then what the hell was he doing at the American Academy of Art? What was he expecting? If you hate gay people, don’t go to an exclusive art school. You’re basically asking for your own personal torture chamber, Will thought. But he kept his thoughts to himself, opting to sit there in silence for the rest of the ride. The drama simply wasn’t worth it.

They arrived at the gym, and Aaron headed straight over to the treadmills. “Cardio,” he explained, and Will went along with it, because if it weren’t for Aaron, he would have no clue where to begin. They ran a mile and a half before switching gears and moving to the dumbbells. Aaron handed Will a pair of 2-pounders, just to fuck with him, but then actually taught him how to lift the 5-pounders properly, without tearing muscle. They then moved over to the larger sets of weights, which Aaron loaded onto a bar and taught him how to do a proper barbell hip thrust, which he found to be a strange first exercise to teach someone. He had no idea so much effort went into the form and technique. But Will found myself strangely loving it. He’d have to find time to go on his own time, so he didn’t feel so pressured as he did around Aaron.

Will felt like he was dying as they stood beside the water fountain. He raised his cheap AAoA water bottle to his lips and chugged the lukewarm water as quickly as the dumbass mouthpiece would allow him, which was not much. He messed with it for a few seconds before Aaron grunted out, “Congrats on the new girlfriend, by the way.” Will was so glad he hadn’t unscrewed the top yet, because he damn near dropped the bottle out of pure shock.

“I’m sorry, what?” Will spluttered, and Aaron merely clapped his back with a laugh. “Don’t be shy, Byers, you’re dating Hannah fucking Reid! Own that shit!” Oh, Will was going to kill her. He knew she meant well, but… really?

As soon as he got back onto campus, Will sprinted to the girls’ dorms and up the stairs to Hannah’s room. He knocked, but could hear really loud music playing… was that Zeppelin IV? They’d gotten to that point in their friendship where Hannah, Ivy, and Will would barge into each others’ rooms unannounced, but he apparently never got the memo that anything had changed.

“Wanna tell me why Aaron goddamn Heathrow thinks we’re–” Will started, but cut himself off at the sight in front of him. Ivy and Hannah pulled away from each other– no, excuse him, Ivy moved from where she’d been straddling a borderline naked Hannah on her bed. Will turned away, shielding his eyes with a screech. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I should have knocked louder– You guys are together?!”

And then it made so much more sense. If Hannah and Will were “dating,” at face value, then she’d be able to be with Ivy. And– in their words, not his– he’d be able to find a “sexy hunk” of his own someday soon. As much as they all hated the idea of a “beard,” arrangement, it was the best possible way for all of them to love who they wanted to love. That conversation ended with happy tears, hugs, and hope.

Will’s sketch of Mike was coming together nicely. He’d been meticulously planning it out for the past week on smaller sheets of paper, and had finally transferred it to a giant canvas. He shifted his hand from side to side across the canvas to darken and further emphasize Mike’s prominent jawline. It was insane how drastic and how quickly that transformation had happened; it was so hard to believe now that Mike had ever been bullied for his looks. If only their bullies could see what Frog Face looked like now. He was convinced that if someone were to put a piece of glass within three inches of Mike’s insanely sharp bone structure, the glass would split in two. Will smirked at the thought and glanced down at his pencils, which he’d lined up neatly on his right hand side in order of lightest to darkest. He was about to decide which one to use for shading his cheekbones when he heard a familiar, strong Southern drawl from behind him.

“And who is this handsome young fella?” Dr. Horovitz asked him, and he felt his body deflate a little bit. She wasn’t wrong. Mike’s attractiveness was undeniable. Using Mike as his muse for the past thirteen years definitely helped in portraying his beauty. Even then, Will didn’t want to entertain that idea any longer than he had to, so he downplayed it.

“Oh, just this guy from back home,” he said, refusing to meet her eyes, which he just knew were overflowing with curiosity, given the silence that followed. “He’s not important now,” he added, just to make a point. And that was the truth. Mike wasn’t important. He wasn’t… as important. Not as important as how Will made him out to be throughout his childhood, sitting high on a pedestal. Dear Will, when I look into your eyes, I see the rest of my–

“I notice there’s a bite to the way you talk about him,” his professor noted, and he turned to try and meet her gaze, but she was observing his work thus far. “If he isn’t important now, as you say, he must have been important in the past.”

Who even was this lady? She was the professor of his painting class, yet she was reading him like a therapist would. And Will knew by the slight insistence laced in her voice and the way she’d parked herself next to his station that she wasn’t going away until she’d gotten some answers.

“He and I didn’t leave things on the best terms when we left for school,” Will admitted, and Dr. Horovitz nodded, processing. He turned away to take a sip from his water bottle as she spoke.

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. So he’s an ex boyfriend, then?”

He nearly spit out his water. “God, no,” he said, feeling heat rise to his face at lightning speed. “He… uh, he’s– he was my best friend. Mike.”

“Mm. Best Friend Mike,” she crossed her arms in thought. Suddenly, her eyes snapped over to Will’s, the eye contact sending chills down his spine. He worried about what she would try to pry out of him next. “He broke your heart, didn’t he?”

Well, shit. She’d been able to see right through him. Maybe he wasn’t as good of a liar as he thought he was. So much for being vague.

“Yeah,” Will confessed slowly, watching a smile spread across his professor’s face. Sadist! “Yeah, he did break my heart. And he really messed with my head. But even now, I still believe he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“Well, you’ve covered the topic of the assignment quite well,” she told him, taking a step backwards. “I’m looking forward to seeing your progress.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Will, I told all of you on the first day of class, call me Miriam. None of that old lady business.”

“Sorry, Miriam.”

“You’re forgiven.”

He watched Miriam walk away and begin talking to one of the other students in his class about their piece, and he tried to focus back on his work. But Miriam had gotten him thinking. She had gotten him thinking about one specific day. The day where Mike finally confronted him about the painting.

“Hey, can we talk about something for a second?” Mike asked from across his basement couch. Will set his pencil and sketchbook down. Mike had insisted upon being a model for Will’s potential college portfolio. He didn’t even know if he’d be going to art school at all, but Mike was so sure that he’d get in somewhere “really fuckin’ cool.” Mike shifted his body out of the position he’d been in for the past hour, and Will heard Mike’s joints crack as he stretched his long legs out onto his lap. Don’t get a boner, Byers, Will thought to himself, repeating it like a mantra in his head.

“Sure,” Will croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, “I was talking with El yesterday, and I mentioned the commission she’d given you for the painting.” Oh shit. “You know, the one from Spring Break.”

Will gulped. “Yeah?”

“It’s kind of funny, actually,” Mike continued, “because El said she had no idea what the word ‘commission’ even meant. Do you know anything about that?”

“I’m not following,” Will blurted out in a sad attempt to preserve his own feelings, but Mike knew that he’d never been capable of keeping secrets from him.

“Come on, Will. I know you know what I mean.” He gave Will a pointed look and pulled his legs in before scooching closer to his side of the couch, crossing his legs. Their knees touched, and Will felt like he was on fire.

He knew then that he’d been caught red-handed. “I was trying to–”

“What, lie to me?” Mike cut Will off as he stared down at the carpeted floor. “I thought we didn’t do that.”

“I told you what you needed to hear,” Will said, and Mike crossed his arms.

“Yeah, so you lied.”

“I didn’t want to lie, Mike!”

“But you did, Will, and that’s–”

“Just listen, alright?!” Will raised his voice, startling Mike into silence. He hated doing that, but it was the only way he’d listen to what Will had to say. “Hear me out, okay?” Mike’s lips formed a straight, thin line as he nodded. “I just… I thought if the painting came from El, you’d feel needed again. Like, you told me you felt worthless to her, so I did what I could to try and… fix… that.” Suddenly, Mike’s face was inches from his own, and Will could barely breathe. It was probably just his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Mike’s eyes flicker down to his lips, then back up to meet Will again.

“You know,” Mike breathed, blinking slowly, “It would have meant a lot more if you’d admitted that the painting was from you.”

“Oh,” was the only word Will was able to get out.

“Yeah,” Mike said, voice smooth as velvet, “You’re my person, Will.”

“Hey, Will! We– woah.” he hadn’t noticed he’d spaced out until Ivy’s voice hit his ears. He turned to see both her and Hannah gaping at his work.

“Oh! Hey!” Will smiled, trying to keep the tone light, “I wasn’t expecting you guys to be–”

“Is that the guy from that photo in your room?” Hannah asked.

“Well… yes,” Will admitted, “but he’s not–”

“Bullshit,” Ivy interrupted, her eyes narrowed. “Bullshit to everything you’ve said and are about to say. You’re going to tell us about this boy.”

“Fine. Can I at least wash the paint off my hands first?”

The D&D Club had a bi-weekly movie night, where they would all go to Kate’s house in their pajamas and eat enough snacks to feed a small army. Both Kate and Will’s favorite candy was Reese’s Pieces, so there was always an overabundance of them in her pantry. Will shoved his hand into a bag he had rested between his legs, throwing a handful back as if they were a shot of hard liquor. The credits of CLUE were rolling, and Kate spun around from where she sat on the floor wrapped in a giant quilt. She clapped loudly to get everyone’s full, undivided attention.

“Okay, so. What are we thinking for Halloween?”

Crickets.

“We need a group costume for the party in two weeks, obviously!” Kate exclaimed, as if this were supposed to be common knowledge. Will didn’t think Halloween was a thing anymore. It certainly wasn’t a thing when he was still in Hawkins. “We need one that fits a group of five.”

“We should all be Ghostbusters!” Pete said, but Ivy immediately shot that idea down.

“Too clunky. Plus, the proton packs are gonna be a bitch to make, not to mention difficult to lug around everywhere.”

“She’s right,” Will found himself saying, and felt all of his friends’ eyes on him, expecting him to explain himself.

“You’ve dressed as a Ghostbuster before?”

“Yeah,” Will nodded, “Back in middle school. My friends and I made proton packs out of vacuum tubes attached to these huge plastic boxes with straps.”

“That’s badass!”

“Well, yeah,” Kate shrugged nonchalantly, “But that also cancels out that option, since Will has done it already.”

“If we take into account every costume everyone has ever done, then there will be no options left,” Pete pointed out, and Kate grimaced.

“That’s fair.”

“What if we did Marvel characters?” Hannah asked, and Will shook his head.

“That would put us in the same situation as the Ghostbusters, it’s too complex.”

“Hey, guys.”

“Fine, well, what if we did the Beatles?”

“There are four Beatles, Pete.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Guys.”

“What about Yoko?”

“Please don’t tell me you just suggested Yoko is the fifth Beatle, Pete.”

“Is she not???”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just ask that.”

“Mötley Crüe?”

“The Runaways,” Pete grinned. “Will and I could go in drag, it’d be so hot.”

Hannah’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are we suddenly so focused on bands?”

“I don’t know, do you have any doable ideas?” Pete retorted.

“Hey assholes!” Kate snapped.

“What?!” they all shouted back.

“We should be the Mystery Gang.”

“As in Scooby Doo?” Will thought out loud.

“That’s a really good idea, actually,” Pete nodded slowly. “It’s classic, people will know who we are, and they won’t perceive us as total rejects!”

“I want to be Velma,” Ivy announced.

“That makes one of us,” Hannah snorted.

“Hey! I’d be a hot Velma!”

“I won’t deny that.”

“I guess I’ll be Fred,” Pete said.

“Will has got to be Shaggy,” Kate giggled, reaching her arm out far enough to run her fingers through and mess up Will’s hair. “I mean, his hair is perfect for it.”

“Yes, oh my God–”

“He’d be the buffest Shaggy I’ve ever seen,” Ivy said, and Will whipped his head in her direction.

“Buff? What do you mean, buff?”

“Will, have you seen yourself lately?” Hannah gawked. He had no idea what she meant.

“I mean, yeah, I go to the gym pretty frequently, but like, it’s not like I’ve changed that much…”

“Will, honey,” Ivy sauntered over to where Will sat, and crouched down until they were eye level. “We all know that I only have eyes for women, and even I can admit that you are smoking hot.”

“I concur,” Pete said.

“Seriously,” Kate exclaimed, “why hasn’t Will linked up with anyone yet?”

“Okay,” Will tried to kill the tangent before it grew legs and ran away, “let’s not discuss my nonexistent love life–”

“Um, excuse me– it did, in fact, exist,” Hannah quipped back. “You just prioritized yourself over someone who treated you like shit.”

“Amen to that,” Ivy said, and everyone else laughed in agreement.

“So I’m gonna ask again: why hasn’t Buff Byers found himself a man yet?”

“Buff Byers,” Pete snorted, “that’s fucking brilliant.”

Will put his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ.”

“Let’s be a little more realistic, because I’m pretty sure Jesus wasn’t into guys,” Hannah said, earning a sad laugh from Will.

“Are you sure about that?” Ivy questioned her girlfriend, “Because his suspiciously close bond with twelve men shows us otherwise–”

“This is not the time to delve into biblical theology, baby.”

“He let Judas kiss his cheek! You cannot tell me he wasn’t at least a little bit gay.”

Okay, that was enough. “Guys, really,” Will insisted, “I’m fine. I don’t need to date anyone right now.”

Pete quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t need to? Or you don’t want to?”

“Alright, everyone,” Kate called out to the rest of them, “so we’ve established that we’re going to this party as the Scooby Gang. But I have a plan in mind that’ll make this Halloween a night to remember.”

“Which is?” Will asked warily. Kate couldn’t hide her devilish grin.

“Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man.”

Will was sure that going to this off-campus Halloween party wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had. It wasn’t solely his idea, per se; everyone had decided upon their group costume weeks ago, and Will was fully aware of the environment he was voluntarily entering, so he had plenty of time to back out if he wanted to. Even then, Will didn’t back out, because he was obviously a new man; outgoing, social, and bold. He no longer allowed his crippling anxiety to interfere with his life. The latter statement would probably be a bit difficult to justify, though, considering the fact that he had soaked through his fluorescent, vomit-green tee shirt with sweat the second he’d walked through the door. It also didn’t help that his friends were still dead set on a singular mission for the evening: Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man. This was a bad idea. A really, really bad–

“Ooh, I spy with my little eye… Jose Cuervo! Come on!” Ivy exclaimed, the corners of her eyes crinkling with joy underneath her fake glasses as she grinned up at Will. Oh God, here we go, he thought as he followed his friend over to the center island in the kitchen. Every square inch of counter space was occupied by some form of hard liquor. This was not Will’s first rodeo; he’d gone to a handful of parties back in high school. He enjoyed the atmosphere, but he just wasn’t a party animal, for the lack of a better term.

“Alrighty, one for you… and two for me,” Ivy muttered as she poured her favorite vice, Jose Cuervo tequila, into three disposable red Solo-brand shot cups before handing one over to Will, and he took the cup hesitantly. She then grabbed two lime wedges out of a bowl on the kitchen counter, and located a salt shaker a few seconds later. She turned to him, grabbed his free hand, rubbed the lime on it, shook some salt over the spot so it would stick, then did the same for herself. She held one of her shot cups up to Will’s, clinking them together as a toast.

“Fuck Mike Wheeler!” she shrieked, and Will burst out laughing. While he calmed myself down, Ivy licked the salt off her hand, threw the shot back like it was water, chomped down onto the lime, and cringed at the taste. Once she’d opened her eyes and seen that he hadn’t done his shot with her, she pouted up at him.

“You’re supposed to actually do the shot, not just stand there,” she whined. Will looked down at the shot, squinting at it before lifting it up, bringing it to his lips. Before he could properly throw the shot back on his own, Ivy tilted the bottom of the cup further upwards, and he felt the tequila rush down his throat much faster than anticipated. “That’s how you do a shot, Billiam,” she told Will as he sputtered out a cough, followed by an indignant grunt. He wasn’t mad; he probably wouldn’t have done it without her involvement.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been so incredibly selfless. You’d do anything to make people happy. But sometimes you do it at your own expense.” Not the time, Mike.

He and Ivy had stayed a few hours late in Miriam’s classroom to finish up their pieces, so they’d all agreed to just meet at the party. When Will had set his brush down for the last time earlier that afternoon, he thought to himself, “Hey, I’ve finally achieved the closure I’ve always wanted, so I should feel better.” But Will didn’t feel any different; if anything, he felt even worse than before. The Heart gave him closure, but he still felt like Mike was there. So when he arrived back at his dorm to change into his costume, he glanced at the bunched-up blue sweatshirt on his bed and made a decision: It was time to pack up the Mike Box again. Will put everything (the dice, the frame, the sweatshirt, and the binder) back into a box and under his bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Shaggy! Velma! You made it!” voices exclaimed from behind him. Hannah, Kate, and Pete approached them, dressed as Daphne, Scooby, and Fred, respectively. A smile quickly made its way across Will’s face as he collided with his friends in a group hug. Once they all pulled back, the gossip was instantly afoot.

“So, any luck yet?” Ivy asked her girlfriend, who shook her head.

“Not yet, we just got here a little while ago.”

“I’ve seen a few potential candidates who I think he’d get along with–” Kate began, but Pete interrupted with an expression of pure confusion.

“Sorry, what’s going on?”

“Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man! Come on, Pete, get with the program!” Kate clapped her hands in the middle of the circle, and the rest of them laughed while Will rolled his eyes. They were being absolutely ridiculous. Will didn’t need to get any man, let alone a fine-ass one. He was perfectly fine with being alone. Totally content, and not at all depressed.

The song that had been playing faded out, and a familiar bouncy synth introduction to the next song vibrated up from the floor and sent shockwaves through Will’s entire nervous system. Kate demanded immediately that the group should dance, and the rest of the Scooby Gang agreed, save for Will. He didn’t do well on dance floors, because his claustrophobia often got the best of him. So he stood against the wall, watching as his friends disappeared into the crowd. The beat picked up, and he sighed deeply, crossing his arms over his chest. This was the radio cut. If Mike were there, he probably would have complained for hours afterwards.

“Will. I’m being serious! If you know about the existence of the 12” version of Smalltown Boy and still opt to listen to the radio cut, you’re committing a crime against both me and Bronski Beat. I said what I said. No further questions.”

Will hated that he couldn’t tell Mike how, for once, he actually agreed with him. He wasn’t here with Will, and it was all his fault.

Will checked his watch– 8:26pm. They’d only been there for less than half an hour, and he already wanted to go home. There were enough people packed in the house for it to be considered a fire hazard, and his friends were nowhere to be found. So much for Operation Get Will a Fine-Ass Man. Besides, he was dressed as Shaggy from fucking Scooby Doo, there was no way any guy would want him while looking like a disheveled cartoon character. He decided to go outside to get some fresh air, and maybe smoke a cigarette… or five, but right when he began to move, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Kate and Ivy, standing on either side of a guy with spiky black hair and chunky black liner under his eyes. The only defining elements of his vampire costume were the fake blood dripping from the corners of his painted red lips and the cape draped over his shoulders.

“Will, Matt. Matt, Will. Speak,” Ivy rushed out, pushing them together by their backs. Will watched, stunned, as his friends pushed their way through the crowd, giggling the entire time. He then shifted his gaze to meet eyes with… the very hot guy who stood before him.

Matt.

next part

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#byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #byler tumblr #mike wheeler #will byers #will x mike #mike x will #stranger things #stranger things fic #ntwdt #ntwdt1

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thetargaryenbride · 2 years ago

Text

Nail To The Coffin - S4 - Chapter 3

Warnings: self-h@rm and $uicid@al thoughts [I’m sorry about that. I don’t delve too deep into this tho.]

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 7810

𝐀𝐍: 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘠𝘌𝘛 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘝𝘦𝘤𝘯𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘝𝘦𝘤𝘯𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥/𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.

𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕: 𝑰 𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒃𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 😁

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐎𝐎𝐂 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 🖤 🥀

Masterlist || Chapter 2 || Chapter 4

“Y/N, wake up. We’ve arrived,” you felt a hand shake your shoulder slightly and your eyes fluttered open, landing on Jonathan. “Come see our new home,” he smiled at you and you sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes and temples so you could properly wake up before exiting the car and joining your family.

It was a two-story house made of thick wooden planks, like most others, painted in a combination of white and navy blue. There was a medium-sized yard with a white picket fence. The porch had two comfy armchairs with a table in between and lots of plants scattered all over. The windows were huge, in places almost taking up the entirety of the wall. There were lots of trees – both normal and palms – down the street and all throughout the neighborhood, throwing nice shades. There was a big one in your yard, big and sturdy enough so you could make yourselves a swing and hang it up. There were two big balconies on the second floor, the railing of which similar to the fence around the house.

What you loved a lot was the big front door with gorgeous stained glass.

It was located in Santa Monica, Fraser Avenue, which was not far from Westwood, UCLA, and was only thirty or so minutes distance by bus. It was the perfect spot.

“Woah…Dr. Owens really outdid himself,” you let out and Will and El looked at you with sparkling eyes, which made you smile. You were glad and more than content to see them happy, even if you were tearing on the inside because you missed home and you missed Steve and Eddie.

You missed Hopper and Billy too.

You never did visit their graves after that stormy, summer day when you had poured your soul out in front of them.

You never got the proper closure you needed in order to fully move on.

So now, you felt stuck.

Now, this place was weighing heavily on your chest. It felt wrong being here away from Hawkins and everything you loved and needed. It felt wrong starting anew when people you cherished were rotting six feet under.

But at least you were glad to see Will and El smile. They needed this. Maybe to them, starting anew was something good, something to look forward to and explore, an adventure, something to aid their healing, even though they also missed Mike and the others.

“C’mon, let’s get in!” Will grabbed you by the hand and began dragging you towards the front door and shortly after, all of you piled inside.

The interior was just as beautiful as the exterior. It was very coastal style with lots of white and blue colors, wooden tones, and some marine and Mediterranean patterns. The kitchen, dining space, and living room were merged together. There was a bathroom on each floor, and there were two rooms on the first floor – the only ones that weren’t fully furnished – that you were going to transform into bedrooms for Jonathan and your mom. Meanwhile, there were three bedrooms on the second floor that were going to be for you, Will, and El.

But the moment you set foot in your bedroom, it wasn’t the nice, comfy-looking bed you noticed first, or the colors and the patterns on the walls, or the big desk you’d be able to use for studying, or the space you had to place all your figurines, canvas, and other art things. No. What you noticed first was the view from the balcony and the windows of your room.

The ocean.

Apparently, Dr. Owens believed that this would be therapeutical for you, that it would benefit your mental health because it was scientifically proven that the ocean, or water in general, helped a lot to soothe a troubled mind. He called it, the blue mind theory.

“This theory explains how being near water, even for just twenty minutes a day, has a great impact on our wellbeing,” had explained the man.

Yet for you, it turned out to be the exact opposite.

Instead, the moment you took a glimpse of the body of water, your whole body chilled to the bone and you got flooded with memories of Billy. You could almost feel his presence right next to you, you could almost hear him talking to you as if he was still alive and standing by your side, speaking fondly of the blue horizon, how much he missed the ocean, how much he loved to surf and dive. It was so overwhelming it made you dizzy, making you pull the curtains and block the view.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” came Will’s voice and you shut your eyes, taking a large, deep gulp of air in order to calm your racing heart, before you turned to face your brother, forcing a smile on.

“Everything is fine.”

At first, you thought of asking your mom to change rooms. But soon after, you came to realize that no matter what room you were in, you could always see the ocean. And as the days weaved by, this fact became ever the more frustrating to you. Every time you’d get a glimpse of the water, your mind would jump to Billy.

The more time went by, the more you were getting bothered by the view.

Everything around you served as too heavy a reminder that he was gone...Gone because he got mixed up in your messy world…and because you failed him.

It’s like the place was soaked in his presence. Sometimes, on the rare occasions when you’d go on the balcony and look at the nauseating blue, you even thought you were seeing him by the beach, swimming in the ocean, or riding the waves on his board. It’s like some invisible force that you couldn’t fight against wired your brain to think of this all the time. You thought of how he should’ve been here instead. How he should’ve gotten the chance to return to his beloved California and ride the waves again – one of the very few things that made him truly happy in this wretched life of his. The ocean and the waves were his companions and coping mechanisms against his father’s abuse. The water gave him peace of mind and made him feel happy. He was extra sour and angry when he was torn away from it and now he was never going to come back to it.

It’s like he was a ghost that haunted your every waking minute. And not only waking. Even in your dreams, you saw him and Hopper and relived the incident over and over again. You were mercilessly thrown into the dark depths of plaguing nightmares that tormented you every night.

It’s like the survivor guilt you had been battling against all summer returned in full force. It’s like something was digging into your very soul and carving out pieces to throw into that same ocean. It’s like all the progress you’ve made was for naught because your mental health deteriorated faster than a sinking ship once you moved out of Hawkins. In fact, it felt like ripping off a band-aid and tearing the scab off the healing tissue, causing it to reopen and bleed again.

Your family wasn’t blind to this.

They could see it all – the fear, the torment, the silent, simmering-within insanity and hysteria that overtook you.

And they were scared. They were scared that you’d get even more lost and that maybe you’d end up being swallowed by the same ocean you so feared to face.

For the longest of time, so did you, hence why you avoided it like the plague. Not once did you go to the beach since moving to LA. You were afraid that if you did that, you might just as well succumb to it and let it take you into its depths forever.

All of this was so overbearing that it sent you careening down a path of self-loathing and an even deeper survivor’s guilt. Coupled with the fact that you were away from Steve and the others, having to build your life anew, dealing with university, burying yourself in studying non-stop which had forced the return of your eye bags and dark circles, almost making you reach out for the sweet Ketamine, or something stronger, again, made everything all the more unbearable.

This resulted in you spiraling into suicidal thoughts that suffocated you, scratched you, and tore you apart so badly that at one point you actually began thinking of ending it all. Just slicing your flesh and bleeding out in the bathtub or maybe finally going to the ocean just so you could throw yourself off a bridge and let the water wrestle the oxygen out of your lungs.

During the first months after moving in, you had only two states of mind.

You were either utterly overwhelmed by everything and wanted something to distract you from the mess that was in your head, because it truly felt like someone was hammering nails into your brain, or you were just completely numb, not feeling anything both physically and mentally, and you wanted to make yourself feel something, to make sure you were still alive.

No adrenaline helped fix the numbness and no meditations and art therapies helped fix the chaos in your head. You were bouncing back and forth between those two states of mind and it was the most excruciating thing you’ve ever experienced – perhaps even worse than what you had to deal with after the damages inflicted by the Flayer, although this condition was also more of an extension of said damages.

You felt like a vase. A vase that got broken, then someone glued the pieces together but the glue wasn’t strong enough so at one point the porcelain fell apart again and the person was trying to glue the pieces all over again.

So sometimes, when you lay in bed, unable to sleep because of nightmares or the multiple thoughts in your head that didn’t give you peace, you thought of how much you wanted to escape the torturous grip of life and fall into the sweet release of death. You thought of how much you wanted to replace Billy. You wished he was here instead and that you were rotting in the ground back in Hawkins.

The thing is, you never did have the courage to go through with it.

You’d begin cutting but you’d always stop yourself and then you would cry your eyes out while bandaging your wrist as immense guilt and disgust would overwhelm you.

You did it three times.

On the fourth, you were caught by Jonathan.

Everyone had been keeping a close eye on you after moving to LA but Jonathan was extra insightful. He realized what was going on before anyone else did and one day he stalked you to the bathroom and caught you red-handed – figuratively and literally. He immediately slapped the razor away and cleaned and bandaged the cut through falling tears, not uttering a single word the whole time which made you feel even more guilty and horrible.

When Will, El, and your mom found out, because Jonathan refused to keep it a secret, they were devastated. Your mom especially cried her eyes out, secretly in her room without knowing you could hear her when passing by. That made you feel even more horrible for causing such pain to your family again. For letting them down. For thinking it was a good idea to abandon them. How could you do that to them? Especially to Will and El who were so young and traumatized beyond belief already. You didn’t need to throw more sorrow and trauma onto their shoulders.

That, and the amazing therapist your mother and Dr. Owens had found for you, made you give up on the idea of self-harm and death. At the core of it, though, it was all thanks to Jonathan because he was the one who caught you and thankfully he did so on time. Sure, you were in a state that was unstable, chaotic, messy, and troubled, but it was not irreversible and impossible to fix. It was all still in its beginning phase which is why you were able to begin your healing journey relatively fast after that.

The thoughts returned occasionally, tempting you, but every time it happened, you ran to your family for help. You shared your struggles and thoughts with them, and they did their best to help you win the fight against your demons.

It wasn’t until one night when you were passing by your mother’s desk that you saw a newspaper open on the page of properties for rent. Your mother was looking for a place to rent so you could move out. That had hit you like a rock-solid wave. You couldn’t believe that this chain of emotions and traumas was triggered by the ocean of all things and now your mother was thinking of moving away from it… for you. She was doing it all for your benefit and you knew the others were going to follow through in a heartbeat. But they seemed so happy in this house, going to the beach, having fun.

So one day, without telling anyone, you decided to take drastic action.

You didn’t want them to move to another house because of you. You had just properly settled into this one. You didn’t want your siblings’ time to pass by in constant moving and adjusting to new places. Once was enough.

You went to the beach and tried to fight against everything inside you that was screaming at you to run away. You tried fighting against the visions and thoughts of Billy’s decaying torso, filled with holes that gushed black blood. You tried to fight against the feeling of razors on the soles of your feet once they touched the sand.

But before your mind could win, before fear and trauma could overpower you, you forced your legs to move, and just like that you ran headfirst into the water and dived under. You felt your ears get squeezed and muffled by the water pressure and you could hear the frequency of your own heartbeat and blood circulation.

It was weirdly humbling… and soothing.

The water caressed your skin and had such an instant calming effect on you that it shocked you to the core. It chased away any previous feelings of fear. The chaos in your mind quietened and the numbness got filled with the sound of water and dolphins.

You hadn’t wanted to set foot on the sand and near the water, you hadn’t wanted to even look at them, and now you didn’t want to leave.

And it’s like something in your brain snapped at that moment. It was like flipping a light switch.

In fact, you actually almost ran out of oxygen when you felt strong arms grab yours and pull you out.

“Are you okay? Breathe with me! Just breathe!”

That’s how you first met Ronnie – the lifeguard everyone seemed to have the hots for, yet he seemed to talk and flirt only with you. Maybe because he saved you from almost drowning and was there to witness your moment of ecstasy so he became weirdly attached to you.

That same day, you got home absolutely drenched, clothes and hair wrinkled and clinging to you as you dripped seawater onto the floors and carpets. It was a rather ridiculous sight to behold as your siblings would inform you later on.

“Mama, you’ll never believe what just happened,” were the first words you uttered while she stared at you in complete bewilderment.

“Honey, what happened to you!?”

“I was swimming in the ocean,” you revealed just in time when everyone else ran into the living room and they could only stare in utter stupor.

“You did…what again?” asked Jonathan in disbelief.

“I swam in the ocean,” you repeated, a smile growing on your face. “I swam in the ocean!” you exclaimed and Joyce let out a baffled chuckle before sharing looks with the others.

And then all of you laughed.

Eventually, you were able to somehow turn the tide around and learned to look at the ocean with different eyes. Slowly, it did become a therapy for you, aiding the one you were already receiving, and a way to fondly remember, cherish, and honor Billy’s memory instead of agonizing over it. He would’ve absolutely loathed you for avoiding the ocean – the one thing he loved the most – and he would’ve smacked you across the head and scolded you for falling victim to such a mindset. You used all that to fuel yourself and even began learning how to surf. Every time you’d go to the beach, instead of seeing a dying, blood-gurgling Billy, you’d see a happy Billy. You’d see his charming, mischievous smile and you’d hear his laughter and the way he fondly spoke of the ocean and his surfing.

“I’ll surf for the both of us,” you had promised while painting and decorating your board, and true to your word, you surfed every day and as time went by, you became a great surfer, much to your family’s surprise. It’s like you channeled Billy and now you ruled the waves instead of fearing them.

So while your flesh was now scarred because of the rough first months you had, you were at least proud of yourself that even after being pushed to the edge, you didn’t topple over it and you were steadily walking the path of overcoming some of the darkest moments in your life.

Of course, you couldn’t help but still feel sad sometimes. It’s like that feeling came and went like an uninvited guest, never truly leaving you, because the path you were walking was long, tedious, and you still had a long way to go. You knew that nothing was or was ever going to be like it used to be. You would always carry the pain, the sorrow, and the bad memories with you which was something that prevented your smile from being as bright as it used to be and created a certain air of melancholia around you, but you were on your way to getting better and that’s what mattered most at the end of the day. You were trying your damn hardest and you knew that one day you’d be able to completely defeat the traumas and regain your bright smile. The broken vase was being pieced together slowly and steadily and this time you had hope that it wasn’t going to fall apart again.

Unfortunately, because the process of healing was far from complete, you still had moments of weakness, moments when insecurities took over, moments when bad memories and trauma took over, making you more sensitive, hurting you, forcing you to relive the pain you were trying to overcome. Like that time when your professor groped you. Sometimes it hit you when you walked down the hallways and saw people looking at you and whispering, thinking they were talking about you which oftentimes made you feel insecure about everything – the way you were dressed, the way you looked, whether the scars on your wrist were visible, etc.

You never did tell Steve about any of this.

You just didn’t want to worry him. You didn’t want him to know just how hard you had taken the moving and that the ocean had triggered a whole lot of problems and traumas for you that reversed all the hard work you had put into healing during the summer.

So you didn’t blame him when he grabbed your wrist and pulled it closer to himself so he could inspect it. You didn’t blame him for freaking out. You didn’t blame him for needing answers, or for worrying about your mental health.

“Can we…can we just focus on cleaning the wound, please?” you looked at him with pleading eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this. We’re dealing with something…really bad right now,” you tried to divert their attention onto the issue at hand but Steve shook his head.

“No…No! We’re totally having this conversation. I need to know what’s going on!” he waved his hands in a frenzy and you sighed.

“Steve, nothing is going on. Not anymore,” you revealed but his eyes still held onto the panic, looking at you with disbelief. “Listen, the first months were just…very hard for me, okay? Shit hit the fan in the most unpleasant way and this was the result,” you jerked your wrist. “But it’s over now. I’m…I’m healing…It was a rough moment of weakness…But I overcame it. The thoughts come back sometimes,” you admitted. “But they’re just an echo. They don’t have the same powerful grip as they used to during those first months…okay?” you looked deep into his eyes, making sure he got the message, and he nodded slowly, still unconvinced but he chose to put his trust in you either way.

“Okay,” he muttered as he grabbed the bottle of water and unclasped it, pouring some onto your palm to clean it which made you hiss. He continued to silently treat your wound and the stillness of the atmosphere was getting to you, so you decided to break it.

“Look, I would really appreciate it if you guys don’t walk on eggshells around me. I promise, I’m…fine,” you tried to reassure them even though you didn’t fully trust your own words, mostly because of the strange visions you were getting, and everyone shared concerned, unsure looks before nodding.

“No pity looks, worried looks, or hawk looks, got it,” agreed Robin, and you sent her a grateful smile.

“Okay, so,” you drawled. “It’s gonna get dark soon. I suggest we…rest for now?”

“I agree. This is too much to handle in one day,” sighed Max before standing up and grabbing her bag.

“Hey, hold on. I was going to offer we bunk up here,” you spoke out and she halted in her movements. “It’s gonna be…less lonely and scary if we’re all together.”

“I’m all up for that!” Dustin immediately agreed with a grin.

“I mean…sure, why not?” joined Robin and you smiled, turning to look at Max expectantly who fidgeted in her spot for a bit before begrudgingly agreeing.

“Great! Um, Eddie, you can take Jonathan’s room. Dustin, you can take Will’s, and Robin and Max, you guys can take mom’s. Her bed is big enough for two people to fit in,” you offered.

Before you could say anything else, Steve finished wrapping up your hand and stood up, wordlessly walking away and into your room. You let out a heavy sigh before you stood up as well and followed after him.

“Ookay,” drawled Robin awkwardly. “Who wants some sweets?” she asked with a tight smile and everyone lifted their hands.

You shut the door quietly as you hesitantly walked into your room, eyes worriedly running over Steve’s form. He had his back turned on you as he paced slowly around the room, hands on his hips, head down.

“Steve-“

“How could you not tell me about any of this?” he cut you off as he finally stopped in his tracks and turned to face you, suddenly making you feel even more nervous than you were before. “Y/N, this is serious. You were,” he gulped. “Y-you were thinking of-of…putting an end…to your life,” he raised his voice a little but it wasn’t all fueled by anger. It was mostly filled with worry.

He was upset. Rightfully so.

“I didn’t tell you… because I didn’t want to worry you,” you began as you wrung your hands, not being able to look him in the eyes.

“Y/N, don’t come at me with that kinda excuse-“

“It’s not an excuse. I’m serious,” you took a step forward and lifted your head to look him in the eyes. “If I had told you, you would’ve come running to California.”

“And is that such a bad thing!?”

“It is because you would’ve seen me at my lowest…again,” you admitted bitterly and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t understand.”

“You already saw me at my lowest once…after the Mind Flayer incident…and you were there for me, every step of the road to recovery. You suffered so much because of me. You took so much of my pain and burden onto yourself. It’s because of you, taking so much of my load, that I was able to somehow piece myself together. But who was there to take that load off of you?” you shook your head, eyes darting all over the room insecurely before settling back onto his. “If I had told you, you would’ve gone through the same hell again. And I just couldn’t find it in me to put you through something like this again,” you admitted and his face distorted into one of sympathy, understanding, but also pain.

“Okay, when you put it like that, I understand. But still,” he threw his hands in defeat. “Y/N, I’m your boyfriend. And I love you. I love you so much,” he confessed sincerely and you felt your heart melt at his vigor and determination. “I don’t mind shouldering your burden at all. I’m fine with it. Even if there’s nobody to take it off my shoulders. Actually, there is no need for another person to take the burden off. We’re together in this. You and I. We hold one another through bad times. We share the difficulties and overcome them together. You don’t need to worry about me shouldering your burden. They are mine to shoulder too and I will do it without hesitation,” he waved his hand categorically and your smile grew. “So please,” he shortened the distance between you and grabbed your hands in his, mindful of your bandaged one. “Don’t ever hide such things from me just because you want to protect me or something,” he pleaded with sad eyes and you shut yours, gulping the lump in your throat, before nodding.

You had been so afraid of his reaction, because you knew he was eventually going to find out, and you had expected him to be super mad and maybe not even talk to you for a while. But seeing him now, showing such understanding, made you realize how much he’s grown and it’s like he was getting wiser with each passing day.

“Steve Harrington, you’re made out of gold…and I’m the luckiest girl because I’m able to call you mine,” you whispered and his lip curled into a smirk, eyes rolling goodnaturedly before he leaned and pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss full of love and desperation.

Your body flushed against his as you slowly began to push him back until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

“I know what you’re trying to do, and don’t get me wrong, I really wanna do it too, but are you sure we can, I mean, there are people out there,” he muttered against your lips in between kisses and you shrugged.

“It’s been almost a year, Steve,” you reminded him and he hummed.

“Fair point,” he stuttered out a second before the two of you toppled onto the bed and his arms quickly found their way around your waist, hands roaming over your sides before he flipped you around so you were the one lying under him.

“Can you keep quiet?”

“So we got, uh, some good news and some bad news,” spoke out Dustin and the atmosphere turned from somewhat cheerful into dreadful. “How do you prefer it?”

“Bad news first, always,” responded Eddie right away.

You and Steve, unfortunately, didn’t have the time to indulge in love-making, for you had been interrupted by Dustin knocking on the door, urging you to sort out your problems later because you had to go out and investigate what was going on with the police. And while Eddie had stayed at your house, hiding, everyone else decided to go out while you still had some daylight to spare. Robin, Dustin, and Max went one way while you and Steve went another, stopping at the supermarket at one point so you could buy all kinds of products to stock yourself with.

“All right. Bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they’re definitely looking for you,” revealed Dustin and Eddie’s face fell. “Also, they’re, uh, pretty convinced you killed C-Chrissy,” the boy’s eyes darted nervously between you and Eddie as he said that and you folded your lips, leaving the glass on the counter and walking slowly over to the table.

“Like, hundred percent convinced,” added Max.

“And the good news?”

“Your name hasn’t gone public yet,” explained Robin. “But it’s probably a matter of time before they find out you’re hiding here and-”

“Let them,” you intervened and everyone snapped their heads to look at you in surprise. “Let them find out that he’s here... We can use that to our advantage and just say he’s been here the whole time.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on,” Dustin waved his hands with a scrunched-up forehead. “You mean to say…we give them a fake alibi?”

“Yeah. We’ll just say that all of us gathered to celebrate so Eddie wasn’t home when the…when the murder happened,” you gulped.

“So you say we lie to the police?”

“Look, we can’t go out there and start hunting Vecna,” you shook your head. “We don’t know how long that’s gonna take and in the meantime, Eddie can get in serious trouble. Like, he might actually get convicted of murder, arrested, and thrown into prison, while right as of now he’s only a suspect. There’s still a loophole, a way to divert the suspicion away from him…Besides, even if we hunt down Vecna and kill him that may not be enough to prove Eddie’s innocence. So the best route to take is to just talk to the police and tell them Eddie’s been with us the whole time, away from his home.”

“But-“

“Hopper would’ve done it,” you reminded them with a bit of a bite in your tone which silenced them. “He wouldn’t have allowed an innocent person to be wrongly accused and arrested even if it meant achieving this through a fake alibi... I intend to follow his ideology.”

“Are you sure it’s going to work?” pressed Max and you sighed heavily through your nose.

“If I know Calvin…it’s going to work. But we have to go now.”

“Y/N?” Calvin’s eyes widened when he opened the door after hearing loud knocking and saw you standing there with a bunch of other teens behind you. “When did you get here?” he asked as his lip twitched into a fond smile and you gave him a quick hug before entering his office, urging the others to follow.

“Last evening,” you lied smoothly through your teeth. “I spent the whole day traveling. First the plane, then the bus, gosh, it was a nightmare,” you groaned and he let out a chuckle, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head.

“Missed you, kiddo.”

“Me too. I missed everyone. Pity I didn’t catch Flo and the others but…hopefully tomorrow…Listen, we heard the news of…of the murdered student,” you decided it was time for you to jump to the topic at hand and the man let out a heavy sigh.

“Look, Y/N, this is a very sensitive topic right now-“ his tone wavered when he finally got a good look at the group of teens you had come with, eyes landing on no other than Eddie and widening in surprise. “You’re Munson’s boy,” spoke the man, his body tensing. “The body of the girl was-“

“Uncle Calvin,” you drew his attention onto you. “We came here exactly because of that.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“When we heard about the murder we sort of…went to investigate and…we found out it took place at Eddie’s home,” you began. “But the thing is, Eddie wasn’t there the night this happened. We were all together, actually. The moment I arrived back in Hawkins, I went to see Steve and Robin. And after that, we went to meet with Eddie, Dustin, Max, and Lucas. We wanted to gather the whole group and throw a party for my return. So all of us spent the night together,” you described everything without stuttering once and prayed that you managed to sound convincing enough.

“Hold on, hold on,” waved his hands the man. “You mean to tell me that Munson wasn’t at the trailer when the girl was murdered?” he asked and all of you nodded.

“Yes, he was with us the whole time,” butted in Steve.

“When we woke up today and heard about all this, we got worried,” added Robin as she tried to suppress the nervous shaking of her voice by clearing her throat. “So we went to check what was going on and when we learned that Eddie was considered the main suspect-“

“We immediately ran here to tell you because we didn’t want any misunderstandings to harm Munson here,” finished Steve as he patted the boy in question’s shoulder, his hand staying there and squeezing encouragingly.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” muttered the officer, eyebrows furrowing deep in thought. “Then…who could have done it?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I can promise you that it wasn’t me and I can also guarantee it wasn’t my uncle because he’s been taking night shifts at the plant these past weeks,” spoke out Eddie with a slightly shaky voice and Calvin rubbed his chin.

“I bet that whoever did it chose Eddie’s home on purpose. I mean, it’s easier to frame a family who’s had clashes with crime before in order to get the police off their trail and misguide everyone,” added Robin while whirling to whisper a ‘Sorry’ to Eddie.

“Alright, kids, I’m grateful for your help and the information you provided but I think it’s time you went home,” said the man seriously. “Eddie, I’m not going to arrest you or anything but I’m afraid I’ll still need to keep an eye on you, so stay put and keep a low profile, okay? Meanwhile, I’ll tell the others to get off your back and investigate more.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Do you have a place to stay?” asked the man and Eddie fidgeted in his spot a bit.

“He can just stay at home,” you suggested. “House arrest will be funnier with friends, no?”

“Alright, but inform your uncle first. He’s quite worried about you.”

“I’ll call him right away.”

Next Morning

“This is the moment I was looking forward to the most,” you muttered and Steve hummed, cracking open an eye.

Last night, you, Max, and Robin had prepared a delicious dinner, with Steve and Eddie annoying you and butting in occasionally, trying to help but making everything messy instead, which resulted in you kicking them out of the kitchen. You had watched a movie because all of you wanted to distract yourselves with something, to take your minds off the current crisis even if it was for a while. You had talked afterwards, caught up, and shared interesting stories and experiences, with you having the most to share. Then everyone went to bed except for you and Steve who finally got the chance to spend the night together.

“You’re just the cutest when you’re all groggy,” you chuckled and he let out a huff.

“Only when I’m groggy?” he slurred and you ran a hand through his hair.

“All the time. But especially when you’re waking up.”

He took hold of your hand and pried it out of his locks, bringing it to his lips so he could place a kiss on top. He felt the rough surface of bandages instead of skin and he sobered up, lifting himself up and propping his upper body on his elbow while his hand was busy holding and observing yours, finally taking proper notice of the couple of scars that were lined on your wrist and the eight-pointed star tattoo that covered a small part of them.

“They’re ugly,” you groaned and he let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he lowered it to place butterfly kisses on your wrist. “I’m ugly. Like…I’ve lost so much weight because of…everything that happened…I guess…it just piled on and…you can see my ribcage now for fuck’s sake,” you huffed in discontent.

“If you say you’re ugly ever again, I’ll wash your mouth with soap,” he threatened and you snorted. “Y/N you look beautiful,” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world while looking deep into your eyes, and you didn’t see a sliver of hesitation or wavering in his tone and the energy he exuded. “You’ll always be beautiful... You just look…more tired…” he uttered with pity and defeat.

“Well, after last night, how can I not be?” you tried to play it off and he would’ve laughed and smirked teasingly had this been under any other circumstances.

“You know what I mean.”

Just as you were about to say something, there was a knock on your door, interrupting the moment.

“Are you thinking of finally getting out of bed, lovebirds? Look at the time!”

“Well, well, well, look who decided to finally grace us with their royal presence,” greeted Eddie while he poured warm milk into his bowl and Steve rolled his eyes. “Good morning, King Steve. I hope you slept well,” he sang out with a sly smirk.

“Good morning to you too, little troll,” Steve quipped and Eddie put a hand on his chest as if he had just been deeply offended.

“Here,” Max handed you a glass of juice and you thanked her before grabbing it and taking a sip.

“So,” drawled Robin as she slithered closer to you. “Did you two make some royal babies last night?” she asked with a smirk, bobbing her eyebrows, and you choked on the liquid, almost spitting it out.

“Ew,” muttered Max with a face scrunched up in disgust as she took her plate and quickly left the counter, heading for the table.

“Are you trying to commit murder, Robin Hood? Because you almost succeeded,” you sputtered and cleared your throat while wiping your mouth with a napkin.

“I’m afraid regicide is not yet on my list but if I feel adventurous one day, I’ll add it,” she snorted out a laugh before joining the rest at the table.

“Okay, guys, seriously, we need a plan of action,” began Dustin, and just then, the phone rang.

You gulped as you left the glass on the counter and rushed to pick up the device, surprised to hear no other than Eddie’s uncle on the phone.

“Um, guys,” you called out after you finished the conversation and everyone looked on expectantly. “I think the plan of action has got to wait. There’s something we gotta check first.”

“What could possibly be more important than that?”

“Another victim.”

The moment Wayne had called you, telling you about a friend of yours who had interviewed him last night and who had ended up losing her partner in the woods which come morning was followed by sirens and police cars rushing somewhere, you had immediately jumped in Steve’s car while Dustin and Eddie, who had parked his van a bit further down the road which is why you and Steve hadn’t seen it the previous day, got into the van and all of you headed for the crime scene in an instant.

“Did you look into Victor Creel?” asked Nancy, unease lacing her voice, and the policemen shared a look.

“Sorry, what’s that?”

“Victor Creel. Wayne got it in her head that the old nut did this,” sighed Daniel and Calvin clicked his tongue.

“Victor is locked away. Don’t need to worry about him, alright?” tried to comfort her the man. “Now, you said last you saw Fred, he was by the picnic tables. Do I have that right?” he asked but Nancy’s attention was drawn by two vehicles that just arrived and parked not far from the police cars. “Ms. Wheeler?” he asked again and his eyebrows furrowed when he noticed her staring behind him, making him turn around and trail her gaze, eyes landing on your group who had exited the cars and were now heading towards the girl and the policemen.

“Officer,” you called out, choosing to stick with his professional title in front of his colleagues instead of calling him uncle which was reserved only for when he was alone or with Hopper and the others. “What happened?” you asked once you reached him and he shook his head, eyes darting between Nancy and you.

“I think Ms. Wheeler here will be able to tell you the story better than me.”

“Nance?”

“You’re saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy, it’s from the Upside Down?” asked Nancy after you filled her in and after she filled you in.

“If the shoe fits,” replied Steve.

“Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse,” explained Dustin. “Now, whether or not he’s doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don’t know.”

“All we know is that…this is something different,” added Max.

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” you sighed. “Why is he targeting these people in particular? They have no relation to the supernatural whatsoever and they have nothing in common, nothing that connects them in any way. So why them?” your last question held more bite and poison to it and the others sent you sympathetic looks.

“Maybe there’s no particular reason,” offered Eddie with sagged shoulders. “Maybe they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“They were both at the game and near the trailer park.”

“And they both died during the night.”

“Uh, we’re at the trailer park,” reminded them Steve. “Should we maybe not be here?”

“There is something about this place,” agreed Robin.

“I felt uneasy since we arrived,” you muttered as you drummed your fingers against the wooden table, scratching it with your nails a bit, and looked around nervously.

You truly had felt quite heavy and uneasy the moment you had parked here. It was a familiar feeling, something close to what you had felt that night when Will was kidnapped.

“Fred started acting weird the second we got here,” disclosed Nancy.

“Acting weird as in?”

“Scared…on edge…upset.”

“Max said Chrissy was upset too,” blurted out Dustin.

“Yeah, but not here. She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

“Oh, God,” you muttered as you propped your elbows onto the table and buried your head in your hands. “It’s that wretched woman again,” you grit out and the others shared confused looks.

“Woman? What woman?” asked Eddie.

“Her mother,” you grumbled, arms dropping down in defeat. “She’s always pestered her, always body-shamed her, calling her fat, a pig, and whatever other bullshit,” you spat out and everyone scrunched up their faces.

“That’s just sick.”

“It is. Chrissy began forcing herself to throw up the food she’d eat,” you revealed bitterly and their eyes widened.

“What? You mean…she developed an eating disorder because of her mom?”

“Yeah. If that’s not trauma, I don’t know what is.”

“Hold on,” Max’s head shot up in realization. “When you said trauma, I remembered something...I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. Maybe she and Fred saw Vecna and got scared. But if you see a monster, you wouldn’t go to the police, right? They’d never believe you. But, you might go to-“

“Your shrink.”

What followed was your group splitting into two squads.

Squad number one consisted of Nancy and Robin who decided to go and do some research in the library about a ‘shot in the dark’ that Nancy didn’t yet wish to share with the rest of the party.

Squad two consisted of you, Steve, Max, Dustin, and Eddie, who decided to head for Ms. Kelley’s house so Max could go in and try to wrench some information from her regarding Chrissy and Fred’s cases.

Steve had cleaned your cuts and re-wrapped your hand while you waited. Lucas had tried contacting you at one point and you had tried explaining to him that Eddie was innocent but for some reason he cut off, making you all wonder what was going on with the boy. Then, Max bolted out of the woman’s house and jumped into the car, urging him to drive away.

So now, you found yourselves entering the school, having broken into it because it was evening and the building was closed and locked.

“It’s like a mini Watergate or something,” commented Dustin after you entered Ms. Kelley’s office. “Hawkinsgate.”

“Didn’t those guys get caught?” asked Steve as the boys observed something and you shone your flashlight into their faces, making them squeeze their eyes and recoil from the harsh light.

“Hey, can we focus?”

“Alright, alright, just get it off my face.”

“Holy shit,” let out Max which drew everyone’s attention and all of you rushed to her side.

“You found it?”

“Yeah, and not just Chrissy’s file. Fred was seeing Ms. Kelley too, just like we speculated,” she said as she pulled a couple of thin folders and everyone shared a look while she sat on a chair and slapped the papers onto the desk, quickly skimming through each and every one of them.

Your heart plummeted when you saw everything written on Chrissy’s file, realizing that her physical condition and mental health had only deteriorated since you left Hawkins. It hurt that she hadn’t shared this with you. It made you feel worthless, and helpless because maybe if she had turned to you, you could’ve helped her somehow, because being surrounded by people who loved you and being showered with positivity usually managed to do the trick and help chase away the sorrow and the struggles.

And now you knew how Steve felt when he learned you’d been struggling without telling him anything. And you wanted to smack yourself for not confiding in him.

Trauma was complicated, much like the humans bearing it.

“Can I see Fred’s file?” asked the girl and you quickly handed the document to her, eyes widening once she opened it and revealed the written inside. It was the same as Chrissy’s – severe headaches, constant nightmares, nosebleeds, past trauma.

“Max, what is it? Max? Max!?”

And as Dustin was calling out for the girl, who seemed to have fallen into a state of shock, staring blankly at the papers, it all began making sense.

The pieces of the puzzle had begun taking order.

𝐀𝐍: 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒂𝒙, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔/𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒍. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕𝒚, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒕. 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉.

𝑰 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. 𝑺𝒐, 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓’𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆…𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇.

𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆 :)

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