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stevesgother · 6 days ago

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The 4th - S.H

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI NSFW, cursing, drinking, characters are all of age, takes place after the events of ST3, slight exhibitionism only bc they’re technically outside, it’s that slightly awkward but endearing sex you have when you fuck someone you like for the first time. It's realistic. Sue me.

AN: first time writing smut, i'm so nervous. fast times au?? If you squint?? the last half isn't proofread bc i simply cannot bring myself to read my own smut

‘American Woman’ by The Guess Who blares loudly from a twin pair of Hitachi speakers stationed on Steve Harrington’s back deck. On the hottest day of the year, The Party had decided to congregate at the only non-public pool they had unlimited access to.

To his relief, Steve had been assigned to grill duty again. The cherry red bikini you had sauntered through his sliding glass door wearing was starting to seriously inconvenience him. He had his Ray Bans on, albeit low on the bridge of his nose, to disguise where his gaze had been lingering all afternoon; the large propane grill hiding his lower half.

Lounging poolside on your towel, you hear before you feel a large ‘SPLASH’, and suddenly you’re soaked head to toe in overly chlorinated pool water.

“Ugh! Henderson!” you scold as you stand to replace your now drenched towel. The cheeky boy looks up at you from where he floats in the pool and mouths a half-hearted ‘Sorry’.

“Steve! Would you happen to have an extra towel?” you shout to him as you hold up your ruined one, shooting him a deadpan expression. “Yeah, ‘course,” he sets down the grill tongs and awkwardly shuffles his way inside, keeping his back to you. Weird, you think.

Steve caught one look at you, hair wet and dripping, water beading down your neck and disappearing among the curve of your breasts; nipples taught from the sudden shock of cold water and visible through the fabric of your swimsuit, and he was grateful for the reprieve inside would offer him.

After close to 15 minutes of no Steve and more importantly, no towel, you decide to venture into the spacious house yourself. “Steve! – Oh!-” you startle as you run chest to chest into him, both turning a corner. “You scared me,” you say with a hand to your racing heart, “I was just wondering where you went,” you chuckle awkwardly.

“Yeah no, sorry, I just uh- got distracted,” he says, avoiding contact and handing you the fresh linen. You glance down, and notice the slight tent in his maybe too-tight swim trunks. You feel the heat of a rosy blush crawl up your cheeks, and a sudden flip of your stomach. Were you really the reason why he was acting so strange? That felt incredibly presumptuous of you.

“Well um…” you trail off, trying to keep your cool, “thanks. For the towel, I mean.” Steve had never made you feel so bashful and uncertain before. Something about the newly exposed skin and the salty smell of sweat mixed musk that radiates off of him from this proximity making your mind short circuit.

–

When the cookout had dwindled down to just the adults and the sun dipped just below the trees, a joint had started to be passed around your small circle. “Well, we should probably head home,” Nancy announces in her usual demure tone, grabbing Jonathan’s hand helping him to stand. A chorus of goodbyes echo throughout the group, eventually leaving just you, Steve, Robin and Eddie.

An exaggerated yawn escapes Robin as she declares she’s exhausted and needs Eddie to drive her home in his rinky dink van.

“C’mon man! I just rolled this joi-”

Robin cuts him off with a harsh clear of her throat and an even harsher jab to his ribs.

“I. Really think. We. Should. Go.” She punctuates each word with a forced smile. Why was everyone acting so fucking odd today? You try to send her a panicked glance, fearing the potential awkwardness of being left here alone with Steve.

Being best friends with both of you, she was well aware of the searing crushes the two of you had on each other. This barbeque was her opportunity to light a fire under your asses to do something about it.

“That’s okay, Rob. Go home if you’re tired.” Always the gentleman. Right now you could kick him for it. If Robin notices your glaring, she doesn’t acknowledge it as she rises to her feet and heads toward the gate leading to the driveway.

“Bye losers!” She waggles her fingers at you as they make their exit, sending you a subtle wink that sets your cheeks ablaze. You now know without a doubt that this was intentional.

A hand on your knee as he says, “I can walk you home if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. We can finish the joint at least,” you smile timidly at him. Free weed wasn’t easy to come by these days, what was the harm in staying just a little longer?

–

2 hours later, you’re lying shoulder to shoulder on the rough concrete surrounding the Harrington’s pool. The joint had been snuffed out on the ground between you an hour ago, but with your thoughts dulled like this it was becoming increasingly easy to bask in the space you two had created for each other. The desire to turn heel and run with your other friends had long fizzled out.

“Hey, what was up with you today?” you ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence, “You just seemed really off,”

He looks suddenly nervous, “Oh I uh– I don’t know. Julys’ always a weird month for me, I guess,” he lies, carding a hand through his hair.

Taking the hand that’s not in his hair in your own, you ask, “Are you doing okay?” When he turns his head to meet you, your sincerity makes him blush - neck to ears. Your faces are closer than he thought they would be. He can count every eyelash from this proximity.

“Yeah– you know what,” He clears his throat, “I’m actually really warm,” he sits up clumsily as he pulls his shirt over his head by the collar, ruffling his hair and exposing the constellation of freckles and moles he has spattering the skin on his toned back.

“Okay–” You go to stand with him but he’s already dove into the pool. When he breaches the surface, he shakes his hair out like a dog and grins at you. You can’t help your eyes wandering to the dark patch of hair covering his chest. You’re starting to feel that warmth he had been complaining of.

“You gonna come in? Or just stand there and gawk?” He laughs as he floats over to you.

So you peel your shirt off and watch him stare intently as you unbutton your shorts, letting them drop to your feet. A less than elegant swan dive and you’re disappearing under the artificially blue water. The sudden coolness of it shocks you, sobering you up a bit.

You’re much more graceful than the boy when it’s your turn to come up for air, gently pushing back the hair that sticks to your face. He swims over to you unsuspectingly, then in the next breath and with a mischievous grin he lifts your body over his shoulder and essentially bodyslams you back under the surface.

More than the gesture itself, what shocks you the most is the warm expanse of his broad shoulders caressing you. You both emerge laughing, “Asshole!” you swat at his chest playfully.

When the laughter dies and fizzles out into an anxious energy, the air is filled with a sort of anticipation. The two of you are bobbing in the pool, faces no more than an inch apart.

“You have got to stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, breathlessly.

Just then he surges forward and presses his lips firmly to yours. The kiss is close-mouthed and chaste at first, giving you a chance to pull away. When you don’t take the opportunity, he deepens it. Your wet hands move to hold his face, breaching the water with a small splashing sound and his strong arms hug you at the waist, bringing you impossible closer. Pressed up against him like this you can feel all of him. The scratch of curls on his chest, the bulge of his biceps around your middle, the hard length of him pressed against your thigh.

Gasping into the kiss, you give him the opening he needs to lick hotly into your mouth, eliciting a breathy moan from your chest that sends Steve reeling. He starts to slowly kick his legs, swimming to push your back up against a vinyl clad wall.

Your lips move to lick the vein that runs down his neck, then up to a spot just below his ear. He groans when you take his earlobe gently into your mouth. Grasping your cheek in his hand, he forces your face out of the refuge his neck had provided from his intense gaze.

“Can I touch you?” He shudders when he speaks, having dreamt about this exact moment for years. Your response is an enthusiastic nod and another searing kiss to his lips - plush and pink and made for your own.

Steve’s knee moves to rest bookended between your thighs, keeping you open for him. In the water, he can’t feel how pathetically wet you are beneath your bright red bikini bottoms. You’re thankful for that, but even so, the whine that you release when his swift fingers push aside the fabric and start slowly massaging your clit is enough to give you away.

Your grip on his shoulders tightens, leaving small crescent shapes in his perfect skin. “Oh!-- God, keep doing that,” you pant.

“You like that, baby?” Steve tries to sound suave. Mr. Confident. King Steve. Honestly, he’s terrified. He has half a mind to stop and ask you to pinch him, not entirely convinced this is even real. But the sweet, sweet sounds you’re making are enough to persuade him otherwise.

“Yes! Ah– please, don’t stop,” you beg, even though you don’t have to. Steve’s positive he would do just about anything you asked of him right now. You have the sudden urge to return the favor, reaching down between your two bodies and palming him through his swim trunks.

“Oh -- my God, don’t,” he warns, the sheepish smile on his face signals to you that he’s not actually uncomfortable, “I’ll come in my pants like a damn teenager,” he gives an embarrassed chuckle.

Growing desperate for more, you say, “I want you to fuck me.” with an impossible finality. It makes Steve’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Wh-what?” He needs to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Steve. I need you to fuck me. Now.” Your voice is slightly muffled as you begin to press open-mouth kisses to his neck again.

“Oh my God,” The boy sounds absolutely wrecked already, barely able to contain himself. His hands fumble blindly for the ties on your bikini bottoms and he pulls when he finds them. Unwrapping you like his very own Christmas present.

You pull his trunks down and over his hips, just enough to fish his red and swollen cock out, careful to not let them fall to the bottom of the pool lest someone have to dive and retrieve them. You line him up hurriedly with your entrance, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Are you sure about this?” His brows furrow in that way they always do, when he's unsure. He has a crinkle above his nose.

“Yes” you half moan before getting a look at his face, “Wait, are you?”

“Yes! Yes– of course. I just– want you to be sure,” He kisses you softly after he asks

It’s so tender, you feel so safe with him like this. You fear you might be falling in love.

“I promise, I’m su–Oh!” he slides into you without warning, nearly knocking the breath out of you. He lets out a guttural groan into the space where your shoulder meets your neck as he starts to keep a steady rhythm.

“God, you feel so good,” he pants into your open mouth, “i’ve wanted this for so long,”

His words have you keening. He wraps his broad arms fully around you now, hugging you close as he pistons his hips into you. Repeatedly hitting that spot inside your walls where you need him the most.

“Oh, Steve!” you moan loudly, no longer concerned about the neighbors hearing you. The pool water begins to form waves from Steve’s thrusting and splash up onto the concrete beside your head.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” you can feel his hips stuttering slightly.

“Steve!” He whines directly into your ear when you say it, you never would’ve thought he’d be so vocal.

“Touch yourself baby, I’m close,”

You do as you’re asked and start to keep a frenzied pace on your sensitive bud. Having both kinds of stimulation, mixed with Steve’s sweet praise, is sending you closer and closer to your edge.

As you reach your high, Steve can feel your warm pussy clench around him, making him hurtle towards his orgasm with you.

With a strangled cry, “fuck- I'm cumming,” You finish together as hips slow and he rides out his orgasm with you. His body curls in on itself and he trembles slightly. You run a warm, soft hand through his hair and down his back, soothing him through the intensity of it.

“Shit- my parents are going to kill me,” he laughs and kisses you again.

Maybe you did like swimming. Just a little bit.

tags: @daisy-munson, @megxplryxb

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moonpascaltoo · 9 months ago

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Fic Recs (steve harrington)

just some of my favorite one-shots or series i’ve read on ao3 and few from tumblr. all works ranging from 1.5k to 30k+ i believe. 18+ readers!

some have a tumblr that i tagged, but others i couldn’t find . i am doing this on mobile which is a bit difficult haha! i read these all (except 2) on ao3 so the links will be ao3. i know some are here on tumblr but i didn’t realize till after reading and making this! <3

steve harrington

come home by @stevie-petey <3💕

-"come home to me, okay?"

"always," steve promises

in between saving will, then hawkins, then somehow the world, you fall in love with steve harrington.

(a stranger things rewrite).

dancing with our hands tied by @andvys

-You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

paint me red by eddiemunsons ao3

-You're one of Vickie's best friends. Her girlfriend, Robin, is in need of a distraction for her best friend, Steve Harrington, who you vaguely remember from school. Which is where you come in.

i’m your idiot by thebestandworstdayofjune ao3 @thebestandworstdayofjune

-Steve Harrington has a way of worming himself into your heart, and social situations you had done your best to exclude him from.

small hands, big heart by finalgirlharrington ao3 @sexybabystevie

-Steve Harrington has a massive crush on you, but his recent lack of luck in the romantic sense has him stuck on how to make a move. Plus, something about you makes him nervous in a way he's never been – in a way he likes. His simplest solution? Flirting via the old 'comparing hand sizes' method.

promise by Harley_Honey_Quinn ao3

-Reader learns about Steve's feelings thanks to some Russian truth serum.

kiss me by @corrodedseraphine

-Your friend is desperately trying to find a person who will give him something more. Wanting to feel what it's like to be loved again and after many failed dates he gets the idea that it's time to go back to King Steve's famous tactics. Telling him that it's not the best idea gets you involved in a deal where you have to help him get another girl. Will helping the boy you're in love with turn out to be a good idea? Probably not.

every rose has its thorn by @corrodedseraphine

-Christmas is coming to Hawkins. It is a time of joy and forgiveness. It turns out that your sister's best friend is looking for a new place to live, and you happen to have a spare room in the apartment. It wouldn't be a problem if that friend wasn't Steve Harrington. A man whom the more you try to avoid even more often comes back like a boomerang.

hearts on the telephone line by t_lostinworlds ao3 @t-lostinworlds

-You thought Steve was okay dealing with a long-distance relationship after you moved for an exciting internship in New York. But you were proven so wrong when your boyfriend finally poured his feelings over the phone. Because distance wasn't making his heart grow fonder, it was breaking it.

competitively stupid by t_lostinworlds ao3 @t-lostinworlds

-It was stupid, jumping off a cliff just to prove that you were better than Steve fucking Harrington. But you were competitive. You were not losing to him. But you know what was stupider? For it to take a near-death situation for you both to confess what you truly feel for each other.

perfect blend by Your_Writer ao3

-No one likes their summer job. Working at a coffee shop was sticky, exhausting, and overall boring. In fact, the highlight of your day was the charming, gentle eyed sailor scooping USS Butterscotch just across the way.

the things we don’t say by rdrickheffley ao3

-Steve Harrington once was the bane of Y/n's existence. He had always been an arrogant asshole and a terrible kisser. She never understood how others fell for the boy's eye-roll worthy charm. Now it seems like he will do anything to prove her wrong about anything.

next time? by rdrickheffley ao3

-Three instances where Steve and reader find themselves in intimate situations.

candyfloss and confessions by ACourtofSnakesandStars ao3

-You’ve been in love with Steve Harrington for years, like every cliche come to life. You’ve battled monsters, found friends within kids with superpowers, and you even managed to graduate. Yet the one thing you’ve never been able to do, is tell Steve how you feel. But maybe you don’t need to wait any longer.

a night to remember by RaeWrites94 ao3

-Steve has to attend his 10 year high school reunion and somehow manages to convince you to go as his date and his fake girlfriend. You've had feelings for him for a long time, but figure, why not? You could probably survive an evening of pretending he liked you back and come out unscathed. Right?

with bated breath by brianmay ao3

-Rumors fly after you attend Steve Harrington’s party one weekend in September. Thinking they were his doing, you do everything in your power to avoid him, which proves easier said than done.

cross my heart (and hope to die) by @talesofesther

-Every time Steve gets hurt, you're there to help pick up the pieces; you just weren't expecting him to fall for you in the process.

tales of a love between the lines by @talesofesther

-Sometimes the thing we want most is right in front of us, and Steve might be just that for you; all you have to do is see what he’s been showing you for a long time.

love is easy by seidenbros ao3

-The day you wrote I love you on a post-it note before you'd said the words out loud, and it's the best note Steve ever got.

everything means nothing if i can’t have you by iridescentpetrichor ao3

-Steve and Y/N go on a double date to impress the other one, but it's only so long until the tension between the two breaks.

you’re not by frostandflames ao3 @frostandflamesfanfic

-The year is 1985, you're on a school field trip to cheer on Hawkins High at the championship game before spring break. When the game doesn't pan out as expected, you're even more surprised to discover the one and only Steve Harrington in only his underwear at your hotel room after being locked out by his teammates. What happens when the two of you have a little heart to heart?

last christmas by frostandflames ao3 @frostandflamesfanfic

-You and Steve had always been childhood friends-and remained that way. As Steve ping-pongs around in his relationship status, you have a hard time keeping your feelings to himself as Nancy surrounds his entire world. What Steve doesn't know is his relationship to Nancy may end your own with Steve.

the scoundrel and the princess by @mrshipsmcgee

-after an awkward run in with Tommy Hagan, Steve Harrington is invited to an awful party where he meets a beautiful stranger.

cling by aloevera

-For as long as you could remember, you and Steve have been close. What others see as clingy, Steve sees as comforting, right? Or, you fell in love with your best friend and suddenly, everything is too much.

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slashergirlnancy · 3 months ago

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stancy + Camp Counselors AU

#stancy #stancyedit #stranger things #strangerthingsedit #stedit #sthingsedit #steve x nancy #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #au series #mine*#steve's the new guy #nancy loses color war this 1 ☝️ time bc she got distracted #and her competitive ass does the absolute most next year to ensure her team wins #(((also IGNORE all the scratches on steve. things got chaotic during a football game or something idk)))

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bettyfrommars · 2 years ago

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I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie x fem!artist!Reader

90's au

MDNI, 18+ ONLY

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 2.5 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 -Part 17 - Part 18

Summary: it's the mid-late 1990's and Eddie owns a mechanic garage/tow truck service with his Uncle Wayne. Reader is an artist who gets a flat tire on the freeway, and the rest is kismet. Lots of sexual tension, biker bad boy Eddie with a soft heart, both not sure how to navigate this adult crush they have on each other, amidst other complications. No Vecna, and they all met when they were young, but as very different people. Eddie and Steve are heavily tattooed and grew up in the MC life. Although Steve and Eddie's characters verge on OOC, I really try my best to keep them canon at their core. There will be dark themes later in this fic: cheating (not on reader), violence, allusions to domestic abuse, etc, so please continue with caution. Appearances by uncle Wayne, and eventually some other ST characters. Plenty of references for SOA fans to enjoy, though I don't go into detail about their ranks and whatnot. Eddie is in his early 30’s and reader is late 20’s to early 30’s.

A/N: This was the very first reader insert series I ever wrote for fandom. I adore those of you who have taken the time to show love for this! It's so nice to be able to share these stories with others and not just watch it rot away on my computer. Inspired by the song and video I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen

playlist

Series One Shots

AO3

biker!eddie edit

biker!Eddie sitting for a painting

The Velvet Hammer Steve & Robin's house Eddie's apartment above the garage

Fanfic Bind

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #older eddie munson #90s au #1990s #biker gang #stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson series #fem reader #Spotify

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unspecifiedfigure · 1 year ago

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we prefer the term psychotic 😉🔪

#the emojis are killing me #but the ;) face doesn’t look right on tumblr #anyways #last piece of the scream trilogy!!#steddie scream au #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #i love drawing blood this series has been so much fun #my art

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crappymixtape · 6 months ago

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tangled • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI �� all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | ( 3.2k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

S E T M E F R E E, O H I P R A Y 🎶 cowboy take me away, fireswimmer

You were up with the birds, awake as fingers of sunlight slipped through your window and fanned out over the quilt you’d stitched together during the winter months. Spring was coming to an end and the days were growing warmer, enough to probably not need your quilt any longer, and when you stepped out of bed onto the cobblestone floor you felt a buzz of inspiration zip through you.

Maybe it was the way the sun crept through your window or maybe it was the sound of the waterfall rushing just outside the tower, but you wanted so badly to run your fingers through the grass. Hear the way the breeze blew through the trees. Dip your toes in the water and look at the details of a petal up close and–

“Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

Mother’s voice drifted up from the bottom of the tower and you felt your heart hammer in your chest. You’d never asked her to leave the tower before, hadn’t asked her for much honestly, but with your birthday coming up maybe she would make an exception.

Every year, on the eve of your birthday, lights would illuminate the sky. Dancing and swirling among the stars and drifting beneath the moon. Beautiful and sparkling and it happened every single year. Why? You were dying to find out. They weren’t far from the tower, surely she would entertain your request. After all, it was your birthday.

“Rapunzel! I’m not getting any younger down here!”

“Coming, Mother!” you called back and tossed your long, shiny locks up over the hook spun into the roof of the tower. They cascaded down the wall and landed in a spun pile at her feet.

Pulling and pulling and pulling, Mother ascended up to the window inch by inch until she stepped up onto the ledge and into your circular room, “Good morning, dear.”

“Morning, Mother.”

“It’s time to brush your hair dear. I saw on the way up, you’ve got twigs tangled up in the ends. Hardly a way to treat such beautiful locks, my goodness. What do you do all day? Tsk. Just another reason for me to keep you here, you can’t even manage to properly care for yourself.”

A pang of shame hit you square in the chest and you wrapped your arms around your torso, making yourself smaller. Unseen. Unheard.

“Sit,” Mother said pulling up a stool and you did as you were told, sitting on the small surface as she took the chair behind you, brush in hand. “Now sing me our song. You know how much I love it,” she demanded, not asked, and you did as you always did…

Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates' design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.

“That’s my girl,” Mother appraised, running the brush through the ends of your hair and pulling too hard at the end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Mother…” you started, hesitant, reluctant. Should you ask? She seemed in as good a mood as ever.

“What is it?” she snapped, short. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but something in you pushed. Please, please ask. If you don’t ask we won’t ever know. And you had to know.

“I was thinking–”

“Never a good thing,” Mother teased meanly and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth. Nerves swelling in your chest.

“I was just thinking...tomorrow is my birthday and well–well, there’s something I was hoping we might be able to do.”

Mother hummed in her throat, a sharp thing that held irritation, like you were a pest she couldn’t rid herself of. “And? Rapunzel come now, speak up!”

“And–and I was wondering if you might take me to see the lights at the castle. They’re there every year on my birthday! They can’t be stars…I’ve charted them all and I just…I want to see what they are–”

“The lights?” Mother started to laugh. “The lights? Rapunzel you must be joking.”

“No, I’m not…I’m not joking, Mother I really do want–”

“Truly, how could you think I would just take you–”

“Mother, it’s what I really want! I just want to see the lights!” you shouted, but as soon as the words left your lips you clamped your hands over your mouth. Afraid of what you’d just done.

Mother narrowed her eyes at you, lips firmed into a twisted line, angry and her patience evaporated as she took a step toward you and you shrank again.

“You will never raise your voice at me like that again, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Her voice notched up in volume as she stepped closer to you.

“And I don’t ever want to hear about those lights again, is that clear!”

She was closer still, breath heated and harsh against your cheek.

“Yes, Mother.”

Towering over you, Mother took you by the wrist and roughly pulled you up to her face so that you were inches away, the heat of her words spilling and burning and wicked, “And you will absolutely NEVER, EVER be leaving this tower! Is that clear??”

When you spoke for the final time your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, chest burning with embarrassment and shame and regret. “Yes, Mother.”

Letting go of your wrist, Mother sighed and sank back into her chair, eyes closed and fingers pinching her the bridge of her nose.

“Ugh, now I’m the bad guy.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes hastily with the backs of your hands, trying and scrambling to regain your composure. Afraid to push her even the tiniest bit further. You wished you’d never asked, wished you kept your thoughts to yourself. The lights, your birthday, all of it. Wished you could take it all back.

Clearing your throat you sat back on your stool, curled into yourself as you peered up at Mother sitting her in chair. Impatient. Bothered. Exasperated.

“Mother…” you started tentatively, “I know what I want for my birthday now.”

“And what’s that?” she sighed.

“New paint? The kind made from the shells you once brought me.”

She fixed you with a look, the way you might regard a dog begging for scraps, “Well, now that is a long journey, Rapunzel.”

“Please? I promise not to ask about the lights again,” pressing your hands together you tried to look sorry, thankful, grateful, please.

Mother sighed again, but you held onto hope. “Oh, alright,” she conceded, standing from her chair to gather her things. Surely you couldn't do much damage over a few days. “I’ll be back in three days time. Are you sure you’ll be able to manage without me?” she asked.

You gave her a small smile, “Yes, mother. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I love you,” your mother said, a tight smile pulling at her lips.

“Yes, mother. I love you too,” you murmured.

“I’ll see you a bit, my flower!”

And with that you watched as she descended the tower, your hair in her hands sliding down, down, down to the grass below and off into the open, free, world you wanted so badly to explore, only to stand at your window while Mother disappeared into the vines draped at the edge of the meadow and into…well, unlike you, where ever she wished to go.

I SAID I WANNA TOUCH THE EARTH, I WANNA BREAK IT IN MY HANDS, I WANNA GROW SOMETHING WILD AND UNRULY.

Unbeknownst to you, the path to your freedom lay in the hands of a man just on the other side of the very vines Mother had just stepped through. Well…technically he was a man, but really more boy in the way he held himself. And carried conversation. And continually found himself in trouble because of his inflated ego, but a man nonetheless, holding your freedom.

Flynn Rider, a rogue, a thief, a ruffian. Just over six feet tall with sweeps of dark brown hair, skin like it held all of summer and the sun beneath it, eyes like burnt sugar and dotted in freckles and apparently much faster than he looked.

“RIDER!”

“Sorry, boys, gotta go!”

Flynn crashed through the line of shrubs he’d just hurled himself into and fell out the other side, scrambling to find his footing. He was probably going to regret the decision he’d just made, but that would be a problem for future Flynn Rider.

Patting the satchel at his side he peeked into make sure the contents were still intact and at the sound of thundering hooves picked his pace back up, sprinting through the woods.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight, rays of sun shining through canopy and dappling the forest floor with warm sunlight. It would have been even more beautiful if Flynn wasn’t being chased by the King’s guard, but he supposed it was the only option when you’d stolen the crown of the missing princess.

Chest heaving with the effort, he pushed his legs to go faster. Sprinting over fallen logs and thick brambles, wincing but not stopping as they pulled and slashed at the thin fabric of his tunic. He had to find cover before he ran out of breath or else he’d face the gallows.

Again.

It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. He wasn’t murderous or wanted for treason or anything. In fact, he wanted to be done with this life on the run and so he hoped this might be his ticket out. Hawk the lost princess’ tiara and hop a boat to somewhere far, far away.

His lungs started to burn as he sucked in air, sidestepping a particularly nasty blackberry bush and earning a scratch across his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed, wincing at the pinch of pain. He could hear the guards closing in behind him, the captain giving orders to his men to split up and Flynn knew his time grew short.

An arrow grazed past his ear as his slammed into a tree, the tip sinking into the bark just inches from his hands.

Too close.

“A promotion to which ever of you idiots catches, Rider!” the captain shouted and it pushed Flynn into another sprint.

Step over step over step, out of the thick stand of trees and into a wide field of wheat. The shhh shhh shhh of the grass against his trousers hissing as he stumbled once on a dirt clod and again on a molehill until the third time he wasn’t so lucky.

The toe of his boot caught on a rock dug into the dirt, sending him flying forward and over the edge of an embankment. Tumbling head over heels down, down, down and hitting the bottom with a heavy THUD!

“Sir! We’ve lost him!”

“What d’you mean you’ve lost him??”

“I–I’m not sure, sir. We–we’ve lost visual.”

“Bloody useless–if you lot can’t find him, then I’ll do it myself!!”

Groaning, Flynn pushed himself up from where he’d landed and blinked away the knock to the head he’d just earned for running through a damn field. Voices carried down the embankment and he could hear the King’s guard scuttling about back up the hill – they didn’t know where he was.

Scrambling back up onto his feet, Flynn quickly checked to make sure the tiara was still in place before frantically looking for an out. He had a moment’s cover while they tried to find him back up at the top, but surely they’d see the bent wheat stalks at some point. The bottom of the gully was more of the same, thick brush and brambles and trees and…vines? All drooping down just above the ground at the same angle and blowing just ever so in the breeze.

Brows knitted together he pushed a hand to them and stumbled forward a bit when his hand fell through them, not solid. So he pushed further still, watching as his arm disappeared further and further until he was completely concealed.

“Sir! We found something!”

Sucking in a gasp, Flynn pressed himself against the rock of the tunnel he’d just discovered and held his breath. The King’s guard tramped down the hill and trotted right past his hiding spot, their shadows dancing across the vines as they concealed him out of sight.

“He’s here somewhere, keep looking!”

The sound of hooves slowly disappeared and when quiet flooded back in, Flynn could hear the sound of a…river? A waterfall? Birds and a soft breeze across his skin…taking a few steps toward the bright light at the other end of the tunnel Flynn shielded his eyes in the crook of his arm and walked out into the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

A waterfall cascaded down a cliff at the far edge of the little valley he’d wandered into, crashing into the rocks below and fanning out into a river that wound its way through the ground and past his feet. All manner of birds chirped and sang as they flew through the cloudless sky, landing peacefully in the trees. And there, just in the very center, a tower made of brick and cobblestones with a thatched roof, a chimney and windows all around but…no way up?

He knew he couldn’t stay idle, even if he was out of sight for now, surely the King’s guard would find him. Taking one quick loop around the tower, there was still no door in sight, so snatching the pair of daggers from the belt at his waist he stabbed one between the bricks high above his head and pulled to test his weight. When it held he found his footing and drove the second dagger in and arm over arm began to climb up to the largest window.

His biceps were burning, his shoulders on fire. There were a few times Flynn even thought he would surely fall to his death, but slowly he made it up, up, up and when he finally fell through the window gasping for breath, he prayed to whatever gods there may be that he might find a bed at the top of the bloody tower. Stealing a crown, outsmarting two idiot thugs and then running from the King’s guard was no easy feat and he could feel exhaustion in his very bones.

Heaving himself up off the cobblestone floor he loosed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed his hair from his eyes.

“Gods, finally. Alone at last.”

And then with a very loud CLANG! everything went black.

IN THE COMFORT OF YOUR ARMS, ON A PILLOW OF BLUE BONNETS, IN A BLANKET MADE OF STARS, OH, IT SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

There was a man.

In your tower.

In your room.

AT YOUR FEET.

How he’d made it all the way to the top of the tower without the aide of your hair was beyond you, but as you peeked out at him from behind your mannequin you couldn’t help the tiny pang of guilt in your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to hit him with your frying pan, but it was too late for that now.

You’d never seen one before, only knew what Mother told you: dark, beady eyes and sharp fangs, gnarled hands to snatch you with and kidnap you away into the night.

Stepping out from your hiding place you took a tiny step forward, the smallest step, and poked him with the handle of your pan.

“HEY!” you shouted, but he didn’t move. “Oh, gods…” Did you kill him?

Another few steps and your bare toes nearly brushed his arm. Slowly extending the pan again you turned his head with the handle and nudged his lip, but in place of scary fangs were teeth. Just like yours. Bending down carefully you lifted a hand to his face and hesitated, waiting for something to happen, but his steady breaths continued to fall and his eyes remained shut.

A cut chased across his cheek, the tiniest streak of blood along with it, and your brow furrowed with worry. Did it hurt?

You ghosted your hand over his, just as normal as ever though a bit rough and maybe a little dirty, but wide and warm. Not gnarled. Not scary. You wondered at what it would feel like to hold it, yours so small and his so big.

Slowly, gently, your fingers trailed through the sweep of brown hair covering his face and brushed it aside to reveal mole dotted skin, warm and golden like summer and he’s beautiful. The most wonderful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on and you want to see more and–

“Unghh…”

CLANG!

You instantly regretted hitting him again, but what were you supposed to do? He opened his eyes and began to stir and what if he’d jumped up to grab you?

A groan escapes your lips and you rough your hands over your face, you still have a man in your tower. What to do, what to do. As you took stock of your modest surroundings there wasn't much to work with. Your mannequin, a small stove, things for baking and sewing and painting, your bed, your closet–

Your closet!

Blowing a puff of air between your lips, you bent down and grabbed hold of his feet and pulled a little. When he didn't stir you pulled again. A little more, a little further, a little further and further and straining, struggling almost dropping him, you shoved him into the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut, propping the handles closed with a chair.

“Oh! Oh! I did it!” you squealed, sweat clinging to your brow, giving a little jump of excitement. “I did it!! I’ve got a person in my closet. I’ve got a person in my closet…I’ve got a person in my closet! Mother thinks I’m too weak to handle myself, huh? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

And as you took a victory lap around the room your eyes caught something on the floor. A bag you hadn’t seen before and as it fell open, the contents inside flickered in the light as it came through the cracks in the roof.

Picking up the satchel you pulled back the flap and found something even more beautiful than the man you’d just shoved into your closet.

Gold. Purples and pinks and turquoises and glittering in the sunlight and as you carefully picked it up, you were surprised at how heavy it was. Eyes narrowing, you hold it closer to look at the intricate way the gold pieces twist around the jewels and gems, securing them in place and creating little flowers along the sides.

A smile flickers at the corners of your lips. It looks just like the pictures from your fairytale books. The kind of thing only a princess would wear. Laughing softly you step in front of your mirror and hesitantly hold it up over your head. Just for a moment. Just to see what it would look like…

Slowly, softly you lowered it and let it settle upon your head and a flash of light strikes you. A memory, bright and sharp and vivid. A spinning sun hanging overhead. The most lovely laughter, like music, like a song. A warm embrace. A lullaby.

BANG!

Sounds from the closet and you nearly fling the crown to the ground. How foolish of you to let you guard down. How could you forget? You could hear Mother scolding you, telling you how stupid you were, how you could have been kidnapped or killed.

Heart hammering against your ribs your eyes settle back on the closet as it bangs again.

Your guest was awake.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

Text

Steddie PJO AU Part One

One (1) person asked for this, and it was only after I told them I'd had an idea, so, like, fuck it we ball.

The parents of the various kids will be revealed as the series goes on, but I'll look forward to your guesses along the way!

Also, I haven't read the books in a hot fucking minute, but the trailer has had me in a chokehold. This is written more for fun than anything else, so just shut off your brain and enjoy the ride without thinking about accuracy. You'll love it, I promise!

As always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

---

With a low, frustrated growl, Eddie tears a page out of his notebook, crumples it into a ball, and throws it on the floor of his tent. All he gets for his troubles is another page of lyrics underneath the first that fail to actually do what he wants. "Fucking shit prophecy," he mutters, tearing that page out, too.

It hits the ground right as Chrissy pokes her head into the tent. She watches it bounce once before settling on the ground. "How's the songwriting?" she jokes, letting the tent's flap fall shut behind her.

"Bad," Eddie says, dropping the notebook and standing. He glares at the paper balls and kicks one away. "Just as bad as the prophecy itself."

"Aww, it's not that bad," Chrissy says, walking a little closer and playfully punching Eddie's arm. Her smile is bright enough to make Eddie feel like he needs sunglasses, and that isn't even because Chrissy's father is Apollo. That's just all her. "At least your prophecy doesn't promise, you know, horrible death."

Eddie scoffs, turning to look at Chrissy as he gestures at his Def Leppard shirt and torn jeans and chunky rings and general metalhead vibe. "Do I look like someone who should be getting that prophecy?" he asks.

He doesn't wait for her to answer before scrunching his face and reciting in a high, mocking voice, "You shall witness an unfair fight between land and sky where feathers with great reluctance fly. And as the sun is shining bright, you shall be swaying in the moon's sweet light."

By the time he's done, he's clasped his hands and held them up to his face with an exaggerated doe-eyed expression. Eddie drops it the moment he finishes, his nose scrunching in disgust as he rolls his eyes. "I have a reputation to uphold, Chrissy."

She doesn't take his complaints seriously. Instead, Chrissy rolls her eyes and sits on the edge of Eddie's cot. "Sure, sure, you're too cool for anything good to happen to you. Still, you might be better off if you didn't try turning that prophecy into something angry."

Eddie huffs, kicks another paper ball, and drops to a crouch next to the cot. After a few seconds, he begrudgingly admits, "Yeah, maybe."

Chrissy sympathetically pats his head, her touch warm and light, and smiles at him. "In other news, we've got another retrieval request for you," she says.

"Oh, boy, work."

"C'mon, you enjoy them," Chrissy says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. "A cyclops sighted some demigod kids running around with, well, she wasn't sure if he was also a demigod or not. But they won't be safe long when they're clustered together like that, so, go bring 'em back."

She passes Eddie the piece of paper and watches as he unfolds it and frowns at the two words written there: "Athens, Tennessee."

"Are you kidding me? That's so cliche," Eddie says.

"Yeah, but at least it's not California or something."

"Thank fuck for small miracles," Eddie mutters, folding up the paper again and shoving it into his pocket.

Looks like he's got packing to do.

The sun is shining, birds are tweeting, and a cool wind is blowing across the park. Steve lets out a slow breath, his shoulders starting to relax as he leans against a tree and watches Will and Lucas lay out a few blankets, Mike and Dustin get into an argument about the scale proportions of the Parthenon, and Max, Erica, and El throw a frisbee between them.

It's been a long month, one that seemed to be filled with more running and near-death experiences than they're used to. And they're used to a lot of running and near-death experiences.

So, taking a day to just relax in the park sounded great when El suggested it, but Steve had still hesitated. Who knows what could find them if they linger in a park too long. When he voiced these concerns, the kids just banded together to convince Steve, and he relented when they compromised on him bringing the nail bat along.

"Steve, do you wanna lay down?" Lucas asks, gesturing to the blankets. Will is already there, stretched out and smiling up at a rainbow stretching across the sky.

Steve joins them, pulls a Bluetooth speaker out of one of the backpacks holding the blankets down, and connects his phone. Music starts playing, and he sprawls across a blanket, pillowing his head on his arms and taking in the sunshine. "You know, this is nice," he says.

"Yeah. We should do this more often," Will whispers, nearly drowned out by the grass rustling in the breeze.

Between the breeze and the music, Steve starts to drift off, his breathing evening out as his mind wanders. He's half asleep when he hears Dustin shout, "It's a fucking one-to-one asshole!"

His words are quickly followed by Mike shouting back, "Who gives a shit?!"

Steve sighs and adds his own voice to the mix. "Stop fighting!"

"Yeah, guys, stop fighting," Max says, and Steve can imagine her tongue sticking out at them as he hears Erica snort.

"Oh, fuck you," Dustin shoots back.

"That's it!" Steve announces, sitting up and glaring at the kids. "Get over here."

His voice leaves no room for argument, and he'd feel bad at how the kids deflate if he didn't already know they're all menaces. Once he's got all seven kids on the blankets, he sighs and says, "Look, guys, let's not fight. How about we all just sit here for a bit, enjoy the breeze, and then we'll go get lunch."

The kids glance at each other, a silent conversation that Steve barely follows passing between them before Mike nods. "Yeah, sure, I guess."

"Great, now, just re--"

"Oh, how cute!"

The sudden, saccharine voice sets Steve's entire body on edge. He slowly looks over his shoulder, staring at the middle-aged woman smiling down at them. Something about her is familiarly off, but he tries to give her the benefit of the doubt. So, Steve flashes a charming smile and asks, "Hi, can I help you with something?"

The woman's smile turns a little sharp, and she shakes her head. "Oh, no, I just had to commend you on your ability to round up these kids like that," she explains.

Steve hums and pushes himself up, keeping a hold on his bat so he can rest the end on the ground and lean on it. He feels more than sees the kids start to shift until they're behind him. "Well, thanks. Did you want advice or something on caring for your own kids?" he asks.

She laughs, short and grating on Steve's ears, and then tilts her head not unlike a bird. "No, no. It's just impressive that you've managed to keep them alive for so long," she says, her voice distorting and becoming shriller as she speaks.

Yep. There it is.

"Wow, that's even faster than usual," Lucas says.

He's right, which just makes Steve even more upset. Can he not get more than fifteen minutes of peace? Can he not just lay back and enjoy the sunshine without worrying about some monster coming after his kids? Can he not fucking relax for once?

Steve feels the frustration build and build in his chest, crackling through him until he's ready to burst, and he stands up straighter. "I'll give you one warning," he says, his voice low as he watches feathers sprout from the woman's skin. "You walk away right now, and I won't beat the shit out of you."

The woman, who seems to be mostly bird by now and is probably a harpy, just laughs again, like Steve's told her the funniest joke she's ever heard. "You? Defeat me?" she asks, her eyes roaming over Steve before she laughs again. "I am worse than your nightmares. I have eaten more demigods than you can count. I have feasted on their screams and crunched their bones between my teeth, and I look forward to doing the same with these children. What could a lone son of some lesser god possibly do to stop me?"

From behind him, Steve hears a few of the kids inhale sharply, an almost sympathetic sound. "Well, she's done it now," Erica says.

"Yes. Steve is going to kill her," El agrees, her voice soft and brushing against Steve's ears like a tiny snake.

And yeah, they're right. Maybe Steve would have just beaten her unconscious and then gotten the hell out of dodge, but now she's threatened his kids. She's lost any chance at mercy from him.

With a twirl of his bat and a vicious grin, Steve rolls his shoulders back and says, "Wanna find out, overgrown chicken?" he asks.

He doesn't even bother waiting for an answer before swinging his bat, the nails dragging across the harpy's chest and ripping a shriek from her. Now that Steve is thinking about it, violence is also a great way to relieve stress, and he's certainly not going to look a gift harpy in the mouth.

----

If you'd like to be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

#steddie #percy jackson au #semi-divine steddie #that's the tag for this series btw #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #the party #stranger things #stranger things fic #my writing

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hilarychuff · 2 years ago

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goodbye earl in my stranger things au graphic series

Heather and Chrissy were the best of friends all through their high school days. Both members of the cheerleading team and active in the cooking club, they were hardly ever apart outside of classes, no matter that they were in different graduating years. After Heather’s senior year, she left Hawkins in search of a bright new world. Growing up in a small town, she knew needed to find herself, that her friend wouldn’t be far behind — but when Chrissy’s own graduation day came, she found herself with a ring on her finger and Jason Carver’s arm around her shoulders.

Well, it wasn’t two weeks after she got married that Chrissy started to see a new side of her husband. More often than not, she found herself wearing dark glasses, long-sleeved blouses and makeup to cover the marks he left behind. When she finally got the nerve to file for divorce, she thought it would all be done. She thought that the law would handle it. But when Jason heard the news, he walked right through a restraining order and back into their home.

After she got the phone call from the hospital, Heather was on the first red eye flight from LA. It didn’t matter that she and the girl who’d once been her best friend — more than that, something more that they’d never named — had fallen out of touch. By the time the plane touched down, Heather finally knew how she felt. So as she held Chrissy’s hand, as she stroked her hair and her cheek and admitted things she’d never even admitted to herself, they worked out a plan. It didn’t take them long to decide on the most crucial part: Jason had to die.

The dishes from dinner were still in the sink when the cops came looking for Jason. They wanted to bring him in, arrest him for violating the restraining order, for what he’d done to Chrissy, but Heather assured them they hadn’t seen him. And as the weeks went by and spring turned to summer and summer faded into the fall, it seemed that no one had seen him — that he was a missing person that no one missed at all.

So Heather and Chrissy bought some land and a little roadside stand out on the highway. Together, they spend their time making fruit jams, packaging picnic baskets with ham and cheese and crackers. They don’t need rings to know they’re going to spend their lives together. And when they eat black-eyed peas or sit down by the lake or go for a ride hand-in-hand in Heather’s car, well, they don’t think about Jason at all.

ft. chrissy as wanda, heather as mary ann, jason as earl, hopper and callahan as cops

just under the wire for @strangerthingsfemslashweek!!! i hadn’t planned to write anything to theme, but when i saw “women’s wrongs” again today, this au came to me and i just knew i needed to get it together on time

#cheerguard #chrissy x heather #heather x chrissy #chrissy cunningham #heather holloway #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things au series #my graphics #my au graphics #stranger things goodbye earl au #tw abuse #tw domestic abuse #tw domestic violence #just in case #it is goodbye earl after all #but also #it is goodbye earl so

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harrywavycurly · 9 months ago

Text

Summary: You’re a cheerleader at Hawkins High School and somehow you’ve gotten yourself into a relationship with Eddie Munson, the school’s main “bad boy”. From the beginning Eddie has made sure you’re aware that the two of you won’t ever be seen in public together because he has a reputation to uphold. For a while it doesn’t bother you because in your eyes your relationship with Eddie is just a fun fling and the sneaking around is kind of exciting. But everything changes when the two of you end up at the same party and Eddie gets a glance at what it’s like when he’s not around you and he doesn’t like it, more importantly he doesn’t like the attention you get from others. After that night Eddie starts to wonder if his feelings for you are more serious than just a fun fling or if he wants something more and it’s time for the two of you stop meeting in secret.

Type of Story: Secret Romance, Friends to lovers and cheerleader!reader x Eddie Munson

Inspiration: This idea came from this post right here

Status: Completed🖤

Tag list: Open

Instagrams: Here

Conversations: here

Extras: Here

*This is mainly a texting fic but you’ll find everything down below in the correct order*

Part 1: Rules

Part 2: Pointless

Part 3: Crush bonus convo between you and Chrissy here

Part 4: Late

Part 5: Never Again

Part 6: Cheer Shit bonus convo between Eddie and Gareth here

Part 7: Leader

Part 8: Miss You?

Part 9: Hank

Part 10: Not Red

Part 11: Let Me Go

Part 12: Convenient

Part 13: A Feeling

Part 14: Regret It

Part 15: Girl Code

Part 16: No Promises

Part 17: Ridiculous

Part 18: Mixtape

Part 19: Good Idea

Part 20: Four?

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superblysubpar · 4 days ago

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series masterlist | <- Prologue | Chapter 2 ->

chapter summary: As terror reigns in the food court when the Mind Flayer comes to collect, an old friend returns to Hawkins.

🎧 : tracks 02-12

7,615 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains canon-typical gore, mentions of alcohol, blood, vomit, nausea, and parental death // spiderman divider made by @saradika-graphics

“Hey,” his voice cracks, the back of his hand wipes at his nose.

“Hey,” you echo, looking down at the duffel bag at your feet.

A trunk slams closed, knocked twice by your dad’s palm in case you didn’t hear it the first time.

When you look up, he’s smiling at Steve and that same palm is clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, son, you coming with to the train station?”

Steve still hasn’t looked at you, and a mumbled, “No Sir,” and your mom’s unsubtle glare at your father and frantically waved hand from the porch makes him finally catch on.

“Oh, right…um…” he looks at his watch then you and Steve apologetically, “We gotta get going soon, kid, okay?”

“I know,” you nod along with the words and blink about a billion times to keep them at bay, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

Your dad squeezes Steve’s shoulder before he jogs up to the front steps and raises his hands in surrender to your mother, the pair ducking their heads and hissing whispered scolds and apologizes at each other that you try to ignore.

“Did you, um,” you clear your throat and kick the toe of your converse against the crack in your driveway, desperate to say anything impressive, lasting, monumental in terms of your feelings and the moment, but nothing seems right. “You…um…”

Steve doesn’t give you the chance anyways, stealing the air from your lungs when his arms wrap around you quickly, tightly, and like they have no intention of ever dropping. Yours move just as fast, wrapping around his waist and pressing you as close together as possible, your nose squished against his shoulder that dampens beneath your cheek.

He squeezes you harder, a shaky breath slips out of him as your fingers curl into his shirt, knowing what he’s about to do and you can’t stop it.

“Don’t,” he gasps, like speaking is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, he sniffles, and he lets you go, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Steve-“ your tears slip further down your cheeks, turning the cement at his sneakers a darker gray.

His fingers press to his eyes as he quickly jogs down your driveway, a small shake of his shoulders, and then he’s around the corner and gone from your sight.

Your hand presses to your mouth, but the sob still escapes.

It’s all a blur after that.

The getting in the car, arriving at the station, the getting on the train and resting your temple against the cold glass of a window as your mother’s thumb soothes over your knuckles.

The town of Hawkins, Indiana turning more blurry each second, like it’s a distant and underwater memory, until it disappeared altogether.

Your eyes snap open as your forehead smacks the glass window, hard, as the brakes beneath the bus scream in protest at the sudden stop.

Simple Minds blares then fades from your ears and as you push down your headphones to just catch the driver’s apology.

“…‘Bout that. Looks like we got some kind of road closure, let me go see what’s going on folks.”

By folks, he means you and two other passengers who are rolling their own necks and rubbing at bleary eyes.

Around your neck, Simple Mind fades, whispers of We Belong tickle your ears as you look out the window.

At first, you just blink at what you see. A weary and anxious version of you stares back, one with frizzled hair and sunken skin under her eyes and stained and wrinkled clothing. The night beyond her too dark to make out more than the top of a tree line and the edge of a road sign. But then you catch the faint trail of dark clouds against the darker sky.

Not clouds, but a plume of smoke.

“Hawkins!” The driver’s voice whips you and your reflection’s attention to the front of the vehicle, not realizing you’ve stood while staring, hand now gripping the seat back in front of you so tightly, your knuckles hurt.

A uniformed soldier stands next to the driver, solemn faced and waiting.

The bus driver waves his hand at him and says, “Maybe you should have missed the bus, kid.”

“I’m sorry…” your finger slams the stop button on your walkman as you step into the aisle of the bus, “What’s going on?”

The bus driver rolls his fingers at you and your things, motioning you to pick up the pace so it seems as he sighs. “You’re getting off here, since your destination is Hawkins.”

The military man starts towards you, his boots heavy and thunking the whole way down to your seat ominously as the other two passengers just stare and don’t offer any of their help or even a reassuring smile.

“What do you mean I’m getting off here? What am I - hey don’t, what do you think you’re…” your tone sharpens as the uniformed soldier picks up your bags. Feeling as if you have no choice but to start following behind him as he walks back the way he came with each of your bags slung over his shoulders. “Excuse me? Where are you going with my things? Hello? What’s going on?”

“Some sort of fire or something blocking the road,” the driver’s tone attempting to assure you but doing the opposite as he adds on, “The military will escort you the rest of the way into Hawkins.”

“The military will…” you start, confused, as you’re basically shoved down the steps of the bus and you turn back to face your driver with wide eyes as your feet hit the road, “Why is the military in Hawkins?”

The driver snorts and just yells, “Good luck!” then the door slams closed in your face.

Your hands run through your hair as you watch the bus continue without you, watch as it turns down the road it’s directed towards instead of going straight - a blockade made out of olive and tan vehicles and accompanied by flashing blue and red lights in it’s original path.

“Miss,” a deep voice to your left makes you jump, a hand flies over your heart to settle it.

“Sorry,” the uniformed man apologizes, but his hand gestures to an open military Jeep, your bags in the back already as his brisk voice urges you, “I’ll be driving you to where you need to go.”

Your feet carry you a step towards him, seeing now that he can’t be much older than you.

“What’s going on? Why is the military here? Why…”

“The National Guard is usually called in for these sorts of things miss,” he encourages you forward with a gentle tug of your elbow, voice less severe and more soothing.

“These sorts…what? What happened?” You blink at him as he helps you take a step up into the jeep while holding your door open.

“Relief aid after a disaster, miss.”

“Relief aid after a disaster?” You clarify, certain you’d misheard him.

“Yes.”

Your hand stops him from closing the door as you frown, narrowing your eyes.

“What sort of disaster?”

“A fire,” he sighs, eyeing your hand, and you think he might honest to god be considering slamming the door anyways.

“The National Guard was called in to help after a fire?”

“A big one. Can you please-“

“Where?” You accuse, pointing to the smoke, “That’s not Hawkins. Why can’t we drive into Hawkins on the bus?”

“The mall just outside of town. The new bus route to Hawkins goes by the mall. There’s a stop there. Can we go now?”

He glares at your hand until you move it to your lap, then slams your door closed, like that’s all he’ll be saying on the matter.

Turns out, it was all he’d be saying period.

The entire twenty minute drive into town is silent after your several follow up questions go unanswered. And when he lets you out at your unlit and locked house, he quickly climbs back into the driver’s seat and goes back the way he came.

Your fingers brush your temple before they drop in a half-hearted salute as you scowl and mutter under your breath, “Protect and serve, alright.”

You’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, save for your nap on the bus that left you more unrested than rested. And now, standing on your front porch, no keys and no lights on and no car in the driveway, you’re beyond stressed, tired, and in need of a gallon of coffee and a hug from your mom.

As you stare up at the stars and think of some sort of plan - it dawns on you what day it is and why your parents might not be home. Your legs and back ache and beg you to sit as you make your way down the driveway once more, leaving your bags right there on the porch - nobody is going to steal your shit.

This is Hawkins.

The worse thing that’s ever happened here is when Sarah Gillespie’s mom had that owl fly into her hair in 5th grade.

As your feet bring you around the corner of Cornwallis, you see the big house at the end of the street is just as dark as your own.

There isn’t a line of cars down the block or kids playing with sparklers or running around with flashlights for night games. There’s no adults all boozed up and laughing around a bonfire, waiting for fireworks. No grill smoke in the air or splashes from the pool in the backyard.

Just one woman, mumbling to herself in a matching skirt and blouse as she yanks a large trunk down from the brick step to the curved walkway.

“See how you like it when I’m not here to buy the groceries, or take your car in for its wash, or pour your whiskey and tell you dinner’s ready you lying, cheating, son of-oh!”

Vivian Harrington’s hand jumps to her chest as she turns to see you next to her car. A mess of your old best friend’s hair and eyes and a few of the same freckles as she blinks at you for a few seconds and then gasps your name and envelopes you in a surprising hug.

Not so surprising though, when you smell brandy on her red lips as she takes the smallest of steps back and asks, “What on earth are you doing here sweetie?”

“I…” It’s a shock to hear her voice after so long, shocked that she’s still Mrs. Harrington, though a slightly more tipsy one, but maybe that was just naivety shielding you from that before, “I was looking for my parents. You didn’t have your party for the fourth?”

“Gosh,” she says, grunting again as she bends to pick up her luggage, offering you a charming smile when you pick it up easily for her. She wipes her brow before resting her hands on her hips to watch you with the next two matching bags. “Honey, I think they might still be at the carnival? Larry threw a whole big thing this year. And we haven’t had one of those parties in…four years? Five? Whenever…John,” she grits out his name before continuing, with a smile you can hear her teeth grinding in, “Started going to the office in Chicago more.”

She slams the trunk down as if it’s an axe and the closure a head.

A shiver drips down your back as she glares at the house.

“Chicago?”

“So he tells me,” she waves a hand and sniffles, dramatically, scrunching her nose as her forehead furrows in a way that you’re sure she’ll be pulling and tugging at in a mirror and fretting over later. “Anyways, that’s where John is and I,” she huffs as her heels sink in to the gravel over their driveway before she tugs open the driver’s door, “I will be in Michigan. At my sister’s house on the lake for the rest of the Summer.”

She makes a little oof noise as she misjudges the seat distance from her butt, righting herself and patting at her hair.

“Mrs. Harrington, are you…” you trail off, unsure if it’s really your place to ask her if she should be driving. Especially when she eyes you cooly and her tone is icy.

“Am I, what, dear?”

Your mouth clamps closed as your clammy fingers flex at your sides before they close the door for her.

“Um, before you go,” you force your best smile and polite tone, “Would you happen to know where Steve is?”

Her fingers turn the key and the car rumbles to life loudly as she squints her emerald eyes at the windshield.

“Work? Could be still at work I suppose probably not at this hour…maybe a date? The carnival perhaps? I never know anymore with him, he’s very…moody, lately.”

“Moody?” You ask, your smile turning into a frown.

“God, yes,” she moans and leans out the open car window, forehead in her palm as she stage whispers to you, like she’s told this secret to everyone, “Just sits out by that pool but never swims in it anymore. Ever since that Wheeler girl broke up with him. It’s honestly been a terrible time trying to fix it all. I mean, I’m well respected, as you know, but there’s only so much I can say and do, you understand?”

“Su…sure,” you nod along like you know what she’s talking about and she reaches out and grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze.

“You’re welcome to wait here for him if you like, I’m sure he’ll not be too long and he can give you a ride to look for your parents? I would, but…”

When she trails off and smiles at you, you take a step away from her car, message clear.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington, drive-“ She’s already halfway down the driveway, fingers waggling out the open window as you finish, “Safely,” with a wince of your shoulders as she nearly takes out the mailbox.

Your shoulders fall as the taillights burn red, then disappear and the quiet night returns. A pricey perfume lingers in the air and floats on the warm Summer breeze. An owl hoots as you sit on the brick doorstep and lean your head against the post, wondering what in the world you’re going to say to him.

Originally, you thought you’d have so much more time to prepare. Thought on the bus ride from New York to Chicago you’d think of something. When you didn’t, you were sure from Chicago to home you would. And even then, you were supposed to be home - supposed to see your parents, sleep in your childhood room and wake up to pancakes with a smiley face made out of bacon and whipped cream before attempting to go find Steve.

And why hadn’t your parents told you about the carnival? They were expecting you, shouldn’t they have been home? Though your dad can’t pass up a corndog, so maybe they just lost track of time. It’ll be fine. Once Steve is home, you’ll…

“You’ll what?” Question muttered under your breath as your head falls into your palms, elbows resting on your bent knees. “Hey Steve, remember me? No? Cool, can I have a ride home?”

A frustrated laugh and groan slip past your lips as you knock your head against your knees and fight off the urge to scream. You know it’s not reasonable to think he wouldn’t remember you at all, his mother did and who knows how much she’d had to drink.

But you know it’ll be weird. Know you’re both very different people than the ones who saw each other last. Know you’ve had lives outside of one another for a very long time.

You’ve gone to school and graduated. Had jobs. Dated, and thensome, multiple people in the years it’s been. He probably made new friends. Has a social life you don’t fit in to anymore - that was already becoming clear the last time you were here.

The words ‘that Wheeler girl’ and ‘moody’ make your teeth scrape against your bottom lip, cheek to your knee as your back rests against the post and you keep your eyes on the end of the driveway, waiting.

The sound of loud, dragging footsteps makes your eyes pinch closed harder before they start to flutter open. Your mouth is dry and your back and neck may be permanently curved from the crouched position you had been sitting in for -

Every bone in your body protests in the snap of you standing upright, blinking at the dark blue sky just starting to turn lighter, pale pink brushed across the top of the trees. The sound of birds chirping barely breaking through the cotton in your ears until you hear a low, deep laugh that pulls your attention to the end of the driveway.

A boy who looks familiar and yet not at all is walking up his driveway. Longer than you’ve ever seen it brown locks all pushed back in a futile attempt as strands fall over his forehead when he smiles at -

“Oh fuck,” you whisper to yourself and blink your eyes closed then open as your tongue wets your lip and you wonder how the hell you’re going to explain just hanging out at his doorstep as he’s showing up with a girl after being gone all night long and -

Your stomach clenches at the sound of his voice, clearer as he gets halfway up the drive.

“That asshole better have my car in the driveway by tomorrow, is all I’m saying, okay?”

Steve’s got his arm slung around the girl’s shoulders, her’s around his waist as they walk slowly, like they need help themselves, but they’re supporting the others weight too. She stifles a yawn with a free hand before speaking.

“I just think you need to sort out your priorities and also…”

The girl’s voice is a little raspy, tinged with sarcasm and sleep as she trails off when she looks up and spots you.

Steve looks at her, the same furrowed lines his mom had hours ago forming on his forehead and the corners of his mouth curved down in a frown when his gaze leaves her eyes to follow their line to you.

He stands up straighter, his arm lingers against her but then falls limply at his side as he takes a step towards you. He scuffs his heels over the loose gravel of the walk and blinks at you.

Steve’s entire body is one big bruise from what you can see, the worst of it all being one of his eyes swollen and dark purple, his lip split fairly fresh from the way the red on his chin and cheek are so stark against his tan skin. His hands go to the top of his head, all of his knuckles broken, blue and purple or dried maroon and the gesture makes his shirt that’s covered in something that looks like a foul mixture of puke, blood, and something slimy lift, exposing the faintest line of skin and dark hair that disappears into his very short shorts.

It all makes your stomach burn and your chest feel so tight when he swallows and he just keeps staring at you. Part of you wants to find whoever did this and strangle them with your bare hands and the other part of you is…well you don’t know what it is except confusing, and all you can think to say is:

“What are you wearing?”

The girl’s laugh barks out of her in one short burst before her hands slap over her mouth. Until she’s letting them drop and saying, “Steve? Steve!” As he takes off in a run.

His shoulder slams into the gate of his backyard as you and the girl run after him, only skidding to a stop on his back patio as he falls directly into his pool, fully clothed.

Turquoise water illuminated by the underwater lights splashes up and out over the lips of the pool as his body sinks to the bottom. A dark blue Adidas hits the bottom and pushes him back up forcefully, his body shaking as he gasps loudly when his head breaks the surface of the water.

“Fuck! Shit! Oh my god this hurts!”

“Yeah no shit, Harrington! You’re covered in cuts and you just dived into chlorine!” The girl throws her hands up into the air.

Steve’s hands push him up and out of the pool so he can roll out of it ungracefully. He lays with his back against the cement, chest heaving while he keeps his eyes closed.

When he opens them again, he looks at you, then stands with difficulty it seems. Water drips off of his outfit, it curls his hair behind his ears, and pools in his cupid’s bow.

He swipes at his eyes, wincing, and blinks at you but talks to the other girl, “Rob-Robin,” he shivers through the words, teeth clicking together, “You see her too, right? I’m not…this isn’t like a weird dream, right?”

The girl, Robin, looks at you, then Steve, “Yeah, I see her. Who’s…her?”

“I’m-“ Your voice breaks when he gasps out your name in a barely choked back sob.

He falls forward, head landing heavily on your shoulder as his body curls into yours, while shaking fingers grip your shirt at your hips and he just sobs. Cool pool water and his warm breath compete to make you shiver as you run a hand over his spine.

Your eyes widen as they stare over his shoulder at the girl who’s watching him with as much worry as you feel. It’s a whisper against his temple, and it’s all you can think to say, “Hey, stranger.”

His sob rattles your chest as he holds you tighter, like he has no intention of letting you go.

Steve’s staring at you.

And, to be fair, you guess he doesn’t really have anywhere else to look and you’re staring at him too.

“Take a picture,” you soak another piece of cotton with alcohol as you whisper, “It’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat as he looks down at the floor then immediately back up into your eyes. His one good eye bounces between yours before his tongue pokes at the cut that just won’t quit on his lip as his adam’s apple bobs and he says, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The words make you flinch, just barely, but enough for the cotton next to his eyebrow to nudge against his skin just a little too hard.

“Shit,” he hisses, grabbing the hem of your shirt and tugging while his lips pout, and he whines, “That’s not what I meant. Don’t attack me.”

Your eyes roll as your fingers go back to tenderly swiping over him, being more gentle with him than you would an egg you don’t want to crack just yet. Each second you slowly patch him up a new discovery about the boy you don’t really know anymore reveals itself in forms of facial hair, freckles you’ve never seen, something that smells an awful lot like your mom’s hairspray, and eyes that haven’t changed one bit aside from almost swallowing his pupils whole because they’re so dilated.

“Glad to see you’re still a dramatic baby,” your voice is as soft as the touch of your fingers against his jaw. Your pulse quickens when he leans his weight into the hold more, his eyelashes fluttering while you turn his eyebrow into the light. “Maybe if you sat still and kept your mouth shut for more than two seconds I could finish this.”

“I like her,” Robin’s voice rises with the steam from behind the closed white shower curtain directly across from the counter Steve is leaning against. Her words breaking up the quiet ‘Never-Ending Story’ theme she had previously been humming.

Not for the first time tonight you wonder, a) if Steve didn’t have something to lean against, would he collapse, and b) how long Robin and Steve have been dating.

You still aren’t sure what is going on. Why they are so beat up. Why Robin didn’t want to shower alone or why the silence seemed to make Steve crazy until his shoulders relaxed when you suggested turning the stereo in his room on. The voices and music of Journey faintly coming from the other room as Robin threw clothes over the shower curtain and Steve spread his legs for you to stand between while he dripped pool water all over the white tiles. All mumbled apologies as knees and thighs bumped, as his hand squeezed at you whenever you started on a new injury.

Like now, as some sort of healing ointment rolls over his brow and his fingers dig into your hip. Your murmured sorry lost as he frowns at the air and sarcastically asks, “Oh do you? Nobody asked for a comment from the peanut gala Buckley.”

“Gallery,” Robin and you say together.

Steve’s frown turns more pout and you sigh when his lip starts bleeding again. He holds an arm over his stomach, fingers twitching at his ribs when you carefully place a bandage over his brow.

“I’m pretty sure it’s gala.”

Your thumb gently swipes over his lip with a towel, his gasp warm against your nose as you lean in to inspect it.

“Dingus,” Robin’s sigh more dramatic than his, “Please, I have to hear, why you’re so certain it’s gala. Peanut gala? Why would peanuts be going to a gala?”

“Oh,” he speaks around you trying to get his lip to stop bleeding, a useless attempt since he won’t stop moving, “And gallery makes so much more sense? At least mine gives Mr. Peanut a reason to wear his top hat and coat and eyeglass thingy.”

“Monocle,” you offer quietly, taking his hand from your elbow and assessing the damage to his knuckles. “And I don’t think peanut gallery is about Mr. Peanut at all.”

Steve’s hand pulls out of your hold, his fingers curl under your jaw and nudge it up, so you’ll look at him. He shakes his head no. “You shouldn’t have come back. Why’d you come back? Why are you here?”

Your pulse races, far too close to his fingers, and you wonder if he can feel it. Wonder if he can see it in your eyes how scared you are and how brave you’re trying to be.

“Why shouldn’t I be here?”

He seems to think you thought he meant here, at his home, and not Hawkins, because his jaw clenches as his thumb taps at your chin and you wonder if he even realizes he’s still holding your face.

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t be here. I asked why you’re here. Because,” he laughs, he shakes his head like he can’t really believe it, “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it. And sure, I’m not the smartest guy around and I took some pretty hard hits tonight, but even I know that it’s weird for a girl, one who I haven’t spoken to in over three years, to have been here, sitting at my doorstep, waiting for me, and is now patching me up like…like…”

“Yeah?” Your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill over your lash line. Body too hot as steam from the shower clings to your skin and anger starts to boil over inside of you. “Well I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around why that boy who doesn’t understand why the girl, one who he used to call his best friend until he stopped calling her and never once came to visit her, started sobbing when he saw her and is covered in injuries he won’t explain!”

“I’m sorry,” Steve laughs, and stands up, toe to toe with you as he looks down his nose and huffs a breath out of it, hand letting go of your face to grab your shoulders and shake, “But when he stopped calling her? And yeah, I didn’t visit! Because you stopped visiting, because-“

“I only stopped calling because it was embarrassing!” You shout at him, shoving his chest and watching his face twist in pain when you do.

Steve gasps and you swipe the tears falling down your cheeks away as you both glare at each other. He rubs his hand over his chest and side with a grimace.

“Take off your shirt.”

He shakes his head no.

“Take off your shirt right now Harrington or I swear to god I’ll-“

“You’ll what!?” He pouts at you.

Your fingers tug at the hemline of his shirt, yanking at it as you grumble, “Still so fucking stubborn, I can’t stand you-“

He swats at your hands and grumbles right back, “I can’t stand you…”

His name is gasped out of you as you get his shirt up and over his ribs. He gives up, arms falling limply at his sides as you continue to pull at the shirt until it’s around his neck. He stares at you, both of you not saying a word but understanding as he slowly raises his arms with a wince and you pull the fabric carefully over his head.

It falls at your feet as tears fill your eyes, your fingers brush over purple and red splotched and angry skin. Steve flinches as your fingers glide over his collarbone, hands instinctively going to your hips again and squeezing. Goosebumps rise to the surface of his skin as your tears fall down your cheeks once more.

“Hey,” he whispers, he pulls you into his chest, one that you can’t believe is covered in dark hair. Arms that ripple with muscles you’ve never seen circle around your waist as he mumbles into your hairline, “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Your nose presses to his neck, dragging against his skin as you shake your head no and pull away from him.

“You tell me who did this right now.”

Steve stares at you and then he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes.

A throat is cleared and you jump, hand over your eyes as Robin’s voice cracks behind the curtain, “Sorry, didn’t really know when to break that up, but I’m getting pretty cold in here…”

Neither of you had heard the water turn off, or noticed the mirror was growing far less foggy during your screaming match. Steve’s cheek blossom pink as he throws a towel over the curtain.

Your arms cross over your chest as Steve’s do the same while she pulls the shower curtain back.

Robin smiles shyly at you and then looks at Steve.

“You got cocoa?”

His brows furrow together and he looks at her like she’s crazy when he asks, “What?”

“Hot cocoa,” she clarifies, holding the towel to her chest and then walking into his bedroom.

She starts pulling open drawers until she finds what she’s looking for. When you both just stare at her, she whistles and turns her fingers for you to spin.

Steve rolls his eyes but does as she asks and you do the same. A towel drops and clothes slip over skin while the radio plays quietly.

“Conversations like this are always easier with cocoa, I think,” she says, much closer now and you turn to find her digging around in his drawers for a comb, a sweatshirt and shorts on.

Steve hands her one as he asks, “Conversations like this?”

Robin shrugs her shoulders, looking at you in the mirror as she detangles wet hair easily and mumbles, “Understand why you got your nickname now. Top tier products, dingus. I approve.”

He rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Robin. Focus.”

“Right, well she,” Robin nods her head back towards you, “Wants to know about all of this,” she gestures to all of Steve’s face and bruised body with a hand. “Christ, you’re hairy. And after tonight, I think I deserve to be filled in on quite a bit, don’t you? So. Cocoa? Marshmallows?”

The way Robin raises her eyebrows at Steve and doesn’t leave much room for arguing has you rolling your shoulders back and asking him, “Your mom still keep that fancy cinnamon kind on the top shelf in the back of the pantry?”

Steve’s a terrible story-teller.

He paces while he talks, he gestures with his hands and leaves sentences hanging in the air as he waits for you to fill in gaps he doesn’t quite remember or know all the details of himself. He asks you to give him a second when he sips his own cocoa and closes his eyes trying to remember things, rubbing at his Hawkins Phy Ed sweatshirt while he thinks. Steve bounces around in a non-linear, confusing timeline order that has you and Robin asking question after question and him clenching his jaw and telling you that, “He’s getting there, alright?”

And none of it makes any sense. None of it.

Not Will Byers going missing but not missing. Not the spray paint on the theater and Nancy Wheeler sleeping but not sleeping with Jonathan Byers. Not the dinner with Barb’s parents and oh yeah his party with the pool and Nancy and Barb going missing afterwards. Not the supernatural dogs that are actually lizards. Not the gray fleshy human not human that he hit with a baseball bat full of nails while Jonathan and Nancy set it on fire in a bear trap and the Christmas lights talked to Joyce Byers. Not the world that’s somehow underneath you but not anymore because the gate, whatever the fuck that is, is closed. Not the girl with superpowers who doesn’t have superpowers anymore though, you guess.

Because that’s what Steve thinks, now, caught up to tonight and the few days leading up to it. He’s just finished telling you about the creature, the giant thing made out of people that destroyed the mall and caused the so called “fire” the National Guard was called in for.

Your name is barely heard through the ringing in your ears as you frantically search his entryway for keys.

His hand shakes your shoulder, hard, and you stop, blinking tears away as he asks you, “What are you doing?”

“Keys,” you gasp, fingers rubbing at your eyes, “I need your car keys. I need to go home, I-“

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t have my car. They had to keep it to sweep it for bugs and explosives and-“

Your head shakes as you rip your shoulder from his hold and yank his front door open. Heartbeat thudding in your ears in time with the soles of your sneakers against the pavement as you run down his driveway.

Sprinklers tick on lawns and mowers wave to you as you run down the street. The town of Hawkins oblivious to what’s been happening underneath them, around them, oblivious that their loved ones could be gone, could be in danger.

Your stomach heaves at the thought, anger with yourself fueling your sprinting legs to go even faster. How could you stay at Steve’s so long? Why’d you go there in the first place? What if-

Your feet only slow when you reach your house.

The driveway still sits empty.

Your bags still rest on the porch.

A sob rips out of you as you run around to the back of the house and search the ground. A large rock hits your fingers, and you don’t think twice about grabbing it and throwing it at your back door.

Your hand pushes through the shards of glass as you unlock the door and push it open.

Steve finds you on the ground, clutching your stomach and screaming, chemical bottles open and drained on the tiles around you, bags of your mother’s gardening soil ripped open on the table and his stomach heaves.

He pulls you into his chest and tries to get you stop, pressing his nose to your cheek and rocking you as he pleads, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you have to stop. You have to stop screaming. Please be quiet, don’t-“

Your hands shove at his chest as you scramble over your bags and boxes that had been shipped a week prior, left in the entryway unopened.

“Get away from me,” you sob, rushing to the stairs as you yell, frantic, “Mom! Dad!”

Photos of you and them stare back at you each skipped step up the staircase as you turn on the lights with shaking fingers and beg the universe for this to be some sick and twisted nightmare. When you push open their bedroom door and find the bed unslept in Steve says your name softly, behind your shoulder.

Your hands shove at him when you turn to face him, smacking at his chest and hoping it hurts as you sob, “Why didn’t you check on them! Why didn’t you call me!”

Steve’s eyes fill with tears, “I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone! I shouldn’t have even told you! I could get in a lot of trouble, I could-“

“We have to call the police, we have to call-“

Steve shakes your shoulders, begging you to listen to him. “We can’t. Hopper knew. He’s dead. There’s nobody else to tell. The government already knows. It is the government.”

“Why’d you stop writing to me! Why didn’t you come with them to visit! Why didn’t you…you…” Your hands shove at him harder, tears and snot all over your face as your fight drains out of you. Anger turns to grief turns to hatred turns to hopelessness in seconds within you, not even knowing what to be the most upset about anymore.

“You stopped coming back,” Steve chokes out, grabbing your hands and pulling you towards him slowly. “Because every time I ran into your dad at the store and he asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner I knew I had to say no because I’d feel like a loser. Coming over here and pretending I was a part of your family still, knowing you didn’t want that anymore. Would have to pretend like the pictures of you and hearing about how much better your life was in New York wasn’t killing me because you didn’t need me or Hawkins anymore, okay?”

He falls to the ground with you in his arms as you sob, clutching his shirt in your fingers and pressing your screams to his chest so they’re muffled.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles into your hairline as his arms squeeze around you tighter and he presses his cheek to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The key to your dad’s Bronco swings loosely from your fingers as you hop up the step to the door and tap your knuckles against it.

When he doesn’t answer, you let yourself in and close the door softly behind you as you glance up the stairs.

Music plays loudly from the cracked door of his bedroom and when you hear his voice singing along, you lift the camera from around your neck and start fiddling with the settings, pulling the shutter back as you climb the staircase quietly.

As you peek through the ajar door, you find Steve in front of his mirror, twirling a can of Farrah Fawcett spray in the air while his other hand runs through damp, not wet, hair, before he catches the can in the air and sprays twice.

Then, he sings directly into the can and you snap a picture of it.

He spins at the sound of your laugh and frowns at the held aloft camera in his face.

“Please,” you smile timidly at him as your shoulder rests against the doorframe and the toe of your sneaker nudges the door open wider. “Don’t stop the performance on my account.”

Steve quickly presses the power button on his stereo and picks up a vest from his desk chair. His cream colored shoulders slip into the maroon vest and your lips twitch at the coincidence of the song and outfit he’s chosen today.

“They don’t knock in New York?” He asks, pulling on a pair of Nikes. Lacing them up and avoiding your gaze as he looks around the room, eyes landing on a sheet of paper and nodding his head, like he’s reminding himself of its location.

“Oh they do,” you shrug your shoulders, “ S’why I left.”

“Ha-ha,” he bites his cheek when he stands, hands finding a home on his hips, “So what’s up? Why are you here?”

Something in your chest tightens at the question, especially when he grabs the sheet of paper and looks at you with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and adds, “Don’t you have work?”

Your head shakes no, as you beg yourself to say something, anything, to let him know how sorry you are. To let him know even an ounce of how you’ve been feeling lately. But nothing seems right and it’s selfish to want to have this conversation right now, so you just say, “I start on Monday. Wanted to come say good luck on the interview today.”

He sighs, cheeks and tips of his ears pink as he walks past you out of his room and down the stairs. “Thanks.”

“Family Video, right?” Your tone forced into something light and pleasant as you follow him. “Sounds like a good gig.”

Steve snorts as he grabs his car keys from the table. “Yeah, okay.”

He holds his front door open for you as he walks out it and you follow with a confused, “You don’t think so?”

“No, I do,” he locks the door behind him, shoulders staying up at his ears even after the shrug of them is over, “I just don’t think you, the newest photo journalist and first female one at The Hawkins Post, actually thinks being a clerk at Family fucking Video is a good gig.”

“Well, I do, and that’s all I wanted to say so…” your sweating fingers fiddle with the key as you try to catch his gaze and smile at him, deciding that everything you actually wanted to say isn’t worth it, not when you’re not even sure he’ll want to listen to you. “Good luck, Harrington.”

Your back turns to him as your hand waves pathetically when you start down to his mailbox and Robin Buckley bikes up his driveway.

She smiles at you and hops off her bike, “Hey! How are you?”

“I’m good, good…” your tongue licks over your bottom lip as you squint from the sun at her friendly smile, shielding your eyes with your hand, “Good luck on the interview, today.”

“Thanks!” She turns to Steve behind you, “Ready, Dingus?”

He must nod or something because she waves at you and starts guiding her bike up the rest of the driveway.

When you hop into your dad’s car and turn the key in the ignition, the cassette you’d been playing starts blaring loudly. Your fingers curl around the steering wheel as you inhale then exhale, trying to find the courage to face another day without them and without the Steve you desperately needed, but weren’t even sure existed anymore.

Things weren’t the way they had been with you two, maybe they wouldn’t ever be that way again.

Your head smacks the roof of the car when Steve says your name at your open window, breathlessly.

He winces as your hand rubs at your temple and the other turns the stereo down.

“Sorry, but do you…” he swallows and crosses his arms, uncrosses them and shoves his hands in his front pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“Do I…?” You offer, heart thudding in your chest when Steve looks up from where his sneaker kicks at the gravel and smiles at you.

“Would you um, if I get this job, I’ll get free rentals, and I was just thinking that maybe we could, if you wanted to, have a movie night this Friday? Grab a pizza or something and…talk?”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and sniffle, blinking your eyes about a billion times and telling yourself to just wait until he’s gone to start crying. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Cool,” he smiles around the word. A real one. One that meets his eyes.

“Cool,” you echo with your own smile.

Steve taps the roof of the Bronco twice and it makes something in your chest tighten and melt at the same time. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and starts walking backwards, “Well I should…”

“Right, yeah, good luck,” you tell him again, yelling it out the open window.

Steve smiles at you once more and then jogs up to his car, whistling along to the song playing out of your car. Robin stands at the door on the passenger side of his BMW, pretending not to watch but blatantly watching while Steve says something you can’t hear. His arms held out in a gesture that seems to say, ‘what?’ ,before he’s clapping and motioning for her to get in the car. Even from this distance you can see her eyes roll.

Your smile is barely hidden, bottom lip squished between your teeth.

Maybe things not being like they were between you two will be a good thing.

Change is inevitable, and time will keep ticking by whether you’re ready for it to or not.

#superbly subpar's writing #STB AU #Simply The Best AU #steve harrington #spiderman!steve harrington #spiderman!steve #spider man steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year ago

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Series summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

ch 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

ch 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THE RED LIGHTS

ch 4: FAMILY VALUES

series trigger warnings: blood, character death, murder, smut, p in v, drinking & smoking pot, themes of misuse of prescription pills, character killer, stranger things canon events, light mentions of domestic abuse, neglect, etc.

BUY TICKETS

PROMO FLYER

part 1 summary: a movie night with friends ends with a very scared Nancy and you and your best friend getting high in your room, when the lights flicker across town— you + Eddie brush it off as nothing— because Hawkins Indiana has always been a little strange.

FLICKER

The popcorn bowl in your lap is nearly empty, only brown kernels left to shift noisily as Eddie’s hand scrapes around the bowl in chase of one last piece of the buttery snack.

Your eyes are glued to the screen, breath hitched in your throat as you watch Michael Myers stalk down the street. Even though you’ve seen it a dozen times, it still gets to you. Something about the rubbery, expressionless mask he dons as he chases and slashes through people's skin just rubs you the wrong way.

“Ohhh fuck!” Eddie gleams, Michael’s knife cutting through Annie’s throat, “did ya see that?!”

“Trying not to,” Nancy muffles, her face buried into the broad shoulder of Steve, small hand clasped around her eyes, Steve’s arms pulling her closer into him.

Movie nights in the Wheeler basement were a typical Friday for your group of friends. Something that you weren’t sure would continue to happen after you, Eddie and Steve graduated this past May. Being waitlisted for your dream school put your endeavors on hold and neither one of them had any grand plans of leaving Hawkins, especially since Steve and Nancy had rekindled their on-again-off-again relationship.

Currently they were on again, and dipping into near pornography whenever they thought no one was watching or listening.

“I gotcha,” Steve purred into Nancy’s mouse brown hair, rubbing her back, “c’mon Munson, turn this shit off.”

“No!” You and Eddie both say at once.

He smirks at you. The same dimpled closed mouth grin he had given you since you were thirteen years old. He clears his throat, “It’s almost over anyway.”

Eddie’s love for movies and music came at a young age. Anything to keep his mind busy while his parent’s fought. Anything to keep the noise of the screen door slapping shut as his mom fled their trailer again, his dad hot on her heels and swinging a fist through the dark night trying to make contact. Anything to drown out the noise and squeal of her tires kicking up rocks and dead grass against the aluminum trailer as she sped away, this time for the last time— without him.

He was your friend before his mom had left and any of that had started, and he had spent more nights sleeping on your couch than he had his own bed. You were comfortable with Eddie in ways that girls shouldn’t be with their best friends who were boys. But you could care less. It was always, and forever would be, platonic between you and Eddie Munson.

Reaching over the laps of both Eddie and Steve, you tug Nancy’s shirt until she peeks over Steve’s collar. You mouth bathroom? And she nods, getting up and following you, trying not to trip over a very drunk Robin or passed out Johnathan.

The light in the bathroom does absolutely nothing for Nancy’s complexion, playing on the peaked look of her skin and illuminating dark circles under her eyes that you normally had not seen. She sits on the sink and holds her arms against her chest as you finish up, washing your hands next to her.

“How can you guys watch that stuff?” She half whispers and sniffs, rubbing a petite hand under her red nose.

Drying your hands, you shrug, hanging the towel back up on the hook, looking back at your reflection and fixing your smudged eyeliner, “it’s just a movie Nance,” you say to her through the mirror, “besides, the possibility of something like that happening in Hawkins, are pretty damn slim.”

She shakes her head of ill thoughts, “yeah, o-‘f course, I just,” a chill runs through her, tickling her spine and making her skin goosebump, “the thought of it is… scary.”

“I think that’s the whole point.”

Opening the door, Steve audibly gasps at the next jump scare, and Eddie claps along hooting and hollering as Michael’s next victim joins the dead.

“I hate Halloween,”she mutters to herself, hopping down from the sink following you out to your friends.

Nancy spent the remainder of the movie with a lamp on, reading over her English paper for Mrs. Click’s class that was due in a few weeks, huffing in disapproval at either the movie or her paper you weren’t sure.

Robin wedges her way onto the couch with the four of you, whisper yelling about how stupid the characters are and how none of it makes any sense.

“You’re ruining it Buckley, shh!” Eddie says, placing a ringed hand over her mouth. And you can’t help but laugh at them both.

Robin licked the flat of his palm, her signature move, and Eddie squealed in disgust, “fucks sake Robin.”

“Aww,” Robin says, squeezing his cheeks with her long chip painted fingers, “don’t be jealous Eddie-bear.. you probably won’t know this but that smell is puss— ow!”

Your elbow digs into her ribs, “shh!” you sneer,

The ending credits roll and Eddie’s on his feet, ejecting the tape and slotting it into the paper protector. “Who’s up for the second one?”

He groans when the entire room yells no. Pouting and shoving the tape into his backpack. “What about you Byers?” he asks, kicking Jonathan’s leg to bring him back to life.

“Huh?” he asks through a yawn, rubbing his shocking red eyes, “nah man I’m cool, need to get home, mom is working late and Will’s by himself.”

He tosses the pillow he was using into the arm chair and trudges up the steps, saying see ya laters and thanks as he leaves.

Eddie shoots you a wink and you stand reaching for the blankets you were cuddling with and fold them neatly onto the couch.

Robin stumbles up the stairs behind Jonathan, trying to score a ride so she doesn't have to walk the three blocks to her place completely drunk.

Steve pulls Nancy in his lap. She’s whispering to him with tears brimming her bright blue eyes, but you can’t hear what she’s saying.

“Yeah, c’mon” he whispers against her hairline, holding her up so they can both stand, “still have your toothbrush at mine… hey, we’re going to my place,” he announces to you and Eddie, just turn the lights off and we’ll see you tomorrow for opening day right?”

The Annual Hawkins Halloween Carnival was in town, and after two years of working the county fair in Roane County, you had all been asked to work at the carnival this fall.

The carnival schedule was the weekend before Halloween to the weekend of Halloween.

Seven days of thrills and chills. Pumpkin carving, face painting, a corn maze that seemed to go for miles, the best food in the Midwest, and finally the usual carnival rides with a sick twist of Halloween themed frights.

Orientation was last week Saturday and Sunday a grueling 7am-7pm both days. Mr. Creel went over expectations and rules for you as staff to follow.

It seemed easy enough. You and Eddie were put on rides just like you had been all summer. Nancy and Argyle were in charge of games, Tina and one of her cheerleader friends were doing the pumpkin carving.

Steve and Robin would be set up in a small booth sponsored by Scoops Ahoy from morning until 5 pm, later taking over on rides for Eddie while he and Corroded Coffin made their debut on stage at night.

Steve was still pissed that they were insistent on him wearing the blue sailor uniform, even though the mall burned down last July— they managed to have Mrs. Sinclair sew the outfit for him.

Jonathan would help Argyle and Nancy with the nickel and dime games, ones designed to have parents shell out pockets of change to have their kids possibly win a stuffed animal that wasn’t even worth an entire dollar.

Billy Hargrove— who you were certain fled town after the mall fire, was apparently still in Hawkins and now in charge of the haunted hay ride at night and the corn maze during the day.

Him and Eddie used to be close during his senior year, but it all fell apart and you weren’t really sure why. When you asked, Eddie would shrug it off, claiming he had changed after graduation, and that was that.

You were surprised that the staff was minimal even though the festival was bigger and had more events going on than the summer carnival did, but you didn’t want to jinx your chances of working for it next year. Rumor was, Creel paid double for the Halloween event, Eddie called it the chance of a lifetime, and you knew it’d be stupid to mess it up by asking questions.

“Thanks for letting me stay again,” Eddie mumbles after you toss him the sleeping bag from your closet, “didn’t know he’d be home tonight.”

After you had drove home from Nancy’s you had barely gotten into your room when your phone rang, it was Eddie and he was at the payphone outside of Benny’s.

It’s me, can I stay over?

you didn’t think twice, telling Eddie yes and hanging up the phone.

His dad had been released from county two weeks ago after Eddie finally scraped enough bail money together to get him out. He swore this was the last time he’d do it but you knew better than that.

Eddie was a lot of things but he wouldn’t let his dad rot in some cell. Even though he deserved every single second of being there.

Al Munson had been in and out of jail since you could remember, petty crimes this and grand theft auto that. He was hardly a stable male figure for Eddie.

But to the doe eyed boy with brown curly hair— Al hung the moon.

It nearly killed Wayne Munson to see Eddie stick up for his old man, but he still offered his home to Al whenever he came through town on his next stunt, bleeding Eddie’s pockets dry and taking every emotional spark left in him when he tore out of the driveway, just before the blue and red lights could follow.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug tossing him one of your pillows, “you know you’re more than welcome here, anytime.”

Even though your parents hated the idea, you moved into the old apartments across town the week after graduation. Full of naive wonder and wanting some privacy you worked all the hours you could between Meldvald’s and Bradley’s Big Buy, earning just enough to have a couple hundred dollars left to go into savings after rent.

The faucets leaked, the paint was chipping and probably poisonous, the front door didn’t even lock properly, but you could care less: it was freedom.

Eddie grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it over his head, revealing his tattooed chest and silver bar nipples, wincing when his shirt grazes the new piercing. His curls tickling his shoulders.

“I know,” he grunts, unclasping his belt and chain from his jeans, tossing them to the floor beside his makeshift bed, “I just worry one day you’ll get sick of pitying the Munson charity case all the time.”

He scoffs when you throw a pillow at him, “what I’m serious!”

“Knock it off, Bam Bam, you’re my best friend, I’m never getting sick of you.”

“oh Christ, listen—” he began, shaking his head in disgust and holding up a ringed hand to stop you, “this game only goes one way, babe, and that’s me calling you the same name I have since we were six.”

You roll your eyes, a sudden heat to your cheeks that lately was becoming more and more prevalent each time Eddie used your nickname or an endearing name someone would use for a girlfriend.

But that was just how Eddie was, he even called Ms. O’Donnell “honey” once to ace a test but all he got was a big fat ‘F’ and a week’s worth of detentions.

Eddie reaches into his pocket for the plastic film, “besides, you only keep me around because you can smoke for free,” he says, presenting the pre-rolled joints and his trusty zippo.

“Ooh, and he brings gifts? you shouldn’t have,” you mock in a terrible accent, fanning yourself with your hand as if you were a true southern bell, “it's not even my birthday, mister.”

Eddie gets into the bit, sitting cross legged on your bed and dumping the contents of the bag onto your comforter, the skin of your knees touching, “well it’s not every day a lonely feller like me comes across a lady lookin’ as fine as you.”

Giggling he licks the end of the paper to seal it tight and you lick your own lips in greedy anticipation. You loved movie nights with all your friends, but there was always something special about being alone with Eddie.

It was calming, but maybe it was just having him around that made the stress of bills and everything else just fade away. He had that special way about him.

Holding the joint and lighter up for you his eyes locked with yours, and you swore his cheeks went pink, “ladies first, princess.”

—-

Across town, Steve was spending the evening with his lips on Nancy’s neck, huffing when she gasps when the bed creaks from his movement.

“Sorry— I’m still a little freaked out.”

Steve brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, “there’s nothing to worry about honey— I promise, I’ll keep you safe. You know that right?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “I-I know that, I’m— it’s just this time of year that always gives me the creeps.”

Nancy Wheeler had gained minor popularity when she struck the fancy of the king of Hawkins High. She wasn’t used to it, finding the glory of being Steve’s girlfriend suffocating.

“Well I’ve got somethin that isn’t creepy,” he coos into the shell of her ear, “in fact, you always seem to like it.”

“Steve..”

He shushes her with his lips, and like she always did, Nancy found herself giving in to him.

—

Fingers twirled between the bouncy rings of a telephone cord, Robin waited patiently— well as patiently as she could— for Vickie to pick up.

Their relationship was secretive, only her closest friends knew of Vickie and Vickie didn’t tell a single soul about the nights spent tangled in the corn powder blue sheets with the pretty freckled faced clarinet player.

They had a system. Vickie dealt the cards and made the rules, while Robin had a hand of jokers and mismatched suits, only she didn’t—couldn’t— see it for what it was.

The phone rang and rang, and would continue to ring. Hard to answer the phone when you’re too busy being pressed into the mattress with your feet on your boyfriend's shoulders.

—

“Yeah mom, I’m home now.” Jonathan answered annoyingly into the phone, “… W—No he’s asleep.. I’m sure he did… yeah, fine..I’ll go check.”

The phone would have stretched easily into the small bathroom down the hallway of the Byers’ home so he could check that Will had taken his nightly medication, but instead he let the phone slap against the floor in a clankety thud.

Jonathan Byers had been the man of the house since his dad left in seventh grade. He cooked, he did the laundry, and worked part time wherever he could. His mom was barely able to keep it together since Lonnie had left. And most days, she couldn’t. Somehow the last year she had gotten worse.

She was rail thin, and never ate a thing. Absent minded. Constantly writing things out and scribbling nonsense onto scraps of paper. Strewn across the living room, the kitchen, any surface available.

She was always worrying if Will would be okay, but never reciprocating that same kind of love and care to Jonathan.

Joyce Byers loved her boys equally, but the youngest was given more attention, maybe it was because he was her last baby, or possibly because his father had rarely ever acknowledged his existence. Still, the relationship between mother and son was broken off, string rolling in on itself when it came to Jonathan.

The pills in the slot marked ‘friday’ were gone, just like Jonathan knew they would be. His brother took his medications religiously, never ever skippinga day, he had it clocked down to the hour, minute, and second— the same time every single day.

A routine he had since last year.

Jonathan looks back at his gaunt expression when he shuts the medicine cabinet, smiling fake and toothy, taking the usual freebie from the hoard of pills his mother was prescribed but never took.

His lips under the faucet he swallows the white oval pill down.

Will wasn’t the only one with his own pill routine.

—

“Eddie, turn the lights off already it’s fuckin 2 am,”

Without fully waking you throw a pillow down to where he was laying, it wasn’t unusual for him to get high and pass out with the lights still on, but it was annoying beyond belief.

A muffled groan is heard from beneath the tossed pillow before Eddie wrestled it from his face, “the fuck are you throwing shit at me for?”

“you left the lights on again.”

Head on a swivel Eddie looks from you, to the ceiling to the switch, “open your eyes Helen Keller, they’re not on.”

the sting of light is still shining bright in your face and when you peel your eyes open you see that he wasn’t lying. Your room was dark, but the street lamp was glowing brighter than usual.

Your toes curl around the plush fibers of your rug and you pull the cord to open the blinds. Eddie’s weight shifts onto your mattress as a loud yawn escapes his lips, followed by a scratching noise that you’re hoping is his nails against his skull instead of his balls.

“what the fuck?”

The street lamps up and down your street were buzzing and glowing in an emberred haze. The glow of yellow was straining brighter than could be deemed possible and it was pulsing with an ominous flicker.

You were tantalized by it’s beauty, like a moth to a flame hypnotized by the menacing doom— you couldn’t look away, and for a split second the welcoming sunshine of the lamp turned blood red, a warning of terror before being blown to bits and shattering to the ground below.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie jumps behind your shoulder, “what the hell was that, you saw it right?”

You definitely had, it’s illuminating shadow still glowed bright when you blinked your eyes. You have heard of electric surges, currants going hot when wires were overloaded. But flickering like that then burning red before burning out? It was almost like a fallacy, something Eddie probably would have made up for Hellfire, it simply couldn’t have been true.

You rubbed at your eyes like a tired child, “told you that second joint smelled funny,” you said sitting on your knees facing him and shoving his shoulder, a look of shock on his face.

He scoffs and shoves your shoulder back, rolling his eyes playfully, “it’s a new strain Rick concocted himself, red…red somethin’…” he lays partly on the bed and stretches his body to the floor fumbling into his jeans pocket in search of the cellophane plastic of the baggy.

“Ah, here,” he says, shoving the bag into your hand, your thumb rubs over the black sharpie written in boy chicken scratch hand writing.

You read it the same time Eddie says it.

“Redrum.”

♡ hope you enjoyed, comment what you think will happen next; reblogs are appreciated

♡ part 2: A SLICE & A SCREAM ♡

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon

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#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fan fiction #stranger things #stranger things au #hide + scream series

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elvendria · 6 months ago

Text

Clean

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Final Part

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies. There was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big. You just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning: I'm not from the US, so bear with me with states and such) )

18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie starts as a dick, but I promise he gets better. There’s a slap, but it's low-key warranted? Mentions of blood

18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, the reader Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, the reader is 20 and Eddie is 21, Chrissy is the villain but we stan Grace. Reader has a small scar on her lower torso. underage drinking, allusions to smut, no details of smut for obvious reasons, eventual smut in upcoming chapters, brief mention of Y/N

Every detail of the room felt etched into your consciousness—the rough texture of the wooden floor beneath your feet, the cold smoothness of the linoleum countertops, the mundanity of the generic painting hanging above Eddie's head. You'd stared at it for so long that it had lost its semblance of reality, blending into the background of your mind's eye. But as much as you preferred the silent refuge of these familiar surroundings to the looming conversation you needed to have, you knew you couldn't evade it permanently.

Eddie's voice cut through the thick silence, a reminder that avoidance was no longer an option. "You can’t stay silent forever. We still need to talk about this."

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on you. You wished for a way out, a reprieve from the inevitable confrontation. But deep down, you knew that delaying the conversation would only prolong the agony.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you forced yourself to speak, though you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. "I tried to talk about this. Five years and five months ago." The words tasted bitter on your tongue, a painful reminder of a past you'd rather forget.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to drift back to that fateful day—the memories flooding back with a visceral intensity that threatened to overwhelm you. It was the worst day of your life, a day etched into your soul with searing clarity.

The air was heavy with tension as you and Eddie sat across from each other, words caught in your throat like shards of broken glass. You'd rehearsed what you wanted to say a thousand times in your mind, but when the moment came, the words failed you.

You remembered the look of confusion and hurt in Eddie's eyes as you struggled to articulate the truth. You remembered the silence that followed, thick and suffocating, swallowing you whole.

In the years that followed, you buried the pain deep within, hoping that time would heal the wounds you couldn't bear to face. But now, with Eddie's patient insistence echoing in your ears, you knew that avoidance was no longer an option.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty. But you knew that facing the truth was the only way forward, no matter how painful it might be.

5 years and 5 months ago

In the stillness of the room, time seemed to stand still, each passing moment stretching into eternity. The air felt heavy with emotions, suffocating in its intensity. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast elongated shadows across the walls, serving as a silent witness to the turmoil raging within.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar comfort of the mattress now feeling foreign and distant, you couldn't shake the weight of the sealed envelope clutched tightly in your trembling hands. The words "Return To Sender" emblazoned on its surface seemed to mock you, a cruel reminder of rejection in its most brutal form.

With each passing second, the questions swirled in your mind, each one more haunting than the last. How could Eddie do this to you? How could he turn his back on the life growing within you, on the love you once shared so deeply?

As you traced the outline of each handwritten letter with shaky fingers, the sting of tears threatened to overwhelm you once more. The pain was palpable, a physical ache that radiated from your heart and settled deep within your bones. It was a pain born of betrayal and abandonment, a pain you never imagined you would have to endure.

Desperate for some semblance of connection, some shred of reassurance that you weren't alone in your anguish, you reached for your phone. But each call ended in silence, the void on the other end echoing the emptiness in your heart. It was a loneliness unlike anything you had ever known, a loneliness that consumed you from the inside out.

In the silence of the room, memories flooded your mind like a torrential downpour. You couldn't help but replay the moments leading up to this, each one a painful reminder of what once was and what could have been. The whispered promises, the shared dreams — they all felt like distant echoes of reality you could no longer grasp.

And yet, despite the overwhelming sorrow threatening to engulf you, a flicker of defiance ignited within your soul. You refused to let this moment define you, to let Eddie's betrayal rob you of your strength and resilience. You were stronger than this, stronger than the pain that threatened to break you.

As you sat there, enveloped in the solitude of the night, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. It was a future shrouded in uncertainty, fraught with challenges and obstacles yet to be overcome. But it was also a future filled with possibility, with the potential for growth and healing in ways you never thought possible.

And so, with a newfound sense of determination, you rose from the edge of the bed, the weight of the envelope still heavy in your hand. You knew that the road ahead would be difficult, filled with twists and turns you couldn't anticipate. But you also knew that you were not alone, that somewhere out there, amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope waiting to be discovered.

Present Day

The memories unfurled like delicate petals in the garden of your mind, each one a testament to the fragility of youth and the bittersweet symphony of love and loss. You transported yourself back to a time when innocence was your constant companion and the world seemed painted in hues of hope and possibility.

“You know, I used to draw a little design along the back of my letters so you could make sure they hadn’t been opened by the time they got to you. It was stupid. I mean, what kind of person would want to read a letter from a 16-year-old?” The simple act of drawing a squiggly line on the back of your letters emerged from the recesses of memory, a quaint ritual born from a desire to safeguard your innermost thoughts from prying eyes. At the tender age of sixteen, such gestures felt like feeble attempts to protect the sanctity of your words in a world fraught with uncertainty.

But uncertainty seemed a distant memory compared to the raw ache that now gnawed at your soul. Tears welled up unbidden, tracing silent rivers down cheeks once adorned with the flush of youth. You hadn’t even realized they were there until the telltale sting of saltwater against your skin brought your attention to their presence.

The weight of your emotions bore down upon you like a heavy shroud, suffocating and relentless. A sob escaped your lips, the sound foreign and raw in the stillness of the room. It was a sound wrought from the depths of your being, a primal cry for understanding in a world that seemed determined to remain indifferent to your pain.

This is what happened when you thought back to that day. You felt your chest tighten like your whole body had shut itself down and stitched itself up, trapping any remnants of the life you once had inside.

“But… that was just it. I thought you would. I thought after everything, everything, that you were that person, that you’d want to read each word, and keep them until I came home to you.” You murmured, voice barely above a whisper as you navigated the labyrinth of memories that threatened to consume you whole. It was a day etched in the annals of your existence, a pivotal moment that had irrevocably altered the course of your life.

Your chest tightened with each passing moment, a vice-like grip that threatened to crush the fragile remnants of your shattered heart. It was a physical manifestation of the agony that permeated your being, a tangible reminder of the scars that marred your soul.

The spark of happy memories flickered briefly before being engulfed by the suffocating darkness that loomed on the horizon. It was a cruel juxtaposition, the juxtaposition of light and shadow that seemed to define your existence in equal measure.

“But… that was just it,' you confessed, the words tumbling from your lips like fragile petals caught in a tempest. It was a confession borne from the depths of your despair, a desperate plea for understanding in a world that seemed determined to remain deaf to your cries.

“I thought you would,” you continued, voice trembling with a vulnerability that left you feeling exposed and raw. It was a sentiment rooted in the belief that love, true love, could transcend the barriers of time and space, binding two souls together in a tapestry of shared experiences and whispered promises.

But his face remained impassive, a mask of stoicism that betrayed none of the tumultuous emotions swirling beneath the surface. It was a facade you had grown accustomed to, yet it still cut you to the quick, a reminder of the chasm that now yawned between you.

You watched in silence as he spoke, his words a litany of accusations and half-truths that cut through the fragile veneer of your composure. It was a barrage of verbal assaults, each one a dagger aimed squarely at the heart of your fragile hopes and dreams.

The question he posed hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating and oppressive in its silence. It was a question that pierced the very fabric of your being, laying bare the insecurities and doubts that had long plagued your tortured soul.

“Is she even mine?” he demanded, the words a cruel echo of the doubts that had long haunted your darkest nightmares. It was a question you had feared and dreaded, yet it still cut you to the quick, reminder of the fragile foundation upon which your fractured relationship now stood.

Any lingering traces of guilt dissolved in the face of his callous indifference, replaced by a seething anger that threatened to consume you whole. How dare he? How dare he question the paternity of the child you had borne alone, a testament to the strength and resilience of a mother’s love?

“Look, don’t give me that look,” he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt as he dismissed your pain with a casual wave of his hand. It was a dismissal you could ill afford, a reminder of the gulf that now stretched between you like an unbridgeable chasm.

But you refused to be cowed by his indifference, refused to allow him to diminish the magnitude of your sacrifice with his callous words. You squared your shoulders, steeling yourself for the storm that threatened to engulf you whole.

“And I don’t know you’d been telling me in your letters how you were getting close to this Jeb kid,” he continued, his words a dagger aimed squarely at the heart of your fragile hopes and dreams. It was a betrayal of the highest order, a betrayal you could ill afford in the face of his relentless onslaught.

Sure, you had attempted to befriend Jeb, and had sought solace in the fleeting moments of companionship he offered. But it was a fleeting respite, a reprieve from the relentless storm that raged within your tortured soul.

“Look, I think we just need to do a paternity test-” he began, his words a death knell tolling in the depths of your despair. It was a proposition you could ill afford, a proposition that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of your fractured relationship.

But before he could utter another word, something inside you snapped. It was a primal instinct, a raw surge of emotion that propelled you forward with a force you could not resist. The crack of your hand meeting his cheek echoed in the stifling silence, a symphony of defiance and liberation.

“Get out,” you spat, the words a bitter indictment of the betrayal that now stained the fabric of your fractured relationship. He recoiled, a hand pressed to his stinging cheek, shock etched into every line of his face.

As he made his hasty exit, you remained rooted to the spot, grappling with the aftershocks of your outburst. Glass shattered against the door, a physical manifestation of the shattered fragments of your fractured relationship.

Alone amidst the debris, you collapsed to the floor, knees buckling beneath the weight of your anguish. Blood mingled with tears as you surrendered to the overwhelming tide of emotion, the cold embrace of exhaustion lulling you into an uneasy slumber.

And so you lay, battered and broken, the echoes of his accusations lingering in the recesses of your mind, a reminder of the fragile nature of trust and the devastating consequences of its betrayal. But amidst the wreckage of your shattered dreams, a flicker of hope remained a beacon of light in the darkest depths of despair. For in the crucible of adversity, you had discovered the strength to endure, the resilience to rise from the ashes of your shattered past and forge a future worthy of the love you so desperately sought.

Eddie seethed with a mixture of frustration and disbelief as he stepped into the familiar confines of his home in Hawkins. All he'd attempted was to apply logic, yet he was met with hostility. Perhaps "assault" was too strong a term, but it wasn't far from the truth. This marked the second occasion he'd been struck since returning home. Did he even still consider Hawkins home? The question gnawed at him as he pushed the door shut behind him, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily upon his shoulders.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Wayne sat at the worn wooden table, his hands folded neatly before him. The silence that enveloped the room hung heavier than usual, suffocating any hope of a casual greeting. Eddie's jaw tensed as he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, his mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.

"So... what went down between you two?" Wayne's voice cut through the oppressive silence like a knife, his gaze fixed intently on Eddie. Eddie couldn't help but admire his uncle's directness, even in moments like these.

"We argued, as we always do," Eddie began, his voice heavy with frustration. "She gave me the silent treatment for ages, and when she finally spoke, she blamed me for not knowing about the kid. So, I asked if the child was even mine, and she slapped me! Can you believe it?" His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white against the strain as he recounted the altercation.

Wayne sighed heavily, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "You're being dense, Eddie," he said, his tone laced with exasperation. He knew Eddie was smarter than this. Yet here he was, behaving like a petulant child. "Of course, Willow is yours. All the signs point to it."

Eddie shot Wayne a withering glare, his frustration boiling over. How could his uncle trust her over him? Surely the reasonable man Wayne was would understand why Eddie preferred to err on the side of caution, especially with matters of the heart.

"Edward, the kid has your eyes and your hair. She looks exactly like you did as a child. I knew she was yours the moment I saw her."

The words hit Eddie like a ton of bricks, a sudden realization dawning on him. "You knew? When did she tell you?"

"She didn't have to. Edward Munson, that kid is your spitting image. When she visits, all she wants to do is listen to your tapes and hear you talk about your Caves and Lizards game."

"It's Dungeons and Dragons," Eddie corrected automatically, his mind racing to process this new information. "She's mine... isn't she?"

"Of course she is. Did you think she'd choose anyone but you?" Wayne's voice softened, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone as he reached out to reassure his nephew. He had seen it the moment she entered their lives. She and Eddie had an infatuation with each other. They loved each other from day one, and it took a child to make them realize it if they ever did admit it.

"Yeah... about that..." Eddie's voice trailed off, a pang of guilt gnawing at him. How could he have doubted her, doubted them? He'd never forget the look in her eyes, like everything had fallen into place for her that night. He knew because he felt the same way. Even now, he felt like his entire existence revolved around her. "I kind of hinted that I thought she might be with someone else."

Wayne's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Eddie had always been quick to jump to conclusions, but his heart was in the right place. "You're something else," Wayne said, a hint of fondness tugging at the corners of his lips as he rose from his seat.

With that, Wayne pushed his chair back and headed to the bathroom, leaving Eddie to grapple with the weight of his own emotions. As he made his way to his room, a sense of unease settled over him. He had ruined everything he ever wanted, and the consequences of his actions weighed heavily on his mind.

To top it all off, he might have ruined any chance of seeing his daughter again. The thought hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of their newfound bond and the importance of trust in their relationship.

The echoes of the argument still reverberated in your mind, though two weeks had passed since the war within your… situation… erupted. Now, amidst the chaos of life, bigger things demand your attention. Today marked Willow's first day of school, a milestone overshadowed by the recent upheaval. Delaying it by a few days seemed necessary as she grappled with the revelation that the person she believed to be her sister was, in fact, her mother. It was a truth that unravelled a web of emotions, triggering one of the most monumental tantrums you had ever witnessed.

As you sat in the parking lot, the weight of recent events felt momentarily lifted by the simple joy of hearing Willow refer to you as her mom for the first time. The word, so longed for yet unexpected in its arrival, wrapped around your heart like a warm embrace. It was a validation of the bond you had worked tirelessly to forge, despite the obstacles and uncertainties that clouded your path.

"Mom... we should go." Willow's voice broke through the reverie, grounding you in the present moment. You couldn’t get past the significance of her words, even if she didn’t. Each syllable held a promise of newfound connection and acceptance for her and a promise that part of you was starting to slip away. It was a moment you had longed for, a moment that filled the void left by the turmoil of recent weeks.

With a sense of renewed purpose, you stepped out of the car, the cool breeze of the morning air brushing against your skin. Making your way around to Willow's side, you extended a hand to help her out, savouring the warmth of her small fingers intertwined with yours. The simple act of physical contact felt like a lifeline, a tangible reminder of the love that bound you together.

Pulling her into a tight embrace, you marvelled at how much she had grown in what felt like the blink of an eye. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions, but in this moment, as you held your precious child close, everything else faded into insignificance. You couldn't help but lavish her with affection, doting on her every movement as if trying to make up for lost time.

"I know, I know. It's just you're so big now!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with a mixture of pride and awe. Willow's smile mirrored your own, a reflection of the unconditional love that flowed between you. As you stood there, basking in the warmth of the morning sun, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by a love that was as resilient as it was unbreakable.

As she skipped beside you, her sparkly pink trainers lighting up with every step, you held her hand tightly. With each bounce, she seemed to carry a piece of the sun's brightness, infusing the world around you with an infectious energy that made everything seem more vibrant and alive. You wished you could bottle it, like her own brand of lightning in a jar. You were certain a joy like that could cure all ailments.

As you stepped into the building, a wave of familiar scents enveloped you, triggering a strange sense of nostalgia. The hallways exuded a peculiar blend of bleach, plasticine, and an elusive aroma that seemed to linger in every school corridor. It was a scent that stirred up memories, perhaps of apprehension, or maybe of anticipation, but most likely a concoction of both.

High school memories flooded your mind, and you couldn't help but think of her. You wondered how time would mould her, shaping her perspective of the world. If she retained even a fraction of the effervescent spirit she possessed now, you could easily picture her as a beacon of joy, radiating positivity and warmth wherever she went.

As you approached Willow's classroom door, a mix of emotions swirled within. Each step felt like a journey, leading inexorably to a new phase of life. The door creak seemed to underscore the weight of the moment as it swung open, revealing a space alive with the energy of youth. But amidst the chatter and colourful decor, a bittersweet truth lingered: this marked the beginning of the end of an era. Standing in the hallway, holding her tiny little hand, the gravity of the occasion settled like a heavy cloak. It was a poignant reminder that time marches on, carrying precious moments with it, even as it ushers in new beginnings.

“You ready to go in, sweetie? You want me to come in and help you get set up?”

“Wait!”

Your head snapped up, startled by the rapid tempo of shoes striking the linoleum floor. As you turned, your heart leapt at the sight of the one person you least expected yet secretly yearned for. It was a paradoxical moment, where surprise collided with a silent prayer answered. Time seemed to stand still as you processed the unexpected encounter, each heartbeat echoing the tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within.

“I drove here as fast as I could. I… I had to see her.”

His dishevelled appearance, with hair hastily scraped back and clothes seemingly inside out, hinted that he rushed here, disoriented maybe. The last thing you wanted was for Willow's first day to be marred by tears or confusion, so you hurriedly guided her inside, a silent observer from the doorway.

As Willow bounded towards a girl in a bright blue sweater, effortlessly engaging in her natural talent for making friends, you couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion. Yet, you remained silent, unable to meet his gaze without the weight of an unspoken intensity pressing against your chest.

It was a sensation that threatened to overwhelm you, leaving your eyes burning and your mouth dry. The urge to scream into the void, to release the pent-up emotions into the world, was almost palpable. But deep down, you knew that no amount of noise could articulate the complex feelings swirling within you.

“Why did you-” You couldn’t handle his questions, only holding up a hand to shut him up for a minute.

“You can see her from here. I can’t have her asking more questions just yet.” He didn’t have to deal with the fallout, he’s never had to deal with any of it. He just walked back in, fired around a bunch of accusations, and walked back out again. He’d never get to understand the pain that left you.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Please, just… just listen to me.”

“Will listening shut you up? Will it make everything go back to the way it was before you knew?” You choked on the end of your words, fighting back the tears that stung your eyes and threatened to fall.

“Just let me speak, and if after I'm finished, that's still what you want? Then we can try to go back to normal. But it’ll never be like it was before I knew, because I want to know her.”

You stood up and began walking away, hearing him follow close behind. You weren't in the mood to hear what he had to say, or how he felt he had some god-given right to see her after everything he had said and done. His presence grated on your nerves, each footstep amplifying your frustration.

“I want to know my daughter. Please.”

His voice sounded almost like he was begging, pleading with you to change your mind, to hear him out. The desperation in his tone made you hesitate, hearing him call her his. It stirred something within you, and you stopped in your tracks. Turning around, you fixed him with a ferocious glare, your eyes burning with a mix of anger and pain. The intensity of your gaze was enough to make him falter, and for a moment, the hallway was filled with the heavy silence of unspoken emotions.

"So now you feel entitled to call her yours?" Now you get to believe me when I say that I’d never been with anyone but you? Why did you suddenly have a change of heart?

He continued walking towards you, slowing his pace as he noticed you stiffen when he got too close. It was as if he was handling a wounded bird, afraid that any sudden movement might cause you to flee and leave him behind once more. The only thing convincing him that you wouldn't run was the undeniable truth that your child was still here, and you would never leave her. The weight of this unspoken understanding hung heavily in the air, a silent tether binding you to the spot despite the turmoil within.

“I was a fool before. Wayne showed me that. Hell, I was more than a fool. I was an outright fuck up.” He stood there, holding his breath. You could almost hear his heart battering against his ribs from where you stood. As you turned around and met his gaze, a flicker of softness crept into your heart. You wanted to dash to your car, to escape home and hide until it was time to pick her up. But you knew it was impossible. For Christ's sake, he lived across the street. Eventually, you'd run into him again. The thought of the inevitable encounters made your shoulders sag with the weight of resignation, yet you stood your ground, steeling yourself for the confrontation that you knew was coming.

“That doesn’t answer my question. It just proves I was right. Why do you feel the right to call her your child when I was the one who had to endure hell for years?”

You felt the tears fall, but made no move to wipe them away. A part of you was glad you didn’t when you felt his warm hand on your cheek, gently brushing them away with his thumb. He looked at you with that familiar expression—the one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. It was a mix of tenderness and regret, a look that pierced through your defenses and made your heart ache. Despite everything, there was still a connection, a lingering trace of what once was, and it left you standing there, torn between the past and an uncertain future.

And it was goddamn working.

“I remembered it, just this morning.”

He was staring through your soul with those eyes that could melt the ice-cold walls you’d built to keep yourself safe. He was the only person you had ever known who could make you feel secure, make you feel at home. In his gaze, you saw a depth of understanding and a silent plea for forgiveness, a reflection of the love that had once bound you together so tightly. Despite the pain and the years of separation, he still had the power to unravel your defenses, leaving you vulnerable yet inexplicably comforted in his presence.

“When I called you and the line went dead, I tried again and again to get through to you. Eventually, someone answered. It was your dad. He told me you didn’t want to talk to me ever again. Then I remembered something you said to me about a letter you wrote. I… I never got it.”

The realization hit you like a freight train, surging through every vein in your body like an unstoppable force. It felt as though the tracks had suddenly given way beneath you, sending you hurtling into chaos. Yet, amidst the chaos, everything began to fall into place, like pieces of a puzzle that had eluded fitting together until this moment.

Memories flooded back—your father's abrupt phone call, the slammed receiver, the whispered conversations behind closed doors. And then, the return of your letter, marked with "return to sender." It all made sense now. The pieces of the puzzle, disjointed and scattered for so long, finally clicked into place, revealing a picture you had never dared to imagine.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over you. Part of you wanted to cry and scream, to unleash the years of pent-up anger and frustration at the injustice of it all. You had wasted so much time hating him for what he did, resenting the world for the hand it had dealt you. But on the other hand, there was a profound sense of gratitude, a realization that despite the pain and heartache, his actions had led to the greatest gift you could have ever received.

In the midst of the turmoil, there was a glimmer of light—a beacon of love and joy that had emerged from the darkest corners of your past. Your child, the embodiment of a love you had never thought possible, had brought warmth and meaning into your life in ways you could never have imagined. And in that moment, as you grappled with the complexities of your emotions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of profound gratitude for the unexpected blessings that had emerged from the depths of your pain.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did when you told me that Willow was mine. I should’ve believed you. I always believe you.” He walked closer to you, till the tips of your shoes were touching, and you could feel his breath on your skin, the smell of nicotine engulfing you. “Maybe if I told you sooner that I…” You watched him catch his breath, watched him stop speaking for a moment. You had a blooming warm feeling in your chest, hoping what he was about to say was the same as what you’d been feeling for as long as you can remember.

“Say it, please. So that I can tell you the same thing.”

You watched as a sparkle appeared behind his eyes, a joyous expression threatening to overtake his face. It made you want to grin against him too, want to smile stronger and wider than you’ve ever done before.

“Maybe if I told you sooner that I loved you, I could’ve made you stay. We could’ve raised her together. God, I love you, have loved you and will love you for my entire life. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything before now. I wish I had told you that night, the beautiful night that I have been obsessed with since you left.” His words were like poetry, music to your ears.

The fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over the empty high school hallway, the distant hum of the lights barely audible. After five long years apart, you stood facing each other near the lockers where you had shared countless memories as children yourself.

"I never stopped loving you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "Not for a single moment."

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I've always loved you."

For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, the weight of your mutual feelings hanging heavily in the air. Then, almost in unison, you took a step closer.

His other hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the last stray tear. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you savored the warmth and familiarity of his hand.

He tilted his head, closing the distance between the two of you. Your breaths mingled, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Then, your lips collided with his in a tender, lingering kiss, a kiss that spoke of years of longing and unspoken words.

It was soft at first, a gentle exploration, as if you were both afraid the moment would shatter. But then, the intensity grew, the kiss deepening as you poured all your pent-up emotions into it. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, your hands tangling in his long, thick hair.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of love and passion. The cool metal of the lockers pressed against your back as they kissed, grounding you both in the reality of the moment. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch their breath.

"I've missed you so much," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But we're together now, and I'm never letting you go again."

You smiled, your heart full, and kissed him once more, sealing the promise with a tender touch, the echoes of your love resonating through the silent hallway.

This, this was the life you deserved, the love you deserved, all along. This was what true love felt like, what it felt like to be loved. He was an intoxicating drug, and you knew that you were hooked for life.

You sat in the car together, catching him up on everything he’d missed while you were apart. Soon it felt like no time had passed at all, and that you were back to your old ways. Best friends, and now lovers.

You hadn’t realised that hours had passed until you saw the cute little bundle of joy bounding her way over in her pink light up sneakers. You saw a look on Eddies face, a beaming sight of joy.

“What is it? Are you okay?” You got a little worried, thinking maybe something was wrong.

“She… she’s wearing my old hellfire shirt. It was the first one I’d ever made. I didn’t want to waste a shirt my size, so I tried it on a child's one. Wayne, well, he must have sold it on or something.” You could now see that what that look in his eyes was. It was pride. Pride that his little girl was showing an interest in something that was uniquely his.

The grin stayed on his face even as she climbed into the car, throwing her arms around the seat to hug him, squealing his name in delight. It made your heart soar, like fireworks lighting up your whole world.

“So sweetie, how was your first day?”

“I got a boyfriend named Sam!”

You watched Eddie almost choke on his own breath, meanwhile you couldn’t help but break into a belly laugh, clutching your sides breathlessly.

“Well, guess I better meet this boy.” He turned to you, whispering gently. “Is it too much to sit on the porch with a shotgun?”

“Eddie! The kids probably five years old!”

“Hey! She’s my little girl, I gotta protect her from the big bad kindergartners of the world.”

And that was it, that was how you’d go onto spend the rest of your lives. With a beautiful sunny glow surrounding you like heavenly light.

The look of love would stay on his face forever, on your wedding day, on the day you brought a brother into the world for Willow. It was there always, and you just knew.

You knew that this was what it meant to be clean.

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And there we go! The final chapter is done after so damn long. I've been writing this fic for over a year and im so glad to finally have it be over. The amount of WIPs I've come up with since then has been enormous, but I've commited and didn't want to give up on this baby. So here it is, I hope you all enjoyed!

next up.... BRIDGERTON EDDIE

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