#erica synths | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bettyfrommars · 7 months

Text

Death Becomes Us

Part 8: Warm Hands, Frozen Hearts

vampire!eddie x supernatural!reader

masterlist playlist

18+Only, werewolf!steve, allusions to smut, allusions to devious deeds, mention of addiction, mention of drinking blood, angst, waitress!erica, Bob Newby lives, Chief Hopper sighting, as well as another glimpse of vampire!max.

summary: you go on your "just friends" date with werewolf!steve, but meanwhile, Eddie makes a bold decision and things heat up between the two of you. Jareth's interest in you grows stronger, as does his determination to find out exactly who/what you are as everything begins to come to a head.

word count: 4.8k

author's note: for the sake of this story, Jareth is meant to be a cross between Jamie Campbell Bower and Eric Northman from True Blood. As a little reminder, The Upside Down exists in this story, but not the same way it does in ST. All of the ST characters in this do not know each other in the same way they do in the show. But, Steve and Robin are friends, because, well, always.

Fanger: derogatory slang for Vampire

Previous Chapter here

One week earlier

Steve was summoned to visit Sacrament in the Upside Down, and he should have gone with a few of his brothers in the pack but decided he didn't want company. He snuck out there through the portal in the woods in his hulking wolf form at first, to sniff the place out, noting the high number of vampires and demobats circling overhead.

He came back the next night in his truck, through the bridge, and was told to ask for Craven at the bar.

Craven sniffed the air and snarled when Steve walked up, and Steve returned the gesture, curling his top lip to show that he had sharp teeth too. Werewolves were very strong—supernaturally so—but they were not immortal like vampires, and so it was always wise to operate around bloodsuckers with a measure of caution.

“I’m here to see Jareth,” Steve shouted over the synth music, squeezing in between two scantily clad human women.

Steve was dressed like he’d just come from chopping wood in the mountains in a plaid button-down and jeans, and a wholesome curl of dark hair that bounced over his forehead. Craven, on the other hand, was tattooed from neck to hands, wearing a wife beater that fit tight around his muscles and slicked back hair that was a bit greasy, but in a sexual way.

“No one sees Jareth without an invitation,” Craven said smugly, throwing a rag over his shoulder to brace his hands in front of him.

Steve gave a wry smile. “You think I’d come here just to shoot the breeze with you Fangers? He knows I’m coming.”

Craven clicked his tongue disapprovingly and went to grab the phone on the wall above the cash register, but in the blink of an eye, Jareth was already standing there, right next to Steve. He must have watched him come in on one of the cameras mounted on the ceiling. Steve moved back, out of surprise, but then he stepped forward again, meeting blonde, vampire Jareth eye to eye, letting him know he wasn’t afraid.

Steve really wasn’t afraid; his alpha ego was too big for that. Sure, he knew there was a chance that an older vampire might best him in the end, but he’d get the fight of his life.

“Whatever he wants, it’s on the house,” Jareth told Craven, all while never taking his eyes off his guest.

Steve declined a beverage and followed in Jareth’s wake through the sea of people moving to the music under the blue lighting.

Back in the simple black and cream decor of his office, Jareth found his firey assistant Maxine sitting behind his desk and he waved her out.

“Oh? You didn’t tell me we were adopting a pound puppy,” she teased with a deadpan delivery, keeping a bored expression on her face.

Steve knew they’d be taking cheap shots at him, he’d prepared himself for it.

“Get out, Maxine,” Jareth said impatiently. “I need to have a word with our lycanthrope friend here.”

She obeyed, slinking out the door in her skin tight latex dress and platform heels, smacking her glossy lips in Steve’s face as she went.

Jareth was in all black with a slim leather jacket on that looked like it had been tailored just for him. He perched at the front of the desk, crossing his booted feet at the ankles, and folded his arms over his chest.

“Take a seat,” he told Steve.

Steve glanced down at the chair in front of Jareth. “I’ll stand, thanks. What is this about?”

“You really don’t know why I’ve asked you here?” Jareth’s face looked like it was carved out of stone. “Do you need a hint?”

For the first time, Steve broke eye contact. “I don’t have any news about the girl.”

Jareth tilted his head back, so that he was looking down his nose at the visitor. “You’ve been keeping an eye on her, like I asked?”

Steve gave a tight nod.

The truth was that Steve hadn’t accidentally bumped into you at the bookstore that day two months ago; he knew where you would be and he’d sought you out. His pack were in league with what some would consider “vampire royalty” and they made a lot of money doing jobs for them.

At first, he started looking out for you because Jareth told him too. But after around the third week, he realized he was protecting you because he cared about you. He didn’t trust anyone from the pack to watch your trailer after dark, so he did it himself. There were a few nights when he swore you’d looked out from your kitchen window and saw him: two red eyes glowing in his honey brown fur.

“What’s your interest in her?” Steve chanced, knowing full well that Jareth would not answer it if he didn’t want to.

“She says she’s human, but I don’t believe her,” Jareth raised an eyebrow. “There’s something else going on with that one, and until I find out, I don’t want any harm to come to her.”

You weren’t human, Steve knew that from the first smell. You were part human, part something else, as if your blood were filled with static from a television.

“I asked you here because I need you to get closer to her, to see if you can find out anything more about her…condition.”

Steve didn’t like this anymore, he felt like he was being dishonest to you, and that one day you’d find out he was hired to watch you instead of being the avid science fiction lover he’d claimed to be. Every time he interacted with you lately, he wanted to mention it, but he couldn’t figure a casual way to say, “hey, I’m being paid to watch you, I sleep in the woods outside your trailer a few nights a week, but I’m starting to have feelings, and was wondering if you were free for dinner?”

Steve pulled his shoulder’s back, puffing his chest out a bit. “If you want to know more about what she is, why don’t you just ask her, man? What’s with all the cloak and dagger?”

Jareth pushed off the desk and walked over to look at a piece of abstract splatter art on the wall while he spoke, clasping his hands behind his back. “My presence at her trailer park would certainly ring some alarms, I’m sure you are not so dense,” his tone was condescending but proper. “I don’t want anyone, especially Munson, to know that I have any interest in her. Not yet, anyway.”

Since Steve had been watching you, he was also well aware of Eddie’s comings and goings. “Eddie hasn’t interacted with her in weeks, not that I’ve seen,” Steve told him. “Appears like the two are avoiding each other.”

Jareth scoffed. “I’m not particularly a fan of his, but when Edward has a job to do, he does it well,” he turned from the painting and went around the desk. “My gut tells me that he has something up his sleeve, and my gut is never wrong.”

Steve let the information sink in. “You don’t think Eddie would hurt her? He’s a car thief and a drug dealer, but not a killer.”

Jareth bent down to pretend to look at some paperwork, but then his eyes lifted to Steve and he smirked. “Is that what he told you?”

“We’ve never really talked but—”

“I’ve been doing my own investigating, but until I get some answers, just get close to her however you can, I want to accelerate this end game.”

“And what endgame is that?” Steve’s voice was low and commanding as he pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to reveal the generous muscles in his forearms. He rested his back against the wall, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

“The official endgame, Sir Harrington,” Jareth’s striking, ancient blue eyes gleamed. “Is none of your business.”

—---

“Sorry about that,” you told Steve as you climbed into the cab of his truck. “I had no idea he was coming over.”

You were apologizing for Eddie, of course, and the way he’d been giving Steve the death stare when he’d come to pick you up. The snow was coming down harder now, in huge wet flakes the size of quarters, plopping like dissolving puffs of cotton onto the windshield of the truck.

“Was he bothering you?” Steve asked protectively, glaring at the door to Eddie’s trailer while you fumbled with your seatbelt.

“No, he’s…he’s just a friend,” you said, trying to blink away the flashes of all of the sex dreams you had of him that were ricocheting through your head.

After Eddie had stepped out of your trailer and shut the door, he’d stood on your porch for a minute, taking his time to light a cigarette before slowly making his way over to his place. He made eye contact with Steve a few times through the windsheild, wondering if he should kill him.

The inside of Steve’s big old truck was warm, it smelled like winter wool and the yellow vanilla car freshener he had hanging from the radio knob. The song Working Man by Rush played low from the speakers.

You’d heard about the Werewolves of Hawkins from Bob and Argyle when a few of them came into the bar one night. Apparently, they were very reclusive and only ventured to town in human form every so often.

“Have you never seen a werewolf before?” Bob Newby, the owner of the bar you worked at, asked you with a tilt of his head and a curious smile. “They’re all over the woods. Beautiful creatures.”

He’d said it so casually, as if a man turning into a wolf and roaming around at night was the most normal thing in the world.

“Are there no werewolves where you come from?” Argyle asked while he wiped down a bottle of tequila.

You moved your eyes as if to think. “Uh, nope, not that I know of anyway. Hawkins is the only place I’ve ever heard of them ever existing before. What’s next? Are you going to tell me that Faeries and Shapeshifters are real too?”

Bob and Argyle exchanged a knowing look. Bob gave you a consolation pat on the back, “one day at a time there, missy. Let’s give you a chance to get used to werewolves first, and then we can move on to the next.”

That night in the darkness of the movie theater with Steve, you turned to whisper in his ear. “Can you change into a werewolf whenever you want, or only during a full moon?”

He chuckled, leaning in so that his cheek was on your head. He was so warm, you wondered if he had a fever. “When you’re a pup, in the early days, the transformation happens at the most awkward times. Once we get older and learn how to control our emotions, we can go through the change whenever we need to.”

“Like right now?” Your lips were close to his neck, breath tickling his skin, giving him goosebumps.

The side of his mouth moved against your forehead. “Just say the word, darlin’.”

Your hands fumbled together a few times while reaching for popcorn at the same time, and a voice in your head said:

This is nice

Steve is nice

Steve was a good guy who probably thought you were a normal woman who’d led a fairly typical life, and you worried you were misleading him.

There were a few times though, after the movie and on the ride back, when you felt like he wanted to tell you something, but then he would stop short. He’d rub the back of his neck and start out with, “yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” but then he’d shake his head and jump to another topic.

Steve cursed to himself at how bad he was fumbling the night, he felt like he was a goddamn teenager again.

The only thing he knew for sure after that night was that he liked you a lot, and more than ever he needed to cut ties with Jareth. He’d been meaning to break free from the politics of the pack to become a Lone Wolf, and this felt like the perfect opportunity. He was next in line to be Alpha, but it was a role that he had no interest in playing.

Parked next to the hearse in front of your trailer again, the snow had stopped, but it was up to your ankles now, and you couldn’t help but notice the light in Eddie’s living room was on.

“Here, wait, let me walk you,” Steve insisted.

“No, I’m good,” you were already on the ground, looking up at him across the seat. “If Bela hears your voice too close to the house, she’ll just go nuts again.”

You'd told him about your new companion earlier, and he looked at you like you'd decided to take in a pet dragon.

“I’ll wait here until I know you got in okay.” Steve said softly, giving you a nod. “Hey, are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

“I’m, well, I think–” you stammered. Was Steve about to ask you on an actual date? “I might pick up a shift at Main Vein tomorrow night.”

“There’s going to be a reading at the bookstore, and I promised Robin I’d help string some lights and set up some chairs. So, I’ll be in the neighborhood if you want to get something to eat or, whatever. I’d really like to see you again.”

He said the last part in a rush, partially hoping you wouldn’t catch it.

The admission made your cheeks hot under his steady gaze.

You told him you’d stop by if you weren’t waitressing, and at your front door with the key in the lock, you turned to wave at him one more time over your shoulder before slipping inside to flip the deadlock behind you. You closed your eyes and leaned against the door until you heard the rumble of his truck growl onto the main road, and then you flipped the lights on.

“Mr. Wonderful couldn’t walk you to the door?”

The voice made you jump and a scream caught in your throat.

Eddie was sitting on your couch, arms stretched out over the back of it, as if it were his trailer and he’d been expecting you.

You let the shock of it subside, taking a long breath to slow your heart rate.

You hung your bag on the hook by the door and started to shrug out of your coat. “You know, when I invited you in, I didn’t mean break in whenever you felt like it.”

“I didn’t break in,” he lowered one arm and rested that hand between his legs. “I know where you hide your spare key.”

“It’s not funny, Eddie,” you threw your jacket on the recliner. “I’d like you to leave now, please.”

“How was your date?” He bit out the last part.

“I’m not answering any of your questions,” you stopped in your tracks and looked around, suddenly alert. “Where is Bela? I don’t hear her. Eddie, if you did anything to her, I will —-”

“I would never hurt her,” he moved to stand up, and under his breath he added, “or you.”

“So?” You flapped your arms out, impatiently, blood pressure spiking. “Where is she?”

Eddie came forward and put a finger to his lips, motioning for you to lower your voice. He guided you down the hallway, ignoring your protests, until he arrived at your bedroom door and turned the knob, opening it slowly.

Bela was curled up on your bed in a blanket, breathing heavy like she’d just been dosed with a tranquilizer.

“She broke out again while you were gone,” he whispered. “Blew the bathroom door right off its hinges and came scratching at my door like maybe I had you.”

Your eyes went to the window across the room, seeing that there were boards hammered over it now, which was more of Eddie’s handiwork.

Feeling you softening at his side, Eddie pulled the door closed with a click. You were having a hard time meeting his eyes. You’d been so mad at him, so ready to scream and kick him out into the snow.

“She let you hold her?” You asked, noticing that you no longer had a bathroom door, Eddie must’ve taken it out to fix it.

“I'm charming, what can I say?” he shrugged. “And I gave her some of my blood from a little eyedropper.”

“You what?” You spun on him, appalled.

“Don’t sound so horrified,” He put his hands on his hips once you reached the kitchen. “They need vampire blood to calm their nervous system. She’ll sleep like a baby now.”

In the book you were reading, the author did say that demobats who drank regular doses of vampire blood seemed to fare better than the others, but you’d decided to disregard that information as speculation.

“In that case, I guess I should say thank you,” you opened the fridge and took out the Brita water filter and a glass from the cupboard.

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his thigh against the counter. “Did that Steve guy try to make a move on you or what?”

You frowned at him. “Listen, you don’t get to invade my space and bombard me with personal questions. Why does it matter so much to you what we did?”

“I don’t trust him,” Eddie had his eyes trained on one spot in front of him, studying a patch of air while he worked his jaw.

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think he cares much for you, either.”

Eddie’s head spun to look at you. “What did he say about me?”

“Nothing!” You clarified, raising the tone of your voice to match his. “He didn’t mention you at all, actually. It’s just a feeling I got.”

You took a drink, and when you put the glass back down, Eddie moved in, bracketing your hips with his hands on the countertop, caging you there while he searched your eyes. “Did he kiss you?”

You didn’t answer right away, and so he asked it again.

“Did he kiss you?”

The way his lips hovered there so close to yours made you swallow hard. The air between the two of you crackled with electricity. You waited for his eyes to go black, for his fangs to eject, for him to take your blood into his mouth like he had that night in the alley.

“Would it bother you if he had?” There was an air of pleading in your tone that you had not intended to be there.

Please let it bother you.

Eddie slid his bottom lip through his teeth and leaned back, stepping away from you. “I just think you should keep your distance from him, that’s all. Werewolves are notoriously…” he trailed off as if searching for the right word. “...undisciplined.”

You wondered about Eddie’s discipline, how hard it was for him not to go the rest of the way and claim you just then. To sink his teeth in and suck on that nectar of yours that he craved so deeply. You could see the desire in his eyes, the way the brown irises melted into umber and his pupils expanded.

You would not have stopped him, that was the final truth of it.

In that moment, you knew that if Eddie Munson wanted to kiss you, you would not put up a fight.

You would not pull back and ask, “what are you doing?”

You would just know.

“I changed the bulb in your porch light, by the way,” he added on his way to the door. “Noticed it was out.”

You did not turn to watch him go, you kept your back to him. “Thank you again for Bela and for boarding up the window.”

He mumbled something under his breath that made you look over your shoulder. “What was that?”

He stopped in his tracks with his hand on the doorknob, hair long around the shoulder of his leather jacket. “I said, you know where I am, if you ever need anything.”

Eddie stepped out onto your front porch and exhaled a shuddering, long-held breath. He shut his eyes and rubbed the heels of his palms into them. “Holy shit, Munson, you are such an idiot,” he scolded himself, feeling a sprinkle of snow again on his flesh.

He took a step down and then paused, thinking he should go back in.

Thinking he should tell you…everything.

Maybe you would understand.

Maybe you’d lean into his kiss and pull him closer.

Maybe…

But then the shadow of uncertainty shrouded him and he kept going.

—-------

You ended up covering for Argyle behind the bar the next night while he went to California for a week, and thankfully it was a slow shift because you were still figuring out what alcohol went in which drink. But then a crowd of people on their way to the poetry reading at Robin’s came through, and two of them were vampires, so you had to get out the manual to remember which synthetic blood type to use in the various mixtures.

“Another whiskey with a beer back for the Chief,” Erica scooted up next to you and tapped your arm to get you to lean in closer to her. “Do you think he’s waiting for someone?”

Jim Hopper was in a booth by himself in the dimly lit room, facing the door, and you had noticed that he seemed very interested in getting a good look at everyone who came in that evening. He still had his uniform on, since he was only recently off the clock, and he was tapping his knee and chewing on the side of his fingernail with some type of anticipation.

You knew that if you got closer, you’d be able to get a better read on his emotional state.

“I’ll take it to him,” you said to Erica, and then the two of you talked about the movie you went to with Steve because she hated it and said she was angry those were two hours of her life she could never get back. “I can’t believe you let a werewolf take you on a date,” she squinted. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were looking for trouble.”

You moved around her with both of Jim’s drinks and winked. “I’m the one who’s trouble. They come looking for me.”

“Oh I believe that,” she quipped in your wake.

The closer you got to Jim, the more you could sense the yearning inside of him. There was desperation with sadness around the edges, and the hint of a familiar sinister urge, much like you’d felt with the Klemps all those weeks ago.

His eyes met yours only briefly when you set his drinks down, and then you asked if he wanted one menu or two.

“Not tonight, thanks. I’m waiting for someone, and then I need to split,” he nodded as he warmed the whiskey in his big hands and wiped a sheen of perspiration from his forehead.

Well, there was your answer.

You and Hopper both looked up when the door opened that time, and you were pleasantly surprised to see Steve standing there. Shoulders broad in his plaid shirt and his luscious head of hair looking wild from the wind outside. His face lit up when he saw you.

“Hey stranger,” you walked over to him, beaming.

Steve had been pacing out on the sidewalk between the bookstore and the bar for the past 15 minutes trying to decide if he should go in or not. By the way you were smiling at him, he could tell he'd made the right decision.

“Hey, you,” he gave a smirk and raked his big hand through his unruly hair a few times. He glanced around at the 8 or 9 customers. “Do you have a break soon? Or can I bring you anything?”

“My shift is over in an hour,” you talked as you returned to your station, waving at Bob through the serving hatch. Steve rested his elbow on the bar. “I was thinking I’d make my way over to the bookstore if you’re still around.”

“Oh I think I’ll be around,” he assured, tapping his knuckles on the wood, not wanting to sound too eager. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Erica glaring at him. She was not much of a fan of the supernatural.

Right behind Steve, a strikingly beautiful woman with short black hair and red lips strolled in. She had a long leather coat that she pulled tightly around her as she walked, and she appeared to know exactly where she was going, strolling over with ancient grace to Jim’s table. He stood up to greet her, and then they hunched across the table toward each other as if they were telling secrets.

You realized you were staring as you spotted a tiny vial of dark liquid in her palm just before she slid it across the way to him under a cupped hand.

“I’ll come back when you’re finished,” Steve said a few other things, but your mind had not retained them. “We can walk over together.”

“Sure,” you said absently. The mysterious woman with Jim got up and left after only a minute or two. Jim downed the rest of his drink, left a tip, and exited out the back, putting his hat on as he went.

A bit later, as you were changing out of your apron in the back room and counting your bills, you wondered where Eddie was and what he was doing.

It made you curse out loud, the persistent way your mind clung to him.

It was irrational and wholly unfair.

You wanted him to pull up in the GTO and tell you to get in without any explanation of why or where you were going.

The customers continued to wane, and Bob told you to skedaddle 20 minutes earlier than you’d expected, so you figured you’d get a head start and meet Steve half way. Erica flipped you off, playfully mocking the fact that you could go home before her. You snuggled down into your winter coat and pushed through the employee door that led to the parking lot at the greeting of a gust of bitingly cold wind. You stopped to pull your gloves out of your pockets and the door that could only be opened from the inside locked shut behind you.

When you looked up, Jareth stepped out of the shadows and loomed there, blocking your path.

“I’m afraid you'll have to come with me, love.”

----

hugs and kisses, thank you so much for reading! Your comments, asks, and reblogs mean the world xoxo

----

Taglist: @trixyvixx @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @sidthedollface2 @atomickaratel8dy @probablyin-bed @kiyastrf94@briamunson92 @joannamuns9n @jasminelafleur @@bellalillyrose @dashingdeb16 @alba8688 @corrodeddeadlydoll @brassreign @likedovesinthewnd @ilovetaquitosmmm @skrzydlak @onegirlmanytales @angietherose @probablyin-bed @reidsbtch @moonbeamsandmayhem @eddiesxangel @hideoutside @secretdryrose @nailbatanddungeon @thorfemmes @corkadymu @kellsck @mrsjellymunson @poofyloofy

#Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson #vampire!eddie #werewolf Steve #Death Becomes Us #vampire Eddie Munson #True Blood au #Eddie Munson series #paranormal reader #Eddie Munson x reader #Spotify

219 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

halloween

Stranger Things x Horror Movie Collection

American Psycho / Halloween / Scream / Friday the 13th / Fear Street / Jennifer’s Body

4.9K words

warnings - descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), halloween au

summary - On Halloween night, you’re stuck babysitting a gaggle of nerds when the phone rings. The person on the other end, however, isn’t eager to answer.

“I’m about to drop dead,” Chrissy mumbles, eyes straying to the ceiling.

“As opposed to what?” you glance at the kitchen when you hear a giggly shout, “Levitate dead?”

“So funny,” she gasps mockingly, “Have you ever considered being a comedian? You could be a regular Elayne Boosler.”

Dustin leans out of the doorframe, hands up as if to beg forgiveness, mouthing a ‘sorry’ before running back in.

“I wish I was there, I think our kids would have fun,” Chrissy has been babysitting Layla Loomis since the redhead was a newborn, but even that close bond can be tiring, “I also just want to get out of this damn house. They’ve got weird clown paintings.”

“Just take the paintings down, dumbass,” your eyes stick to the kitchen door frame, where muffled, joyous conversation is trapped, “Also, Layla is nine, I dunno how well they’d actually get along.”

“Isn’t Erica Sinclair eleven?”

“Spiritually, she’s - like - nineteen with addiction withdrawals. The mean symptoms, not the shaky ones," you shrug, "She's kind of a bitch."

Chrissy gasps genuinely this time, your name slipping out like a hiss, "You can't call her that! She's a kid!"

"You've never met her, have you?"

She confirms your suspicion with silence.

“Yeah, I figure,” you look out the window and across the street when a house’s light flickers, “S-O-S, very funny, Annie.”

Chrissy giggles, “Aw, she’s just sad I was pissy with her when she dropped Benny off.”

“Why’re you watching Benny?”

She sighs out the answer you should’ve been expecting, “Her boyfriend’s visiting.”

“Ew,” you fold your arms as the flickering gets quicker. S-O-S to simple violent flashes. The living room’s overhead stays on for a long while, “I gotta go. Talk to you later.”

“Alright,” she groans overdramatically, “Happy Halloween.”

You return the phrase and hang up.

The living room light cuts now, and no other lights are turned on.

Annie’s always been melodramatic, this isn’t anything extremely new. So you pull the drawstring of the blinds and walk away to the kitchen where your group of nerds is herded.

“Are you dum-dumbs done?” you lean your hip into a counter while Erica and Max seem to be competing over who can throw more popped kernels into Lucas’ mouth.

“You seemed busy,” Dustin grabs the big plastic bowl of popcorn and shoots you a look as he passes, “Are you done with your phone call?”

“Yes, actually, I am,” you flick the back of Dustin’s neck as he leads the way to the living room.

Ten minutes into the horror movie Max practically strong-armed you into getting for the group, there’s the screeching of Annie’s dear boyfriend’s, Johnny Traimer’s, car through a sunset road - one not yet cluttered with kids.

Three minutes later, the phone rings. Erica pauses the film and you lean to the couch’s side table to answer, “Sinclair residence- "

The opportunity to finish your greeting is killed when you hear a deep groan, right from the barrel of someone’s throat. Then another, then a gasp and strangled yelp.

“Oh, gross, you two!” this was bad, even for Annie’s standards. The phone shakes as you slam it down and you sit on your knees to look through the blinds.

Still no light in the house.

Erica plays the movie when you don’t speak further.

Your head feels light - you’re left falling in and out of sleep even despite the screams and bright, flashing TV lights. Despite the popcorn that flies in front of your face, and despite the fully-fledged teenager clinging to your arm like a child. Only when there’s a sharp synth spike and a scream on screen (and subsequently in your ears by three adolescents), are you woken up.

You jump, eyes flying open to see a topless young actress slaughtered by a hulking, masked figure with a kitchen knife.

“We can change the movie, you know?” you yawn, sitting up straighter on the couch, “Just ‘cuz it’s Halloween doesn’t mean you freaks have to watch a slasher.”

“No, no, no, no,” Dustin shakes his head vigorously, squeezing you tight by the arm, “We wanna watch.”

Erica buries half her face into your shoulder, one eye peeking at the screen, “Yeah, we wanna watch.”

You glance down at the floor, where Lucas and Max are huddled up beside your leg. Lucas’ hand is tightly wound in Max’s - his brows furrowed and lips pressing tightly in anticipation.

Sighing, you sit back and give in, “Alright, but nobody’s mom hears about this, right?”

A chorus of “right!”s follow suit.

Honestly, sometimes you think the only reason the kids request you as a babysitter is because you’re not hesitant about renting R-rated movies for them. For the most part, anyway - you refuse to get them even a morsel from the X section, for obvious reasons.

The camera lingers over the killer’s shoulder as he moves down a hall - another poor girl, screaming and big-breasted, runs ahead of him. It’s quiet except for a simmering chase theme, though even that is dim. Erica and Dustin tense beside you, their nails digging into your skin harshly. Shallow crescents left in their wake.

Briiiing!

Dustin jumps, squeezing your arm so harshly he nearly cuts off blood circulation, and Erica’s hands fly over her ears. Lucas backs into your leg with a gasp and Max just laughs, a finger pointing right in his petrified face.

It’s just the phone, for God’s sake.

“Oh my God,” you stand with a huff and pause the movie, “No more. Lucas, grab Cheech & Chong, I’m cutting you all off.”

“Aw, boo!” Max cups her hands over her mouth as she turns to the couch, just to really twist the knife in Dustin and Erica.

The phone rings again and you shoot a silencing glare at the teenagers before answering, “Sinclair residence - Charles and Sue are out at the moment but I can take a message.”

There’s a sharp laugh and you roll your eyes at the sound, “Jeez, don’t you sound positively chipper?”

“Bite it, Steve,” you slide to sit on the arm of the couch, sensing Dustin loom over you at the name of his impromptu brother, “What do you want? Thought you were with Nance.”

He hums - testy and hollow of his usual amusement, “About that. We sort of broke up.”

“Sort of?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighs and you can practically see him run a hand through his stupid hair, “Can I just come over?”

“Oh my God, hanging out with kids on Halloween? How far the mighty have fallen, Harrington,” you look over at where the four kids are staring at you like the titular kids in Children of the Corn, “Yeah, hurry up. And get us food on your way.”

“What am I? The milking cow?”

“Yup,” you slam the phone down and turn to the awaiting faces before you, “Hair’s on his way.”

Erica raises her brows at you.

“Yes, he’s bringing stuff to eat.”

She nods assuredly and leans back into the couch with folded arms.

You nudge your chin towards the Sinclair’s television, “Seriously, if I hear a peep about this from your parents, I’ll throttle you all.”

Max nods boredly, head tossing onto the couch cushions while Lucas settles in beside her. Dustin sits wide-eyed at the TV in wonder with Erica trying (and miserably failing) to keep her cool at watching a movie her parents loudly protested the opening of.

But before you can christen the night and let the stoner comedy play, the phone rings again. You smack Dustin in the shoulder for laughing when you flinch and pick up the receiver,

“Hello, Sinclair residence - Sue and Charles are out but I can take a message,” you sit and wait.

And wait.

You get up from the arm of the couch, brows knitting, “Hello?”

You feel the childrens’ eyes on you and pointedly ignore them. This time, when you really press your ear to the phone, you can hear faint breathing. Faint, but hefty. Like the person had just finished slinging weights.

“Billy, I know you might not know how to breathe through your nose yet, but can you at least say something?” you turn, coiling a finger into the phone cord.

Max tenses and you see it in your peripherals, Lucas grabs her hand and the two share a look.

“It’s a sleepover, Hargrove. She’s allowed to be here.”

And she is. Susan herself got the okay from Neil and gave Max the okay under the impression it would only be you and Erica while Lucas and Dustin were out with Will and Mike.

The breathing continues - slowly growing more ragged, slowly increasing in volume. You shuffle away from the children and as far from them as the phone cord will allow.

“Alright, listen, asshole, I get Halloween is the time for pranks, but just forget it. I’m wrist-deep in bullshit with babysitting, so take this house off whatever damn list you have.”

You hang up and sit on the edge of the couch. Erica leans into your side, though not nearly enough to wrongfully be accused of being scared and needing her babysitter. Still, though, you throw your arm over the back of the couch and let her fall into the gap left at your side.

Erica’s too big to admit she’s still shaking from some cheesy horror movie, so she doesn’t, and if it comes down to it - you’ll go ahead and claim to be the one shaking.

The phone rings again.

“That better be Steve,” Lucas sits up on his knees, still clutching Max’s hand.

You groan and move, leaning over the arm of the couch and feeling it dig into your ribs as you answer the phone, “Hello?” when nobody replies, you roll your eyes, “Sinclair residence.”

Erica takes your free hand, hidden from the others’ view, “Who is it?”

Shrugging, you settle the phone between cheek and shoulder, “Seriously, I’ve had it. If there’s something you want, just spit it out, sicko.”

But no. It remains silent. Then the breathing. Slowly growing louder - you stand, releasing Erica’s hand, and shake your head.

“C’mon, just hang up,” Dustin removes his cap to run a hand through his curls, “They’re gonna keep calling.”

But there’s something in your gut that tells you to stay on the line.

“Yeah, let’s go, this is enough,” Max huffs in her brave front, eyes narrowing, “It’s just some asshole. Get it over with.”

But even so. You move towards the window, index and middle finger parting two of the slats. The breathing heavies.

The street is bustling with kids - ranging from babbling babes being pushed in strollers to kids you recognize from the halls of Hawkins High - most in monster costumes. Typical vampires and witches and zombies and ghosts. A couple of kids - the older ones - have thrown on a bloodied hockey mask and called it a costume. Parents are scarce, pretty exclusively with the children who can’t talk for themselves.

Jack O’ lanterns dot houses on the other side of the street and a handful of parked cars are visible on the edge of the road. Candlelight is swamped out by street lamps that bathe the concrete sidewalk in sickly orange. Sickly, pale, and spotty.

But one body towers above the others - one body strays behind a car longer than the others.

“Okay, can you just leave it alone? I can see right through you,” you glare at the figure, heart thundering into your ribs and honestly you’re hoping that the shape can’t see you, “Two-people scams are so out, it’s unfair. Get over yourselves and leave us alone.”

The shape persists. The breathing heavies.

Your hand shakes around the phone but you don’t let down. Lucas stands at your side now, fists clenched as if you’re gonna let his child-self fight whoever it is that’s on the phone. A kid runs into the shape and it still refuses to move.

“Now you’re just being a dick,” you hate the way your spine tingles - fear. Hot and heavy and lathering your arms in prickled flesh.

The breathing heavies. Like he’s growing closer. Ever closer. Like he’s behind you - breath on your neck and in your ear. Like you should run.

Heavy knocks thud on the door but the shape persists. The breathing heavies.

You jump as the knocking continues, a scream you cut short is released and even Max flinches. Dustin huddles to Erica and Erica won’t admit that she huddles right back. Lucas holds up a hand as if to take the phone from you and right when he does, you hear it.

Loud, obnoxious, screeching laughter. A hand slaps a knee as the person on the other side heaves in giggles.

“Oh my God!” you wrench yourself back from the window, “Fuck you, Munson! Who’s out there?”

Of course, only Eddie would try and terrorize his own friends with a Michael Myers mask.

“Just Harrington, sweetheart, be a doll and let him in, will ya?”

“Dick,” you huff but gesture Lucas towards the front door, “‘s just Steve.”

Not a minute later, Steve Harrington is barreling through the door with a small stack of pizzas on one arm. Stupid big grin on his face.

You peek back out through the slats and see the shape trapped in a thicker crowd of trick-or-treaters than before. As you wave to local puppy-boy Steve, you speak into the phone again, “Alright, Munson, you can come in now.”

The shape is still there, though. You look away as someone pops through the kitchen - Eddie’s hands are on his hips proudly. He shoots you a wink and takes Dustin into his arms, squeezing the boy to his chest dramatically, “You should really lock all the doors and windows when you’re home alone, Laurie Strode, never know who has the balls to break in,” he pouts, “My freshmen disciples in your care and you can’t even lock a door.”

Steve ‘tsk’s as Erica storms to the food in his hold.

But you couldn’t care any less.

You hook the phone and hold your stare on Eddie, “You were…?”

“Outside,” Dustin shoves himself out of Eddie’s grasp, the latter nudges his head towards the kitchen side door, “I didn’t fuck with anything.”

“No, it’s- “ you peek out the window, the shape is missing.

Children pass by freely.

“You okay, Chunk?” Eddie steps forward.

Erica quirks a brow, glaring at the metalhead, “No food or references - Goonies or otherwise - for you until we can trust you’ve washed your hands,” she points down the hall, “Bathroom.”

“No,” you snap at the boy, “Did either of you see a guy on the other side of the street?”

“A guy?” Steve ‘hmph’s, “Figured it was a shitty Myers stand.”

You shake your head, peeking through the slats again, “He’s gone.”

And the doors are unlocked.

“The doors are unlocked,” you blurt, pointing at the other two older teenagers, “Doors and windows - check and lock them.”

Lucas goes to follow you upstairs while Eddie takes the basement and Steve stays on the first floor. His face is earnest, worry-wrung, “I wanna help.”

“No,” you keep him back with a stiff arm, “You stay down here and look after the others, alright? I’ll be right back.”

You can see it in the twist of his lips, his knitted brows, “I want to help.”

Both hands settle on his shoulders and you smile at the poor boy, “You can help plenty by just making sure the others are safe. Alright?”

He shakes his head but finds his way back to the group so you can go upstairs. You hate to say it, but as you come upon the landing, you sort of wish you’d taken up the chance of company. The quiet is eerie and drawn out - like you should be waiting for the other shoe to drop - like the still before a storm. Darkness pervades. Not quite inky, more flashes. Moonlight and street lamps illuminate the upstairs through thin curtains and slotted blinds.

Distantly, you hear the sounds of children screaming and giggling in Halloween delight. A single floorboard creaks and you could throw yourself over the banister at how pathetic you feel jumping from the sound.

This is ridiculous, you think - you’ve got kids to take care of, you can’t stay upstairs all night.

So you rush down the hall to Erica’s room and get to work locking her windows. You like Erica’s room, it’s got D&D miniatures sat out on a desk and a nice lavender bedspread. It’s more comforting than Lucas’ room, of no fault to him. Sports memorabilia and pictures of Max and even more intense D&D decor. It just reminds you of high school boys’ rooms you’ve been in and subsequently hated.

The window right above Lucas’ bed is jammed halfway and no matter how hard you press, it refuses to budge. It’s not nearly enough to sneak through, but even so, it could be opened. You leave his piggy bank at the sill in case someone does creep in and move on.

A kid shrieks from outside and you hurry to the master bedroom.

Neat and tidied, nobody has been in this room since Charles and Sue Sinclair left five hours ago. But there’s the chill of a Hawkins fall night that blows through and their pristine white curtains billow in the breeze. Your skin chills and you close the big window to the right of Sue’s antique dresser - it shutters and you think for a moment that the very glass shakes. You click the lock into place and continue.

When the upstairs is squared, you return to the group. There’s a gaping splotch in the gaggle of teenagers.

“Where’s Munson?”

“Thought he found you,” Steve shrugs.

“Why would- “ you cut yourself off, “Whatever.”

There’s a crash upstairs. Glass cracking and a thud like a full furniture set being dropped.

Dustin blanches at you, “I thought you locked the windows!”

“I did!” you huff but race to the kitchen, grabbing a knife. But one of the knives is already missing.

Oh.

Steve follows you, one hand going to your shoulder and his head tilting in a silent question.

“Get the kids out and go, go to a neighbor and call the cops,” your heart is thundering.

But come on, you’ve fought Hawkins’ demons and survived - you can handle a douchebag with a knife, right? Right! Of course.

Of course.

You run upstairs before Steve can ask further questions. He’s reluctant but follows your orders, herding your kids out the front door like the good shepherd he is while you check each room.

The knife glints in fractured moonlight, shaking in your hand as you peek through the doorways. Slow at first, sticking to the walls before carefully moving inside. The house creaks and you try to keep your breathing quiet. Footsteps still. You wait with bated breath.

For the other shoe to drop. For the storm to commence.

For a man to burst through the closet.

There’s no man - you cut through the rooms and find nothing but a tumbled full-body mirror now shattered in Erica’s room. You creep close and find no explanation for its sudden fall.

You’re almost excited to get back downstairs. Your hands speed to the couch-side phone and dart over the numbers to the house Chrissy is sitting. Just to warn her before it’s too late. Unless it already is.

The phone is ringing but Chrissy won’t answer. She never lets the phone ring long. You press your ear closer, hoping desperately for some - any - response aside from this mechanical tone. It rings. And rings. And you can’t hear the man behind you.

Steve turns to look at the Sinclair house once the children are out, he goes to step inside but Erica snags him by the shirt.

She isn’t one for verbally expressing her concern unless it was a quip, she isn’t prone to vulnerability that way; whether it be because of her young age or a result of their Hawkins’ trauma, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care much. But now, he can see it in her eyes - rich with anxiety.

“You better not be thinking about going back in there, just wait for the cops. She’ll come back out,” Erica squeezes her hand in the material of Steve’s shirt, “She’ll come out.”

“I can’t take the chance,” Steve grins down at her, “We’ll be okay - we’re a good team, Sinclair.”

Steve detaches from the girl and runs back into the house. No plan, no ideas, just him and his typical inability to win a fight.

And he sees you struggling in the middle of the Sinclair’s living room. Eyes bugging, legs kicking, and hands ripping at the cord wrapped around your throat - a hulking, masked figure dragging you back into his chest.

Steve is quick at what he does best and what he does best is running into fights. He throws his body into the man’s, tackling him at the side. You’re dropped to the floor, knees burning against the rug while you heave for air. Your fingers drag across the indents forming from the spiraled cord.

“Keep him…” a thick sputter and cough rags through your sore throat, “inside…!”

The man in the Myers mask lifts Steve by the collar of his shirt, almost laughable in its visible simplicity for him. You don’t laugh though, not when your heart is thrumming like a jackrabbit and not when you can hear Steve’s fists land on the man’s chest like it’s a thick wall.

Scrambling, your hands pat blindly under the couch for the knife that’d fallen from your hand during the altercation. Handle meets palm and you drag the blade out as Steve kicks in the man’s hold. You turn, armed, and stab the man’s calf - it takes muscle, force, more than you use for anything in your typical life. More than you’re comfortable with. Cloth and skin rip around your blade and Steve is dropped. His body hits the floor like dead weight and the figure buckles.

You wretch back the knife and crawl away, shaky, to Steve’s side. You grab him by the sleeve and drag him closer to the door.

The man collapses, his hand smacking on the glass table hard enough to crack it.

Coming to your feet, you hurriedly tug Steve onto his own - knife still in hand.

The man rises, his head tilting. Something so reminiscent of a movie that you can’t help the “oh, fuck you!” that comes out. Steve takes the knife from your hand and pushes you behind him. His hands are shaking worse than yours.

“We need to keep him inside,” your eyes stay on the figure as you whisper to Steve.

The sirens are faint but they grow closer.

“Keep him inside,” Steve nods, “Got it.”

Steve slowly moves closer and you hesitate to grab him. On one hand, you know it’s foolish of him to approach, but if the man reciprocates and you’re holding Steve back then you’re both fucked. So you watch, back to the door, and legs jelly as Steve attempts to go toe-to-toe with the Michael Myers wannabe.

The sirens grow louder and you can see the man’s shoulders tense. He charges Steve.

And despite the knife quickly lodged in his side, the man throws Steve right back to where you are. His body hits your legs and you barely have the time to snatch the knife from his limp hand before you’re being cinched by the neck.

Hands shake with how hard he’s squeezing, you can feel your throat forcibly tighten. His fingers dig into your skin and you try to gasp through his hands. You take the knife to his forearm, slashing at his skin and breaking through his jumpsuit sleeve. He hisses and jumps when you manage to stab his shoulder but when he leans forward and jams you between himself and the door, you’re left with his hands locked around your throat.

His chest locks yours in place and you tear the knife through his rib, as far as your arms can possibly stretch while your vision spots. Yellow to blue to black splotches decorate the room and hot tears scorch your cheeks. Shallow, you wheeze and beat at his arms with both a fist and knife. Still, he leans and twists his clenched hands around your throat.

You try calling Steve’s name but all that manages to escape is a coughed grunt. Your muscles give, vision dark, the knife tumbles and hits the tiled flooring with a tink, your arms fall. Legs twitch.

The sirens grow quiet.

Your head lulls back.

Glass shatters and you drop to the doorstep like a sack of cement. Sputtering and gasping and clawing at the raw skin of your neck blindly. Your eyes don’t adjust well at first, hazy and blurred but enough to see that Steve is the one that smashed a vase against the back of the shape’s head.

Quickly, the sirens return to their previous volume - no, louder. Nearer. Steve manages to get the man on the ground. Kids scream outside but this isn’t the overjoyed cheer of trick or treaters - it’s terror and panic and urgency. It’s your kids.

You collapse back onto the ground as you wheeze through a crushed windpipe.

The door bursts open as the man grabs the knife, raising it above his head while Steve screams. Through the gap of the doorway, you see your kids screaming. Dustin is bright red in the face and Max and Lucas are clinging to one another. Erica is wide-eyed and frozen on the lawn. They blur and darken as your eyes flutter.

Your head feels light - you’re left falling in and out of sleep even despite the screams and bright flashing lights. Despite the police and sirens that cry in front of your face, and despite the fully-fledged teenager clinging to your arm like a child.

Only when you’re in the back of an ambulance with Max and Erica at your side, are you woken up.

Carefully, you tilt your head to check your vitals. When your head is facing forward, you can see the girls looking at you - at your neck.

It aches and burns at the back of your throat, but you swallow the saliva stuck there. Voice ragged and thin as you croak, “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad,” Max is entirely honest, brows furrowed, “You’re gonna have a fuck-awful bruise.”

“Battle scars,” you cringe at the sound of your roughened voice and the pain that comes with using it.

“That was stupid,” Erica glares at you, lashes narrow and brows knitted, “Capital ‘S’ stupid.”

You shrug and her disdain grows harsher.

“Stupid.”

If protecting your kids makes you stupid, then you’ll gladly play the fool every single time.

You peek around the space just to ensure nobody else is listening, “We’ve seen worse.”

But none of those previous times have you come quite so close - quite so immediate - to death. Never before had you actually had your vision go black and feel the body-trembling fear of genuinely being about to die. It almost makes you miss when the only thing to make you break a sweat was a drooly, toothy screech in your face. Almost.

The ambulance doors are tossed open, Steve standing outside with Dustin and Lucas on either side. His lips are pressed and he nudges his head for the other girls to get out.

Steve takes their place, his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip.

“You look like you have to puke.”

“I do,” he’s quiet. Uncharacteristically, “They found Eddie. And Chrissy. And Annie. And Johnny.”

You grunt, uncomfortably shifting so you’re upright, a new thud pittering your heart. You can’t find yourself to speak, though. Stomach frilling and chest aching.

Something stirs. Sickens. Rots.

You just stare. It’s all you can do.

You don’t even want to ask.

Where?

How?

Are they…?

You don’t have to ask.

“Dead,” Steve grabs your hand when your muscles freeze, he squeezes, “All dead.”

He wasn’t told the details, but he saw Eddie. Pinned to the wall of the Sinclair’s basement - chest to brick - with a kitchen knife. The blade sat deep in the metalhead’s chest, only the handle was visible. Eddie’s head was turned directly right, chin to shoulder, eyes wide in terror.

He overheard from the officers in passing - brief flashes of gore. Of Chrissy’s neck slashed until it was hanging by threads of muscle. Of Annie’s face bashed into the counter until her jaw was mere pieces. Of Johnny’s throat rubbed red and bloody and raw by a phone cord.

“What about the kids? The ones they were babysitting?”

Steve remains silent. Your stomach lurches.

“And him?”

The shape.

Steve squeezes your hand again.

Children chatter outside and you can hear officers telling citizens to back away. There’s nothing to see here.

You swallow thickly, an ice chill crawling along your skin. Your flesh prickles.

“Steve,” you feel twisted, wrenched, “What happened to him?”

He releases your hand and peeks through the small, square windows on the ambulance’s back doors, “The guy…”

You wait with bated breath.

“Myers.”

For the other shoe to drop. For the storm to commence.

“He got out of the cuffs.”

For a man to burst through a closet.

“They can’t find him anywhere.”

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #the party x reader #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #erica sinclair #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington x you #dustin henderson x reader #lucas sinclair x reader #platonic duh!

88 notes · View notes