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starberryes · 2 years

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don't you (forget about me) | steve harrington x reader

“Oh, great, she’s here,” Steve says, stepping away from the door. "First of all, Harrington," You scoff, glaring at that mop of hair with all the rage you can muster. "I have a name. Second of all, we are talking here—” Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—" "You did not just roll your eyes at me—” Dustin sighs. "Here they go." (or: You've always thought Steve Harrington was a weirdo. When you find out you might be in terrible danger, he might be just what you need.)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader (she/her pronouns used), lots of henderson siblings bonding <3

words: 13.9k

a/n: gif by @dailysteveharrington. thank you all for being patient and i hope you all like it<3 i loved this season and i love steve so i hope you enjoy this lil enemies to lovers fic. this fic is a one shot, but let me know if you'd like a sequel once vol 2 is out bc its a bit of an open, ambiguous ending ;) also some fun facts before this fic starts: dustin's dad appears at will's funeral in s1 and there are several theories about him-- officially, he and dustin's mother are divorced in canon. i'll explore that in this fic. ST4 SPOILERS. this is set in season 4 ep 3 "the monster and the superhero" and follows vol 1 canon also sorry if this doesnt follow canon pretty well i mostly did it from memory cause the wiki still isnt fully updated 💀

disclaimer: this fic discusses the topic of an absent parent, please proceed with caution if this is hurtful to you. also warning for canon typical violence and cursing. english is not my first language so please let me know if there are any mistakes.

📼 NOW PLAYING: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Mind

Your mother had always been slightly overbearing and fearful, but the murder of Chrissy Cunnigham you think might actually kill her. Or at least will force her to lock you in your bedroom and flush the key down the toilet.

“You can’t go anywhere without telling me,” your mother tells you over breakfast, worriedly overcooking her bacon. “You hear me? I don’t want you running around town without me knowing. Or better yet, don’t go anywhere at all!”

You glare at Dustin’s chair, where your brother is munching on toast and eggs, hoping your mother takes the hint. She does, and so she shakes her head and says, “Dustin’s different.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Maybe this killer has a thing for pretty girls,” your mother shakes her head, shivering. “Chrissy Cunningham was such a nice and pretty girl, right your age.”

“You don’t know what that killer was thinking!” You groan. “Why can Dustin leave but I can’t?!”

“Dustin’s not an eighteen year old girl with an easily breakable neck.”

“He’s easier to man-handle!”

Dustin frowns, finally looking up from his breakfast. “I’m not!”

”Besides, do you even know where he was last night?” You ignore your brother’s protests, choosing to point at him as he scoffs in offense. “I bet you don’t, because he’s always sneaking out!”

“I’m not always sneaking out!”

“I try my best with you, Dusty,” she sighs, finally sitting down. “But your sister is right, you’re difficult to keep track of. You’re always running around, like those little legs have minds of their own.” She points the spoon she was using for her coffee at your face. “Don’t you throw that in my face, (Y/N).”

“Mom, you’re right,” you nod, sipping your orange juice, trying to appeal to her soft spot. “He is difficult to keep track off, and there’s a dangerous killer on the loose. How about I keep track of him? Make sure he’s not getting into any trouble, hm? I’ll make sure we’re always safe, together.”

Of course, you were planning on bolting as soon as you were out of your mom’s sight. You mom’s cat Tews meows somewhere across the room, as if he knows not to trust you. That damned furball.

“What the fuck? No!”

“Dusty! Language.”

“Mom,” Dustin says, exasperated. “I don’t need a babysitter. Much less a babysitter that’s also my annoying older sister.”

“No, you have Steve Harrington for that,” you mutter under your breath, and Dustin manages to kick you under the table. You glare at your little brother, then turn to address your mom once again. “I promise we’ll stay together. I know— no, I understand that it’s scary out there right now, but I can take care of myself. And Dustin. You have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s the murderer I don’t trust.”

“Mom—”

“Let me finish,” she stares pointedly at you, and you promptly shut up. “I don’t want you two sneaking out. But, it’ll make me feel better if the both of you are together.”

Dustin covers his face with his hands. “Shit.”

“Yes!” You squeal. You stick out your tongue at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Guess you’re stuck with me, Dusty.”

“Screw you.”

“Dusty, it’ll be fun. (Y/N), don’t taunt your little brother,” your mom scolds both of you into silence. “It’ll be like old times, won’t it? Aw, you two used to be thick as thieves back then.”

Dustin sighs, picking at his toast absent-mindedly. “Was there a murderer on the loose back then too?”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

After breakfast, you give Dustin a ride until you arrive in a neighborhood that is most definitely not Lucas Sinclair’s like he told you it would be. You turn to stare at your brother before you unlock the car’s door, confused.

“Where are we?”

Dustin looks at your shoes. “I told you. Lucas’s.”

“Okay, you might lie to me whenever you want, just not to my actual face, Dustin.” You roll your eyes, and he mirrors you. “Seriously, why did you make me come all the way down here?”

“Why do you care?”

“I know we’re doing this to get mom off our backs, but there is actually a killer on the loose,” you say. “So, excuse me if I’m also a little wary about dropping you off at unknown locations, or whatever.”

“Fine,” Dustin sighs. “I’m here to see Max and Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Harrington.”

You blink at him. “Fucking Steve Harrington?”

“See?” Dustin rolls his eyes again. “This is why I didn’t tell you! You are extremely uncool about Steve, you know.”

“I’m not!” You try not to dwell about how defensive you sound even to yourself. “I’m extremely cool about him. I’m extremely cool about the fact you hang out with that douchebag with stupid hair.”

“He’s not a douchebag! I don’t get why you hate him so much.”

Because you remember him and his friends making fun of you all throughout High School, his sneering and stupid stares. Like your brother, you’d never fit in— you never liked going to parties or drinking and you never made an effort to be liked by him and his group of popular dorks, instead you spent most of your days in the library, reading, hiding from Steve and his friends. Whatever honorable things Dustin saw in Steve Harrington you think he might have imagined them.

Now, in your last year of High School and with Steve becoming a social pariah, you don’t have to hide the fact that you still dislike Steve as much as you did back when he was still King Steve. Steve, for however much Dustin insists that he’s changed, upon first meeting you had tried to sweet talk you as if he didn’t know who you were. And you had barely kept it together enough to tell him to fuck off. Ever since then, you and Steve Harrington had hated each other’s guts. Your mutual dislike of each other is not lost on Dustin, who continues to mostly ignore it and tiptoe around it as best as he can.

“He’s not not a douchebag,” You murmur. “Why is he hanging out with two fourteen year olds during spring break? Isn’t the barf bag, like, supposed to be in college, going to frat parties, having a life of his own?”

Dustin doesn’t appreciate the way you talk about him, clearly, but he still replies, albeit unhappily. “He’s helping me with something.”

“With what?”

Before Dustin can respond, someone knocks on Dustin’s window. You jump, surprised, but it’s just Steve and Dustin’s friend redhead Max, looking bored and impatient. You groan and reach over Dustin’s seat to roll the window down.

“Do you mind?” You say to Steve. “We’re talking.”

“Oh, great, she’s here,” Steve says, stepping away from the door.

"First of all, Harrington," You scoff, glaring at that mop of hair with all the rage you can muster. You ignore Dustin’s groan. "I have a name. Second of all, we are talking here—”

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever—"

"You did not just roll your eyes at me—”

Dustin sighs. "Here they go."

“I did not roll my eyes—”

“You absolutely did!”

“There was something in my eyes.”

“That something was lies!”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve finally throws his arms up in exasperation and turns to your brother, ignoring your insults. “You done talking to your lovely sister there, Henderson? We got a counselor to see.”

“What?” You frown at Dustin, irritation immediately melting into concern. “What’s he talking about?”

“Steve, shut your mouth,” Dustin glares at Steve, who shrugs and finally steps away from the car. “Nothing, (Y/N), seriously. See you later?”

“No.” You shake your head. “What does he mean a counselor? Are you seeing Ms Kelly?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I promise. It’s—” he looks like he’s scrambling to think of an excuse, then his eyes land on Max. Something flashes across her face and she speaks next.

“It’s for me.” she says, “Chrissy died in my neighborhood.”

“She’s kind of freaking out,” Dustin says, and when you finally turn to look at Max you realize how tense she is, her shoulders square, with her lips forming a straight line.

“Oh. That sucks. Hey, Max.”

“Hey,” she greets, awkwardly. It’s part of her charm, you think.

“See?” Dustin asks. “Can I go now?”

You nod, a little shaken up for some reason. Maybe Chrissy’s murder still made you feel slightly ill, and the mention of it made you feel even worse. You couldn’t imagine what Max might be going through. It didn’t help that they had found another body this morning, either.

“Ye— yeah. Sorry. I hope everything’s alright, Max.”

“Yeah,” she nods.

Dustin nods to the door. “Can you unlock the car, then?”

You wordlessly comply, and as your little brother steps out of your mom’s blue Ford Cortina, you talk to Max once again. “Ms Kelly is great help. I’m sure she’ll make you feel better. She really helped me this year, you know, she’s a great listener.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max says. “I’ve been thinking about seeing her for a while, a—actually. I’ve heard she’s well… you know… fine, or whatever.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in that,” you shrug. “Lots of people go to see Ms Kelly… Actually, now that you mention it, Fred Benson, the guy they found this morning, was seeing Ms Kelly too. And Chrissy Cunningham.”

Dustin pauses before closing the car door. “What do you mean?”

You blink, slightly confused as to why you’d even bring it up. “I’ve seen them in Ms Kelly’s office before. I’m not sure why I’m even mentioning it, sorry.”

“No, no, (Y/N), that’s…” Dustin says, then doesn’t finish. “You’ve been seeing Ms Kelly too?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a little ashamed. You think about telling Dustin about everything that’s been going on, the nightmares, the guilt— but then you glance at his friends looking expectantly at him and cower. So you don’t continue.

It’s Steve who breaks the silence. “Henderson, chop chop, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you at home?” Dustin says, a little softer.

“Yeah, yeah. I was gonna go to Dinah’s near Ave Park, but do you think you’ll need a ride later?”

“Steve’s got his car,” he says. “Don’t wait up, okay?”

You nod, watching him leave.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

It’s around eight PM, and Dinah is painting her toenails as you skim through one of her books, the soft hum of the TV in the background, entering through the open bedroom door. Her parents are watching the news, the news anchors are urging people to stay home and to lock their doors to be safe of this new serial killer.

Dinah’s house is your usual hangout spot beside your own. You don’t have many other friends, and there’s only so many times you can force Dustin to watch The Breakfast Club before he’s fighting you for the remote.

“It was all Matty could talk about,” Dinah continues to rant. “I can’t stand this murder talk any longer! I can only hear about Chrissy Cunningham’s missing eyeballs so many times, (Y/N), it’s way too fucking gruesome, but it’s all everyone in this town seems to care about.”

“It’s a pretty pressing issue,” when Dinah glares, you shrug. “I’m just saying! You know I agree with you. I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”

“Chrissy was always so nice, wasn’t she?” Dinah shakes her head, putting her nail polish back in her nightstand, then wraps her arms around her legs, hugging herself. “And Fred had a future in front of him. It’s so unfair. They had a family that loved them.”

“Dinah, I really don’t wanna talk about it,” you say, feeling yourself shiver. You don’t want to think about poor Fred or Chrissy, or the families mourning them. You try to focus on the book in your hands, but the words start blurring together, becoming harder and harder to read.

You blink, confused, then realize Dinah is still talking.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? I think about their dads too. Chrissy’s dad was crying so much at her wake. Do you think your dad would ever cry for you like that?”

You finally snap to look back at your friend. She’s staring at you like you’re small, like an insect she could stomp on. You’ve never seen her black eyes seem so soulless, so empty.

“Maybe they’ll be tears of joy, don’t you think? After all, weren’t you the one who made him walk away?” She tilts her head to the side, a sneer forming in her lips. “They could be a family without you.”

There’s something wrong in Dinah’s eyes. There’s something wrong about all of this, but you can’t point to what, where are you, when, why…what…?

When you blink, Dinah’s eyes look normal again.

“(Y/N),” She asks, frowning. “Are you there?”

You shake your head. What the fuck was all that?

“What?”

“You were staring at me like you weren’t all here,” she explains, grimacing. “Where did you go just now?”

“Sorry…” When you speak you feel a dull ache around your temple, and you lift a hand to rest against it, trying to soothe the pain aimlessly. “I think I need some painkillers or something, my head’s killing me.”

“Again?”

“Yeah,” even before spring break you had confided in your friend about the headaches and the nightmares— you never told her why, but she at least knew you were seeing Ms Kelly.

Dinah stands up, careful not to stain the carpet with her fresh black nail polish. “I’ll ask my dad for some Tylenol. Stay here, I’ll be back in a sec.”

Before Dinah is out the door she’s interrupted by the doorbell, which rings once, twice, three times and more. Dinah frowns, as her dad yells I’m coming, Jesus!

“Someone’s impatient…” you murmur, hand still resting on your temple.

“Hey,” Dinah, who has always had great hearing, says. “I think it’s your brother.”

You frown, and when Dinah’s father confirms it’s your brother by yelling out that It’s little Henderson!, you and Dinah head downstairs to find a heavy breathing Dustin, Max, Lucas and even Steve Harrington, looking as if they just ran a marathon.

Dustin’s eyes land on you. “(Y/N)!”

“Dustin?” you say, “What are you doing here? You need a ride ho—?”

Dustin runs to hug you by the waist, almost knocking the air out of you.

“Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Is your nose bleeding? Do you feel—?”

“Woah, Dustin,” you don’t know what to do with your hands— you and Dustin hadn’t hugged since he turned twelve and he and you both deemed it lame. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Dustin finally lets go of your waist to grab you by the face and inspect it properly. He roughly pulls your face down and tries to pull up your nose to look at your nostrils. “No nosebleed yet?”

Steve tries to stop him. “Dustin, buddy—”

Lucas adds a sustancial, “Dude.”

“Dustin!” you push his hands off your face, feeling your cheeks heat up when you notice everyone looking at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your brother opens his mouth to speak, but then seems to notice Dinah behind you and seems to think better of it. “We need to talk,” he says instead, “Like, right now.”

“Right now?” You ask. “I already told Dinah’s mom I’m staying for dinner. Dustin, what the hell is going on with you?”

Dinah clears her throat. “I’m… just gonna go get that Tylenol.”

“Tylenol?” Dustin asks when she walks away. “What for?”

“I have a headache.”

“Shit,” Max says, still by the door frame with Lucas and Steve.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dustin curses, deep in thought. “It’s already started.”

“What?” You ask as Dustin starts pacing back and forth.

“We need to find out how to stop this right fucking now,” Dustin starts pacing back and forth. “Think, everyone.”

“Maybe Robin and Nancy found something in the library,” Steve offers.

“Yeah,” Lucas nods. “C’mon, man. Let’s go find them.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay, okay.” Dustin calms himself down, manages to stop his pacing. “Let’s go wait for them at the Wheeler’s. (Y/N), let’s go.”

You throw your hands up in disbelief. “Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

“(Y/N),” Dustin says, his voice unfaltering. Dustin is never serious about much, and this renders you speechless. “I need you to listen to me for once in your goddamn life, okay? We need to go. Now.”

“Okay, Jesus,” you say finally. “Dinah’s mom is making Lasagna so this better be worth it, Dustin.”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

On the way to Nancy Wheeler’s house, you learn two things: One, Dustin knows where a serial killer might be hiding, and two, your brother thinks you’re cursed and are going to die in, give or take, twenty four hours.

You glare at Steve Harrington in the rearview mirror. “What the fuck have you been giving him?”

“I’m serious!” Dustin yells. “I knew you wouldn’t fucking believe me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, because he looks genuinely frustrated, but a second dimension and a supervillain? Does your brother think you’re stupid? Just how many movies has he been watching? “I just think D&D might actually be getting to your head, Dustin. There’s no way what you just told me is real.”

“Lucas and Max know it’s real too!”

Both of them nod furiously.

“Are the other two fourteen year olds your only source?”

“Steve too!”

Steve winks at you through the rearview mirror.

“Even worse,” you say.

“Listen,” Lucas tries to reason when Dustin groans in frustration, cursing under his breath at you. “I know this sounds absolutely crazy, I wouldn’t believe it either. But I promise you it’s all true, and if we don’t do something soon about it you’ll end up like Chrissy and Fred.”

An involuntary chill runs down your spine every time you think about them.

“Guys,” you say, slowly, “I know things are scary right now, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the murders besides a demon supervillain.”

“I didn’t believe it at first either,” Max shakes her head. “Not until I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Didn’t Ms Kelly’s file say the others who were cursed were also having hallucinations?” Steve asks the kids, looking for a place to park. “So, have you gotten any weird visions lately?”

Hallucinations? You think back, but can’t seem to pinpoint anything similar to that. Except tonight at Dinah’s place, before Dustin and the rest had rung the doorbell. Suddenly you grow a little paler, uncomfortable at the memory being brought back. That had been weird, but you were exhausted and knowing a serial killer, Eddie Munson, who apparently your brother knew, was out there still was making you restless.

“I wouldn’t really call them visions,” you murmur.

“Shit,” Dustin breathes, looking at you with wide eyes. “It’s spreading faster.”

“Listen, Dustin, I may be going through some shit lately, but I promise you I’m okay. I just need some painkillers for my head, seriously.”

“(Y/N)!” Your brother takes you by the shoulders and shakes you. “Your life is in imminent danger! You don’t need painkillers!”

“I do if you keep shaking me like a ragdoll!”

“Listen,” Lucas says, grabbing Dustin and prying him off you despite his protests. “Just stay with us tonight, okay? We’ll sleep at the Wheeler’s and it’ll make Dustin feel better, right? We’re all tired.”

“Dude—”

Lucas cuts Dustin off and whispers, “We’ll wait for what Nancy and Robin have to say and then figure out how to convince her later, yeah?”

Dustin sighs. “This was so much easier when El had her powers.”

“So yeah? You’ll stay the night?” Lucas asks, hopeful.

You see all three of the kids staring at you and cave in. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” You say, at the same time Steve parks right in front of the Wheeler residence. Before you can even step out of the car another car pulls over by the garage and Nancy Wheeler and another girl you don’t know step out of it.

“Nance, Robin!” Steve exclaims as he stops the car and steps out. “Had fun at the library? I sure didn’t.”

“It went well, I think—”

“We have a situation,” Dustin is quick to interrupt, reaching over your space and popping his head out from the open window. “It’s my sister. We think Vecna cursed her.”

“Whatever that means,” you mumble, getting out of the car, Dustin trailing behind you and slamming the door shut.

“She doesn’t believe us,” Max explains.

“Well, I personally would be more weirded out if she did,” The girl you don’t know shrugs a little. You recognize her now— she worked with Steve at Scoops Ahoy last summer before the fire at Starcourt, and now works at Family Video. You’ve spoken a bit with her before.

“She’s been having visions, headaches, nosebleeds,” Dustin continues, “like Fred and Chrissy were, according to Ms Kelly’s files. I think Vecna is preying on vulnerable people, people dealing with...” he looks at you for a second, then back at the girls, settling on saying: “Some shit.”

“We found some articles about Victor Creel at the library,” Nancy says, then motions at the house with her chin. “Let’s talk inside.”

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

Nancy and Robin turn out to be as crazy as the rest of them— they tell the story of Victor Creel, infamous in Hawkins for murdering his entire family, and about how he was supposedly possesed by the devil according to some conspiracy newspaper. They want to talk to Victor, but the problem is that he’s now a patient at Pennhurst Mental Hospital and completely unreachable to the public. They plan to go first thing in the morning and the rest of the group seems to agree.

“We’ll need a disguise,” is Nancy’s big plan.

You never quite get that Tylenol, because the strongest thing Ms Wheeler has is green tea. You think everyone’s lost their goddamned minds.

“So what do you want me to do while all of you plan?” You ask, sitting on the couch. Nancy and Robin leave to Nancy’s room. Max and Lucas are by the desk in the corner speaking softly, Dustin is pacing around the room impatiently as he usually does when he’s this restless, while Steve is sitting on the couch beside you, playing with Dustin’s (or is it Mike’s?) walkie-talkie. “Am I allowed to eat something? Because I’m starving.”

Dustin snatches the walkie-talkie from Steve’s hand. “You’re gonna break that.”

Dustin’s, then.

“We don’t know yet,” Lucas says, walking over to where you are, holding Max’s hand gently. “We’re hoping the girls find out something from Victor. In the meantime…”

“You can eat,” Steve concludes. “... Right?”

“Right,” Max nods.

“We have to do something soon,” Dustin’s the most anxious you’ve ever seen him, even before you took him to see The Empire Strikes Back. “We don’t know how much time you even have once the visions and all the hallucinations start. We said twenty four hours but we can’t be sure.”

“If it helps, they started today. At Dinah’s.”

“You snapped out of it, right?” When you nod, Steve shrugs. “Henderson, I think we have time to order some pizza, at least.”

“And a movie?” You ask, finally relaxing into the couch. You toss away your shoes and hug them to your chest. “Does Mike have The Breakfast Club somewhere around here?”

“Not that movie again,” Dustin groans.

You throw a pillow at your brother, who manages to dodge it easily. “It’s a great movie!”

“It lost its charm after the thirteen time you forced me to watch it with you.”

“The Breakfast Club?” Steve asks aloud. “(Y/N) Henderson is obsessed with The Breakfast Club? Is that why Dustin is always renting it at Family Video?”

Dustin huffs, offended. “Why else would I want to rent that stupid movie?”

“Molly Ringwald,” Steve answers, at the same time you yell out, “It’s not stupid!”

When Nancy comes downstairs she informs you that sadly no, she doesn’t have The Breakfast Club, but that she should. She does have the soundtrack, however, and you think about asking to borrow it tomorrow before she goes back upstairs to order a pizza.

A while later it’s almost midnight, everyone around you is tired, except maybe for Dustin, but the majority wins and you all decide getting some sleep is the best option. You agree, but know that you’re probably not getting any sleep tonight, either; you’ve been having nightmares every night for the past few days and you don’t believe today is going to be any different.

When the lights go off and everyone is already starting to doze off, Dustin is quick to turn his flashlight on.

“Dude! Turn that off!” Steve moans, launching a pillow straight into his face. Dustin doesn’t dodge this one this time, much to Robin and Steve’s satisfaction, who chuckle lightly.

“C’mon, Dustin, what the hell?” Lucas groans.

“Shut up! I’m trying to see if I can find something else in Ms Kelly’s files!”

“Dude,” Max sighs, “you’ve read them each four times already.”

“You won’t be able to find anything if you’re exhausted,” Nancy tries more softly. “Just try to sleep for a bit, okay?”

“Dustin, c’mon,” you reach for his hand— it’s a bit uncomfortable from your position on the couch and his on the floor, but you do it anyway. That seems to soothe him slightly, to see you still offering comfort, like you’re still yourself. He manages a weak nod, and he squeezes your hand slightly before turning the flashlight off.

After a few minutes, Dustin starts snoring loudly. Steve, who you’re unfortunately stuck sharing the couch with, chuckles.

“He’s a good kid,” he says.

“Yeah,” you can’t help but agree. You wouldn’t trade your dork brother for anything. “He’s great. When he was little, he used to wet his bed all time after watching scary movies with me, and he’d wake me up to change his sheets so my dad wouldn’t yell at him for ruining them.”

“Steve raises a silent eyebrow at you, sounding amused. “And you actually did that?”

“I forced him to watch them. I felt bad,” you smile at the memory. “He would offer to wash the dishes for me, though.”

“Your moral compass is stronger than mine,” he hums.

“You know, he…” you start, unsure if Dustin would be upset if you shared this, then decide it’s not as embarrassing as telling him he used to wet his bed, and continue, “he really admires you. God knows why, Harrington, but he worships the ground you walk on.”

“Henderson?” He asks, a little in disbelief. “I don’t know—”

“I’m serious, Harrington. He loves you,” You hoped you didn’t sound jealous. There had been a time where you thought Steve was almost a replacement for you as an older sibling, but as time went on you realized how important Steve was to him.

“Well. I’m pretty loveable.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“He’s pretty loveable, too,” Steve says after a few beats of silence, more softly now. “I don’t have any siblings, did you know that? So it’s… uhm, really cool to have him around. Even if he’s kind of a little shit sometimes.”

“Such a little shit,” you agree.

The rest of the group seems to be asleep already, or maybe they don’t care about the conversation enough to join you. Steve starts telling you about the time Dustin burrowed his hair gel and almost set fire to his bathroom, and you have to cover your mouth to stifle your giggles.

It’s not long before you start to feel abnormally cold, and can’t keep your body from trembling. Steve’s gentle voice is gone. The room is dark around you, and realizing that you must’ve fallen asleep while talking with Steve at some point, you hug yourself trying to seek some warmth. You try to grab a blanket from somewhere. Jesus, it’s spring for fuck’s sake, it shouldn’t be this cold. But you realize that despite the darkness you can see, and when you look up at the ceiling, you find a grandfather clock that most definitely doesn’t belong in the Wheeler’s basement.

“(Y/N).”

The voice calling your name is unfamiliar and it makes you feel ill almost immediately, like your stomach has turned into nothing but knots. You try to speak, to ask who it is, but nothing comes out, you can barely even breathe.

“Do you think you could ever keep living with this guilt?” The voice asks, somehow you feel as if the voice is right behind you, whispering into your ear. It’s like nails scraping against chalkboard in your eardrums. “Knowing what you did to your family?”

You want to turn around and find the voice, but you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. The clock is ticking, haunting you, calling for you. You want nothing but to run away from it, but you can’t move— you’re glued in place somehow, maybe in fear, you can’t tell. Everything is uncertain, except for the clock. The clock, you know, it’s real.

It’s counting down. You know what it’s trying to tell you. It’s coming for you and you can’t escape it. It’s only a matter of time now.

“Soon, (Y/N)...” It whispers. “Soon, I’ll come for you, and no one will be able to help you, (Y/N)... (Y/N). (Y/N)!”

You open your eyes with a gasp to find Steve’s arms around your shoulders, shaking you slightly. His eyes are wide, a little frightened. When you look around you find Lucas and Max draped all over a chair, their chests rising slowly, asleep. Dustin is in a sleeping bag on the floor, near Robin and Nancy, hugging each other tightly in their sleep. Steve is the only one awake.

“Shit,” you say, placing your hand in your heart. “Did I wake you?”

“We were talking and then you just went somewhere,” he says. “You don’t remember?”

You suddenly feel very cold. “I thought I was sleeping. I saw…” You think about telling Steve, but it seems pointless now, almost. What would you tell him? You saw a clock? “I think it was one of those hallucinations you guys keep talking about. You’re really freaking me the hell out, you know.”

“Fuck, I think Dustin’s right,” he says.

“About me being cursed by a being from another dimension? Are you kidding?”

Steve does manage to look apologetic. “I know it sounds bonkers, but that’s because it is. I’ve seen it.”

“What? This other dimension?” You were starting to think Dustin and his nanny were just trying to play an extremely elaborate joke on you.

“The Upside Down, but no,” he shakes his head, and then his eyes land somewhere around the room, focusing on one of Mike’s many posters. “The monsters.”

“Vecna?”

“Others,” he says, then murmurs, “Haven’t had the pleasure just yet.”

“The demoger…? What was it?”

“Demogorgon, yeah,” he grumbles. “The Mind flayer too. It’s all real. I wish Will and Eleven were here to actually explain this stuff; they are the ones who actually know their stuff about this.”

You have never seen Steve actually sound so… serious, before. It’s all actually starting to freak you out, you decide, and you aren’t sure if you actually want to find out if it’s all actually real or not. You stay silent for a few moments, sleep escaping you. You figure Steve’s fallen asleep until his voice startles you again.

“You okay there, Henderson?”

No, you want to say. You can’t shake the feeling that the voice is watching you, waiting to catch you by surprise. “Yeah,” you mumble, sleepless, scared.

Steve doesn’t seem to buy your answer however, because you feel his body shifting near your side of the couch, sitting right beside you. When you give him a look (he’s so close he can actually make it out) he clicks his tongue.

“See, I don’t really believe you, Henderson. So, I’m gonna stay near you, just in case you get another vision. Or if you want to hold my hand.”

“Screw you, Steve,” You glare, turning to the other side so that your view is Harrington-less. If you do feel better with him beside you, that’s between you and maybe Vecna, if he’s actually inside your head.

In the morning, when you wake up and Nancy and Robin are both gone (probably visiting a murderer in a mental hospital) and Steve is tangled up beside you, you decide you’ve had enough.

“So we’re just gonna wait around to see what happens?” Dustin argues, as Lucas and Max try to reason with him.

“What else can we do?” Lucas asks, frustrated.

“Literally anything else, dude! My sister might die!”

“Okay, Dustin, you need to stop and we need to go home, now,” you tell him, looking around the basement for your jacket.

“No!” he points at you. “You’re not going anywhere until we know what to do.”

“Dustin. I’m four years older than you,” you glare, placing your hands on your hips. “I’m the older sibling. I’ve entertained this enough already, but I left mom’s car at Dinah’s and we need to go get it and then get our asses home before mom loses her shit.”

“(Y/N)! Listen to me!”

“No, Dustin!” You finally snap, taking Dustin’s walkie-talkie from his hand and shoving it into your bag despite his protests. “I’ve had enough about monsters and other dimensions and whatever other nonsense Eddie Munson has been feeding you! We’re going home, now!”

“I can’t believe I’m actually trying to help you!” Dustin screams, “You suck!”

“Well, you’re stuck with me!”

“I wish I wasn’t,” he says, his eyes cold. “I wish you weren’t my sister.”

The chills return like a slap across your face, making you stumble backwards slightly. The room around you turns dark immediately, the only person left is Dustin in front of you. But it’s not him, it can’t be, his eyes have never looked this lifeless.

“You took his chance away, didn’t you?” The unfamiliar, bone chilling voice returns. “His chance of having a real family, or at least a father figure. He’s right in wishing you weren’t his sister. He deserves someone better.”

Again you want to scream, but it’s like your mouth is taped shut. Around you Mike Wheeler’s basement seems to fade away into blue, and suddenly you’re standing on your front porch, watching your dad walk away. You’re saying the hardness around your eyes, your lips drawn into a tight line. You don’t look like yourself; you look older, and tired, and disappointed, more like a woman than the girl you were when this happened, the girl you must’ve been.

“Don’t come back again,” you tell your father’s retreating form. But your voice is distorted, so far away.

“How many times has Dustin needed his father?” The voice asks. When you blink you’re somewhere else; not Mike’s basement, not your home. There’s splinters of wood scattered by your feet, like a house just destroyed. Everywhere around you is red, like blood, like the blood in those horror movies you forced Dustin to watch because he made them less scary when he squealed. “Are you proud you broke up your family?”

“I was a kid,” you manage to say, and only now you realize you’ve been crying all along, the salty tears wetting your dry lips. “I didn’t want Dustin to know what he did. I would take it back if I knew he wouldn’t actually come back.”

“But you did it anyway. You did.”

I did, I did, I did, you think, over and over. You close your eyes, hard, ignoring how it almost hurts.

“You miss him too, don’t you? Despite everything. You’re sadder about the fact that he left you, too. He left his daughter behind.”

“Who are you?” You hiss out, through your anguish.

“I’m part of you, (Y/N). Whether you want to or not.”

You’re not alone. When you open your eyes you see him — a monster, vicious even in looks, like someone slowly peeled away his skin, and all that was left of him was muscle and meat, not even blood. Vecna. Around you there are two different bloody columns, and you’re quick to notice they’re holding Chrissy and Fred’s bodies, like morbid museum displays, tokens. He was right, Dustin was telling the truth about everything, and now you were going to die because you didn’t listen to him.

“No,” you want to say, you want to scream. But you’re not strong enough, you can’t—

Hey, hey, hey, hey

You blink through your tears. You manage to recognize that melody in this unfamiliar place. You want to run towards it, but you’re not sure your legs can even respond to your commands right now.

Vecna seems to think something’s wrong, too, because as the song progresses he grows more impatient. “You think you can escape like this?”

Tell me your troubles and doubts

Giving everything inside and out and

Love's strange, so real in the dark

Think of the tender things that we were working on

His hands— his claws are stroking your cheeks, an aborted tender gesture, like he’s trying to soothe his prey before going for the kill. It’s over, you think, there’s nothing but this certain death. But then; you think of the hundreds of times you forced Dustin to watch this movie with you; of you both playing with Tews until he scratches one of you in annoyance; driving Mike, Lucas, Dustin and Will to the movies; getting ice cream at Scoops Ahoy and guggling when Steve gets rejected once again; putting Dustin’s hair in braids and practicong makeup on him when he was younger; asking Will Byers what he was sketching at the park; Dustin and you laughing during dinner because of some stupid joke. You think about last night, sleeping beside Steve, and the way he made you laugh.

Don't you, forget about me

Don't, don't, don't, don't

Don't you, forget about me

You can’t give up. You can’t leave Dustin.

Somehow you manage to pull Vecna off you with a shove, and you run. You run, you run as fast as your legs let you, as your jeans stain with what looks like blood, as Vecna screams at you. You run like you've never run before.

And then you gasp and you’re falling.

“Shit, fuck, shit!” Someone’s arms are around you, and it takes you a second to calm down to realize it’s Steve, and that you’re in Mike Wheeler’s basement and you’re alive, somehow.

“Holy fucking shit,” Max is saying, but you can barely hear her over the rapid beating of your own heart— erratic, but unquestionably alive.

“God, god, (Y/N),” Dustin’s voice stands out from the others, and when you look at him there are tears streaming down his eyes, and you can barely process anything before you’re trying to reach for him despite feeling like you’re not even in your own body.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, Steve letting go of yours. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“I thought you were gonna die,” he whimpers.

“I’m here,” you breathe out. “Oh my God, I’m here thanks to you.”

You realize that the song is still playing, only to notice the headphones in your ears. You see your scattered bag around the room, and the walkie-talkie that Dustin must’ve been looking for already on the floor. Don’t You (Forget About Me) slowly fades to an end before the next song on the soundtrack starts.

“I’m sorry,” Dustin says into your shirt. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were going through something, I should’ve noticed. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” You shake your head, holding your little brother even closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Fuck, Dustin, I’m so sorry.”

You stay like that for a moment, hugging Dustin on the carpet, Max and Lucas hovering near, and Steve’s hand on your shoulder, grounding you.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

When you explain to Nancy what happened and what you saw once she comes back from Pennhurst she’s quick to pinpoint the house you saw when you met Vecna as Victor Creel’s house. All of you grab your things and head to that location. You try to not feel so dreadful, and Dustin forcing you to listen to Don’t You the entire car ride and holding onto your jacket sleeve helps soothe your nerves, at least a little bit.

But Victor Creel’s house is something out of a horror story, dark and abandoned as it is, and the only light source in the house seems to be the hole Robin made when she smashed the window.

“Let’s split up,” Nancy offers, and everyone seems to comply much to your dismay.

Lucas and Max leave to investigate with Dustin (reluctantly parting from your side) trailing off behind them, Nancy and Robin head upstairs and you and Steve are stuck together and instructed to stay downstairs by Nancy, the only thing illuminating your way being your flashlights.

You wander through hallways, staring at ruined wallpaper and dusty portraits. Victor and his family seemed so happy in their pictures, and you wonder why nobody, family or not, ever came to look for their things. The house seemed frozen in time, like one day the family had decided to get up and leave everything behind, the house nothing more than ghosts.

“I hate this place,” you comment, trying to hug yourself tightly to keep the cold at bay. “Thinking that people died here is…”

“Horrible,” Steve finishes for you. “Yeah… Fuck this place, man.”

When you turn to a corner, you freeze in place.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re seeing this, right?” You point at a clock with your flashlight, unmoving. It’s the same clock from your visions, the one you saw before meeting Vecna.

“Yeah,” Steve frowns. “Real old. Why?”

“I saw it,” you try to explain through the rapid beating of your own heart. “In my visions, I mean. This clock was in them— well, the second one, mostly. In the Wheeler’s basement last night.”

“Shit…” Eloquent as ever, Steve Harrington. “Has to mean something, right?”

“If anything it proves Nancy and Robin were right. It all started here.” You finally force yourself to look away and continue forward, ignoring the way you feel your skin crawling. You hold up your cassette before re-starting the song. “What would happen if I suddenly got tired of this song? Will it no longer work? Does this mean Vecna will… come back for me?”

“Listen, I— I’m not a genius at this like your brother, or like Nancy, or even Robin,” Steve admits, very honestly. “But I promise we’ll find a way, even if that happens. Besides, Dustin told us how much you love this song. Seems kinda impossible you’ll ever get tired of it if you listen to it every day. And listen, I gotta ask. Breakfast club?”

“What?” You feel heat rise up to your cheeks, embarrassed. You start walking away from the clock, trying to get rid of the chills that had gotten ahold of you just a few moments before. “It’s a great movie.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Steve says, and even though you can’t really see him in the dark, you can hear his smirk, picture his smile. He’s teasing, and you’re kind of glad for it. It helps. “I just didn’t think it would be your thing, is all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s my thing then?”

“I don’t know. You seem like a Dune fan, maybe.” He wonders out loud, your flashlight lighting the way.

“I do like the book.”

“See?” Steve points at his temple. “I knew it.”

“I think working at Family Video is finally getting to you.”

“I’m good at reading people,” he says, and you raise another silent eyebrow at him. He continues, “I’d always thought of you as a little brainiac, and that you’d liked movies that were kinda difficult. You were always reading in school. I didn’t think you’d like teen flicks and Hughes.”

“Dune is not difficult. And maybe you don’t really know me enough to know what my thing is,” you shrug. “... Or maybe every girl is a little bit in love with Judd Nelson.”

“Yeah,” Steve actually laughs. “Can’t beat that hair.”

And you can’t help yourself, you smirk. You think you might actually be dreaming, or maybe this curse made Steve seem more tolerable than usual. “You give him a good run for his money.”

“We’re still talking about hair here, right?”

Now you point your flashlight at Steve and elbow him.

“I’m just asking!”

“It was a stupid question. And just so you know, there’s nothing wrong about liking teen flicks,” you say, continuing to walk and not waiting to see if Steve follows. “Pretty in Pink is my new favorite movie and my GPA is still 3.5.”

“Oh wow. Pretty in Pink?” He whistles. “You have a soft spot for Molly Ringwald.”

“Who doesn’t?”

He hums in response.

You stay like that for a moment, walking through dusty hallways and trying to avoid spider webs. Even with the flashlights the place looks abandoned and lonely, and there’s a coldness running down your spine that you can’t shake off no matter how much you try. You focus on trying to catch the sound of Steve’s breathing to somehow ground yourself to reality. It feels like ever since meeting Vecna your grip on reality slowly fades away, like someone is unraveling the carpet from underneath you, trying to catch you by surprise. Like you’re falling into an abyss of darkness and you can’t hold onto anything— because nothing around you is truly real. And so you bite your lip to keep yourself from reaching out to Steve and holding on. You can’t think of a moment you’ve felt as uncertain as you do now; but Steve’s teasing and your bickering back and forth is normal, makes you feel like you’re not actually in immediate danger. You figure if there’s a different dimension called the Upside Down, then you can most definitely forgive Steve Harrington for being a jerk in High School. He has more than proven himself to you.

Because the truth is that maybe Vecna will win. Maybe you will never beat this curse. And you’ll end up like Chrissy Cunningham, like Fred Benson, like Patrick McKinney; just dead bodies along the trail.

“Hey, Steve,” you call, slowing down to walk beside him. He turns to look at you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Uhm. If something… like, happened to me—”

“Woah, woah, wait,” Steve shakes his head. “Nothing will. We beat the curse, remember? With the song?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t actually beat it, did we?” Now you do turn to look at him, and his big eyes almost render you speechless. You don’t know what to call the look on his eyes, but it makes you want to look away from him; makes you want to run. “Listen, Steve, I just— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says, quickly. You think he’s noticed how embarrassed you feel, and you look away, embarrassed. “You’re just scared shitless like the rest of us.”

“It’s not that,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk around you and picking fights with you. You’ve— you’ve been there for Dustin when I wasn’t, and I guess you’re not actually a bad guy. So… I’m sorry I judged you. And thank you, I guess. For being there for Dustin. And… me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a second. You’re still looking anywhere but him, now focusing your eyes on a spider in one of the many spider webs in front of you. You feel embarrassed and stupid, but a little bit better. You know you’re doing the right thing by apologizing— you know Steve now, better than you’ve ever thought you would. You finally dare to take one look at him and his eyes are still on you, and when your eyes lock, he smiles softly.

“You’re apologizing for that?” Steve asks, and when you nod matter of factly, he tilts his head to the side. “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day Henderson’s sister apologized to me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Harrington,” you roll your eyes, but can’t help the small smile forming on your lips. “I’m only doing this because I might die.”

Steve chuckles, nodding. “Fair enough,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too, Henderson. To be honest, I think I kind of deserved it. I was an asshole in High School, so… yeah. I, uh, I’m sorry it took me getting kicked off the clique to realize you’re not half bad.”

“Well,” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “It took me almost dying to realize you’re not half bad either. I think we’re even.”

Steve stops in his tracks, making you stop, too, a little confused. You turn to look at him, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look quite so… earnest, maybe. You can’t name the look on his face, but you can’t look away, can’t seem to be able to keep walking. You’re frozen in place.

“You’re not gonna die, Henderson,” he says, determined. “I won’t let you.”

Your mouth goes dry. All you can do in response is nod. You want to say something, but the words escape you, and so you stare at each other for a few seconds, neither of you saying anything. You wonder if Steve can hear the rapid beating of your heart, if he can make out the way your eyes drop to his lips for a slow second despite the darkness around you both.

Then you hear Dustin yell out, “Guys!” and the moment fades away.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

Finding Eddie at Skull Rock seems to be harder than it should be, and once you find him you’re made to follow Dustin’s apparently broken compass. You feel like you’re wandering through the desert, with no clear path in mind. Dustin is at the front, with Lucas and Max following closely behind, Eddie (who you now have a hard time believing would ever be able to kill anyone), Robin and Nancy in front of you and Steve.

You find yourself time and time again choosing to spend more time with Steve, that he seems to be the one able to actually make you feel grounded, like you’re not gonna die in the next three seconds. You feel like yourself around him; but different. Steve is different. This whole experience is making you rethink everything you’ve ever known.

You can’t help but wonder in the silence about Dustin and the others, guiding the rest of you through the night time in the forest. Despite all of them being younger than you, they don’t seem to need your help, especially Dustin, who you think is completely in his element leading the way.

After a while of walking in silence, Dustin announces that the compass seems to be going even crazier. At this, Robin pries it off his hands to confirm that it’s true. Eddie and Dustin argue for a second about following the compass and make another Lord of the Rings reference that has you smiling.

“He’s not half bad,” you comment. “Eddie, I mean.”

“I still don’t know what the hell Modor is,” Steve mumbles under his breath.

You don’t try to explain Lord of The Rings to him— you don’t think there’s even enough time. But, maybe one day, when Hawkins isn’t in imminent danger and Steve still wants to hang out with your uncool self for whatever reason.

“What do you think we’ll find wherever this stupid compass is taking us?” You ask him, trying to avoid accidentally stepping on some poison ivy. Just your luck to get cursed and also poisoned on the same week. “You know more about this than me.”

“I’m actually more like, the, uhm, action guy of the group.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t know where we’re going,” You conclude.

Steve nods. “No damn clue, Henderson.”

“Great,” you chuckle lightly.

“All I know is that it’s probably a portal Vecna opened after killing someone.”

“A portal. To the upside down?” When Steve nods in confirmation, you sigh. “I still can’t get used to how crazy this is.”

“The third time you do this you kind of just start going with the flow of things,” Steve admits. “Russian spies, MK-Ultra, different dimensions, monsters— it all just kind of starts to sound like background noise.”

“Dustin and the kids seem to really know about all of this.”

“They do,” Steve nods. “Dustin is like, their leader. Our leader, I guess.”

“My little brother… fighting communists and monsters.” You shake your head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. How did Nancy? With you and Mike?”

Steve stops for a second to frown at you. “With me?”

“You know, with Nancy and you dating.”

“Me and Nancy?” he asks, then shakes his head. “No, me and Nance just… we go way back, but she’s with Jonathan. That ship sailed a long time ago. We’re friends now. Besides, she’s the one killing more monsters than me.”

“Oh.”

There’s no way to ignore the way your heart skips a beat at this, or the hopeful glint in Steve’s eyes. The rest of the woods disappear and it’s only you and Steve and your rapidly beating heart. The others are lost to you, in their own little world, searching in the dark with their flashlights like fireflies.

“Yeah,” Steve scratches the back of his neck. “And, just in case, me and Robin are not a thing, either. Just friends.”

“Platonic with a capital P!” You hear Robin yell out in front of you.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you at Steve’s blush. “Yeah, yeah, think she got it, Buckley, thanks.”

“You’re welcome!”

“That’s… good to know,” you comment.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, then scratches his chin. “Is it? Good to know?”

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe.”

“Maybe. Okay. Maybe is—” he breathes out. “Maybe is cool.”

“Maybe is really cool,” you allow yourself a small smile.

“Really?” Steve inquires, and when he notices his smile he gifts you one of his own. “Okay. That’s great. Maybe is really cool. Cool. Cool beans.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, finally daring to look at him.

Steve follows your movement with his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, breathless.

“Hey guys,” Dustin’s voice rings out, the moment gone. “I think we found the portal!”

You both follow Dustin’s voice until you reach a lake, where Eddie explains Vecna killed Patrick when he was running away from Jason and the rest of the basketball team.

“So the portal is… what?” Robin asks, “Underwater?”

Dustin shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

He starts climbing up the boat, and you’re quick to grab him by the sleeves of his shirt to stop him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” You ask him.

“Looking for the portal,” Dustin says, matter-of-factly.

“You told me this portal is supposed to teleport you to another dimension, one Will Byers got stuck in,” you reply, pulling him away from the boat. “You’re not going anywhere near that portal. None of you kids are.”

“Who died and made you the boss?”

“Three people died,” you note.

“I made her the boss,” Robin quips. “Well, Nancy might technically be the boss, actually. Nance?”

Nancy blinks at Robin’s words. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Nance says yes.”

Eddie frowns. “Yes to being the boss or yes to—”

“Let’s just go,” Nancy urges, gesturing at Steve to help her drag the boat offshore. Steve complies, and helps Nancy climb into the boat, followed by Robin and then Eddie.

“But what about the curse?” Dustin wonders, looking at you.

“I have this, remember?” You hold up the cassette player, and wink at your brother. “Don’t worry about me, okay? Look after Lucas and Max. Nancy might be the boss, but you’re their leader.”

“Okay, yeah,” he nods, sounding more like he’s talking to reassure himself than anything.

“Compass, please,” you tell him, and Dustin complies unhappily. You can’t help yourself from grabbing him by the cheeks and kissing his forehead like you did when he was younger. Despite being a good leader, a fighter, he’ll always be little Dusty, who steals your waffles and makes really bad coffee. “See you soon.”

Steve offers his hand to help you climb the boat and you take it with a tiny smile.

The trip on the boat is short and dark. Even with Steve using his flashlight to try and light the way, it’s barely enough to keep you from being engulfed in the darkness of the night. When was the last time the moon shone down in Hawkins? There are almost no stars above, the view chillingly dark. You fear what you might find. Nancy stares at Dustin’s compass, trying to give any semblance of direction when the compass starts going crazy.

Steve starts pulling off his socks.

“Steve,” Nancy says slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Somebody’s gotta go down there and check this thing out. Was one of you four Hawkin’s High’s swimming co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years?” He figures, already working on his other shoe. “It’s gotta be me, no complaints, alright?”

Eddie chuckles nervously. “Hey… I’m not complaining. I do not wanna go down there.”

You watch as Eddie takes something off his pocket and throws it on the boat’s floor. You want to stop Steve somehow, irrationally, because as far as you know Nancy, Robin and Eddie can’t dive, and you can barely float — but the words die on your throat when you look up and Steve is peeling off his shirt.

“Here,” Eddie says, and you realize now he had wrapped a plastic bag around a flashlight and is now handing it back to Steve. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, taking it from his hands.

“Steve,” Robin rasps out before he dives, and Steve stops to look at her. “Don’t… die?”

“Gee,” he scoffs. “Thanks for the encouraging speech, Robs.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Don’t die, seriously,” you manage to tell him, wanting to reach for his hand but stopping yourself. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Steve nods. He looks like he wants to say something else, but keeps his mouth shut before diving underwater.

The silence on the boat almost kills you, as it rocks quietly, everyone holds their breath waiting for Steve to come up once again. Your heart is in your throat, Don’t You still playing softly in your eardrums, the cassette player still on, a constant to remind you you’re still here. Miraculously.

“He’s…” Eddie whistles. “He’s got balls, King Steve.”

“Yeah,” you nod, looking at the water like you’re hypnotized, waiting for his soaked head to pop up.

“Not what you’d expect,” he adds, a little quietly.

“No,” Robin says, and the way she says it— so fond, so genuine. You couldn’t agree more. Steve is so much more than what you’d expected him to be. “Not at all.”

You stay silent for a few more seconds, all of you waiting for Steve to come back. When he does he emerges with a gasp for air, startling the rest of you. Eddie screams so loud you hear it perfectly well over the music.

“Found it,” Steve claims, holding onto the edge of the boat.

“You found it?” Nancy repeats.

“It was pretty wild,” Steve explains that he seemed to have stumbled into the portal, like an open gate illuminating the bottom of the lake and tinting it red. “It was pretty damn big—”

Before he can continue, Steve is pulled into the water once again, and you jump up instinctively, trying to reach for his hand, but he escapes your grasp quickly. He emerges again and you breathe a sigh of relief— but it’s short lived, because Steve is dragged under once again and he’s not coming up.

“Steve!” you yell. “Steve!”

“What the hell was that, man?!”

Between all the screaming going on, the only thing you can think about is Steve, Steve, Steve—

And so you stand up.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Nancy starts, “What are you—”

“You’re not going in there!” Eddie screams, trying to grab you by the arm.

“I—” You start, but can’t seem to decide on what to say. You don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you know you’ll do it anyway. You have no plan, that much is certain, you’ve never fought a day in your life. “I can’t just stay here!”

“Are you insane?!”

Robin pales. “No, (Y/N), wait—”

With one last look at the rest of the guys, you dive into the water and swim. You’ve never been a good swimmer, but you find yourself swimming like you’ve never had, quickly finding the red portal Steve had mentioned before being dragged down here. What you find on the other side reminds you of when you met Vecna— when he showed you your memories, cold, distorted and dark. You briefly wonder if Vecna had managed to drag you all the way here then, but you have no time to dwell on it too much.

Steve is laying on his back, as some creatures bite at his abdomen incessantly, like leeches. They are choking him, curling their tails around his neck. You stand up and run towards him, only to notice the others have followed behind you, their wet footsteps a reassurance.

“(Y/N)!” Nancy yells, making you turn. She throws one of the boat’s paddles at you, keeping one for herself.

You manage to catch it, God knows how. Steve is still struggling when you get to him, and the first thing you do is smack one of the things across the face, forcing it on its back and stopping it from further gnawing Steve’s abdomen. You see as Robin starts stomping on the one who has its tail curled around Steve’s neck, and Nancy takes on the other one.

“Shit,” Eddie murmurs when he looks up the sky and sees even more of them approaching.

One of them starts going after Nancy, Eddie trying to come to her rescue by grabbing Steve’s still working flashlight and smacking it as hard as he can manage. You help Robin by hitting the one she’s stomping on with the paddle, until Steve manages to bite its tail, forcing it to curl itself from his neck.

With more coming, you are distracted enough to barely notice when Steve manages to behead it, his lips stained with pitch black blood.

“Jesus christ,” Eddie mumbles. “Jesus H Christ!”

The adrenaline pumping through your veins, your heartbeat going faster— everything seems to go for so long, when in reality it must’ve been just a few minutes.

“Steve,” you manage to rasp out, walking towards him, only looking at his wounds, unsure of what you can do to help him. “Shit, Steve, are you okay?”

“They only took about a pound of flesh,” he says, making you sigh. “But other than that… Yeah, never better.”

He stares at you when he says it, and you can’t help the way your breath catches.

“You’ll need bandages,” Nancy notes.

“Do you guys know if these bats have like, rabbies?” Robin wonders aloud. Aware that everyone’s eyes are on her, Robin starts rambling about rabies symptoms and death. You and Steve glance at each other.

Steve’s chest is still rising erratically, exhausted, when he asks, “What the hell are you talking about, Robin?”

Before Robin can go on any longer though, the sky is tinted red again, and the screeching of even more approaching creatures gets you on edge.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” you say, and the rest of the group seem to agree.

The five of you break into a run into the forest, as far as you can before Steve’s wounds start to appear more serious, and when Nancy deems it safe enough, you stop near a tree where Steve can lean against, still breathing rapidly. You remember that Nancy said he’d need bandages, and so you take the hem of your pants and start ripping them open.

“What are you—” Steve starts.

“Bandages,” you say. “I saw this in Indiana Jones.”

“Indiana Jones?” Steve asks with a chuckle, looking up at the sky, smiling. “Your movie choices keep surprising me, Henderson.”

You tie the cloth around his wounds as tightly as you can, hopeful that it’s a good enough job to keep him from bleeding out until you guys get out of here. The wounds don’t look too bad, but you have no idea how long you'll stay here for. Nancy, looking over your shoulders, seems to approve of your bandage work.

“Thanks,” Steve rasps out.

“Just don’t die on me,” you nod, staring at his eyes.

“I’ll try not to.”

He holds your gaze, your mouth going even more dry than it already is. “I’ll hold you to that, Harrington.”

You’re interrupted when Steve catches something behind you. It’s Eddie’s jean vest. When you turn, Eddie scrunches up his nose.

“For modesty, man.”

“We escaped now, but there’s more of those monsters than what we saw,” Nancy interrupts, walking around, trying to think. “They’ll come looking for us. We need to get out of here.”

“So,” Eddie starts, running a hand through his mouth. “What the hell do we do now? How do we get out of here, exactly?”

“We need to find another portal, right?” Robin replies. “That’s the only way to get out of here. But we can’t go back to Watergate, it’s probably full of those bats now. Those bats full of rabies!”

“Right now, the most important thing is to defend ourselves,” Nancy says. “We don’t know what kind of monsters are down here. Maybe they’re even worse than that.”

“Hell,” Eddie breathes. “You think Vecna is here?”

“I don’t know… Maybe.”

A chill runs down your spine at the mention of Vecna’s name. Your hand flies to your ear, and only then you realize you’ve jumped in the water with your headphones on, and when you reach the player secured inside your front pocket it’s wet and broken. Through the adrenaline of the fight, you hadn’t even noticed that the song was no longer playing.

“Shit,” Nancy breathes out, looking at your ruined headphones. “The player.”

“It’s ruined,” you lament, seeing the way it’s soaked. You toss the cassette player to the ground, near Steve’s feet, who pales even more, if it’s even possible.

“Fuck,” he says, breathless, the slight reassuring smile he’d been wearing disappears in an instant. He stands up straight despite his body clearly protesting against it. “We need to find another one before it’s too late.”

“Would it even work here?” Robin wonders. “If it’s one from the Upside Down, I mean. Things seem to be… kind of broken here, don’t they?”

“Then we need to get her out of here right now,” Steve urges, and when he starts trying to walk away it’s Eddie who stops him.

“Dude, do you want your intestines to hang out of your abdomen like some shitty Nightmare on Elm Street scene?” he asks, “Stay still! Those bats could be anywhere!”

“We need to move!”

“Steve, wait a second,” you urge after him.

“We could go to my house,” Nancy offers. “I have guns. We could use them to fend off the demo… bats, or whatever. And we need a player. We can use Mike’s, he has one he didn’t take to California.”

Eddie blinks. “You, Nancy Wheeler… have guns.”

Robin grins. “Full of surprises, isn’t she?”

Steve is already on his way despite his groans of pain, and even though the wounds had seemed pretty superficial to you when you wrapped them up, it doesn’t mean that they don’t hurt like a bitch.

“Steve, you’re just hurting yourself even more now,” Now Robin is sighing, exasperated. You briefly wonder how many times she’s had to deal with Steve like this.

“Let’s go,” he says, ignoring her.

“Steve...” you try to stop him, but he turns around quickly.

“Let’s go!”

Robin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Where are we even going, oh great leader?”

“Nancy’s!”

You all turn to look at each other, unsure if following Steve is the best idea, but with nothing else to do and no other ideas, there’s only one thing to do.

And so you all start walking.

📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼📼

It’s a while before you arrive at the Wheeler’s, the five of you mostly exhausted from the fight, with Steve clutching his wounds but still leading the way, right next to Nancy. You’re all on edge the entire way back, but despite the lack of music you don’t feel different yet, and you don’t encounter any more demobats, as Nancy had called them.

Nancy’s house seems haunted in this place, just as much as the rest of Hawkins seems to be. Despite housing monsters, the Upside Down looks more like a ghost town than anything. You couldn’t help but wonder how tiny Will Byers had ever survived something like this so young… Nobody ever gives that kid enough credit.

Nancy wastes no time climbing up the stairs; she almost seems unaffected looking at her house like this, so… dead. She hovers near a door and turns to look at you.

“This is Mike’s room,” she nods at it. “His cassette player should be in there. Me, Eddie and Robin will get the guns and look for the cassette in my room.”

You agree to it, and she disappears down the hallway along with Eddie and Robin. You and Steve enter Mike’s room, start rummaging through cabinets. You work in silence. You’ve never seen Steve this quiet, this focused. You wonder if he’s mad at you— he had to be. Now besides demobats and trying to escape, he had to help you too because you’d went and done something stupid and completely irrational.

Steve clears his throat, holding up something in his hand. “Found it,” he calls. “Think it’ll work?” He wonders aloud, as you close the closet door before walking up to him.

“Here,” You say, then pull your ruined flashlight from your back pocket. You hit the back of it against the palm of your hand and the batteries come off. You’re not sure if this might work since the flashlight got wet and stopped working once you jumped into the water, but once you plug them into the cassette player it seems to come to life. Steve sighs, relieved. “Thank God that worked. Let’s get that stupid cassette and get out of here.”

“Sounds good to me,” he quips. He wets his lips, looking around. “You don’t feel any different, though, right?” When you shake your head, he seems to be able to relax a bit. “When we were on our way here, Eddie told me you didn’t waste a second to help me.”

You wait for Steve to continue, but he doesn’t.

“I’ve never been much of an adventurer when we were kids,” you say. “Dustin wanted to climb trees and go camping, and I wanted to stay home and read books. We used to fight all the time because I never wanted to play outside with him, because I was scared of bugs and dirt and I just wanted to stay inside.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, but he’s near you, hoving near your hand, like he knows you need the comfort, unsure if it’d be wanted from him.

“If I don’t make it out of this stupid curse, Steve,” you breathe out, legs feeling so shaky you want to throw up, “I need you to promise me you’ll take care of Dustin.”

“He’ll kill me before I let you die,” Steve says, trying t sound lighthearted but failing.

“Steve,” you rag out. “Promise me. Please.”

Steve nods, his voice soft in the way it does when he’s trying to be gentle. “Y—yeah. Of course. You know little Henderson’s like my own little brother.”

“I know,” you acknowledge. “You’ve been a way better sibling than me. I’ve been such a shitty sister and I’m… I’m really glad Dustin has you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues, reaching for your arm in the darkness of the room— you want to flinch away. “He loves you, (Y/N). Seriously, you should hear the way he talks about you when you’re not around.”

You ignore the sting in your eyes and berate yourself for tearing up.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper.

“What?”

“It’s my fault my dad walked away,” you shake your head, tearing your arm away from Steve’s touch, feeling cold as soon as you’re away from him. But you deserve it, you deserve the cold. “I told him I hated him after I learned he cheated on mom and that he had another family, and he never came back. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I’m the reason Dustin doesn’t have a dad now. But— but I was just fifteen, I didn’t— I didn’t know what I was asking—”

“Stop, stop,” Steve interrupts, and suddenly he’s pulling you close to your chest and holding you close.

And suddenly that’s all you need to break down, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. You feel embarrased, stupid for crying about something like this when the world might be about to end, horrifyingly guilty for everything— but for the first time you feel like something has been finally lifted off your chest and you can breathe, here, with Steve holding you. You’re glad Steve stayed behind with you. In truth, you think you might just be glad for Steve.

If someone had told you a week ago you’d be crying in Steve Harrington’s arms you would’ve smacked them. Life can change really fast, huh?

“Nobody is going to die,” his voice is so soft. You’d never thought you’d think of Steve’s voice as anything other than grating, but now you hold onto it like a lifeline. “I won’t let that happen.”

You breathe into his chest. You finally manage to let go of him, thanking God the others weren’t near. You miss the warmth almost immediately, as much as you don’t want to admit it. “Shit, sorry, your bandages.”

“You need to stop doing that,” he quips.

“What?”

“Apologizing so much,” he reaches for your arm again before walking, and you thank him silently. You have to bite your tongue not to apologize again. “Let’s go get that cassette.”

When you both step into Nancy’s room, the silence is almost deafening.

“What happened?”

“The guns,” Nancy explains, her eyes focused on her nightstand, not looking up at either of you. “They aren’t here. But so many things that shouldn’t be are. Like— like my curtains, and these— these toys I gifted my cousin Joanna. They haven’t been here since 1983.”

“We’re stuck in time, dude,” Eddie finishes for her.

“Three years, to be exact.”

“What?” Steve asks, confused. “Three years into the past?”

“... From when Will disappeared, you mean?” You question.

Nancy nods. “Yeah, I… think so. But, (Y/N), If we’re three years in the past, it means The Breakfast Club isn’t out yet,” Nancy swallows, hard, then finally looks up to stare into your eyes.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, his chest rising erratically.

You bite your lip. “She means the song doesn’t exist, either.”

Nancy closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

“Fuck!” Steve yells, “fuck!”

He kicks one of Nancy’s nightstands with so much force he manages to force it into the ground, Nancy’s belongings following suit, scattering around the carpet, making Nancy flinch.

“Steve,” you whisper, trying to reach for him. “Stop.”

Steve sits on Nancy’s bed, hand covering his mouth. He lets you rest your hand on his arm, and he breathes out another curse. He almost looks frozen in place like this, and it reminds you that everything in here feels like it is— ghosts, so many ghosts. You feel like you’re stuck in hell.

“Maybe any song will work,” Robin offers a little desperately, going through Nancy’s drawers, pulling out different cassettes and soundtracks, Duran Duran, Madonna, Elton John. “C’mon guys, one has to work.”

Eddie scratches his neck. “Doesn’t it have to be her favorite song? Isn’t that what Henderon said?”

“Screw it,” Nancy shakes her head, taking in a shaky breath. “We have to try whatever we can. This is our only option.”

“Okay,” you nod, shakily, prying your hand off of Steve’s arm, reaching to cruch own next to Robin and look through the rest of Nancy’s cassettes. “Okay, let’s— let’s try it.”

Robin holds up Total Eclipse of the Heart. “You like Bonnie Tyler?”

“Seems as good as anything,” you nod, taking it from her hands. As the first notes of Total Eclipse start playing, you gulp nervously, praying this might work, that you have at least enough time to get out of here alive.

Steve still looks miserable, but seems a little calmer now. “We need to get out of here right now.”

“How?” Robin sighs. “How did Will ever manage to get out of this place?”

“There has to be a way,” Nancy figures, then something seems to dawn on her. “Will. Will used to talk to Joyce with the Christmas lights while he was stuck in the Upside Down.”

“The Christmas lights?” Eddie asks, incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

As she explains, you can’t help but think that Nancy Wheeler is absolutely brilliant. You can’t blame Steve for falling in love with her before. She’s interrupted by Robin rather quickly though, when she claims she can hear Dustin’s voice— soon enough, all of you start to hear him, distorted and distant, but it's there no less. Quickly Dustin communicates that he thinks there might be another portal in Eddie’s trailer and that seems to be your best shot at an escape.

Robin and Nancy leave to get some supplies for the trip— whatever they can find to use as a weapon, while Eddie wanders off behind them, with the excuse of rummaging through little Wheeler’s action figures. Steve stays with you, as you stare at Holly’s Lite Brite, unsure on what to do.

You trust Dustin and his plan, of course you do. Dustin’s done nothing but prove himself to you these past few days. Still, the thought that everything might go incredibly wrong is almost unshakable at this point. What was it Max said to you? Something about how Vecna’s curse made people feel hopeless and lonely.

“You okay, right?” Steve wonders aloud, searching your face. “You haven’t had any visions yet?”

You haven’t felt Vecna’s pull yet, but you don’t want to be overly optimistic just yet. “I’m okay, I think. Are you?”

You glance down at his bandages, but he only nods. “Yeah, they don’t hurt anymore. I’m more worried about you.”

Warmth spreads all over your cheeks and inside your chest, but now’s really not the time for all of these feelings, and so you try to squeeze them out, to focus on something else.

“I just hope the plan works,” you mumble. “I want to get out of here.”

“You—” Steve shakes his head, looks at you with a look you can’t name. But he sounds frustrated, exhausted. “You just jumped in after me? You didn’t even think…” he trails off. “Eddie said you just jumped. Fucking jumped. You’re unbelievable, you know that, don’t you, Henderson? Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

You look down at your hands.

“It was stupid, I know, I—”

“Thank you,” Steve murmurs, honesty bleeding into every word he speaks. You look up at him, surprised. “You saved my ass back there.”

The truth is you hadn’t doubted one second— you hadn’t even stopped to think about what might happen to you. Helping Steve was more important to you than anything in that moment, and you didn’t regret it, how could you regret that?

“You saved my ass first, back at the Wheeler’s,” you smile at him. “Even later, in the woods, and at Creel’s house. I don’t know if I could have kept going without you… so thank you.”

Steve stays silent for a few seconds, unsure of how to continue. You can practically feel him grow nervous now, when he clears his throat and begins speaking. “Listen, I know we are on the brink of life and death and maybe world threatening danger, but I kinda need some motivation to get out of here.”

“Yeah?”

“So, now that you know me and Nancy aren’t really a thing, and that me and Robin are platonic with a capital P…”

“Keep going.”

“And since you know, maybe is really cool,” you nod, trying to fight off a smile. “We should, maybe, go on a date together.”

“Hm…” you place a hand on your chin. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can go out with someone who doesn’t like Pretty in Pink.”

“I’ve never said I didn’t,” he shrugs. “I just haven’t even seen it.”

“You haven’t seen Pretty in Pink, you monster?!”

“You know, I’m actively bleeding out here,” Steve gestures at your last minute bandages, his smile almost as handsome as him, even more so after tearing off a bat monster’s head off. Even more so now that it seems you finally have a plan to get out of this goddamn place. “You’re gonna make a dying man wait?”

“You’re not dying, Harrington.” You smack him gently across the shoulders. “I won’t let you.”

Steve chuckles, his hand finding its way to yours, almost nervous, scared of rejection.

“So? What do you say?”

“I say that if we get out of here alive, and it seems like kind of a longshot right now…” you acknowledge, holding onto his hand and squeezing. “I would really, really like that.”

“Yeah?”

You’re smiling. “Yeah.”

You both might be the people with the worst timing in the entire world— you’re cursed by a demon villain from another dimension, and Steve is bleeding out while you’re both trapped inside the Upside Down, with no clue if you’ll be able to actually escape. Not to mention this is all happening in his ex's house. And yet you can’t help but laugh when Steve tries to reach for the back of your neck and fails miserably.

“I really want to kiss you,” he says, “but my abdomen still really hurts.”

“I have to do everything,” you tease, before closing the distance between you, your lips pressing against his with a sigh.

Steve’s lips are chapped, bloody, raw, and yours must be equally as bad, salty, open and bleeding raw. But despite everything the kiss is perfect, as imperfect and uncoordinated as it is; the way your lips fit together, the way Steve cradles your cheek, and how you hold the back of his neck while Bonnie Tyler plays in the background of it all. Now, more than anything, you feel hope.

When you break off the kiss, Steve is smiling.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. And you just might.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #steve harington fic #steve x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things scenario #steve harrington scenario #st4 #joe keery #female reader #dyfam #mine #stranger things

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luveline · 2 years

Note

Okay but what about Eddie and reader having been going strong for awhile and Eddie wants to take things further and ask reader to marry him, but he wants to ask Roan’s permission first bc he cares about her opinion.

I thought this was so cute! it's almost entirely eddie and roan but r is mentioned lots and lots and is also a bit long my bad 🥺 ♡ fem!reader

He really wants to get you a ring.

Eddie Munson can be stupid. He makes rash decisions all the time. He bets on the wrong horses and he's almost always late to parent-teacher conferences. He buys Roan's clothes by holding them up to her body in the middle of the store and asking her if she likes them. He knows there's a thousand wrong decisions to make and half of them he's already made, but he really thinks this is the right one.

He just needs Roan to agree.

You're at your own place for once. Not for Eddie's lack of trying — he'd asked you to move in twice already, and though you'd kissed him silly and told him you loved him an insane amount, you'd reasoned that you should keep your place. (Though you had, in a way, moved in anyhow.)

"I don't want us to rush anything, Eddie," you'd said carefully, eyes on Roan's dark head of hair across the room. He'd followed your gaze. "I don't want to be the evil step-mom."

He'd promised that could never, ever happen.

He probably shouldn't have. While Roan literally loves you so much it makes her cry, things can change.

Right now, Roan thinks that she's sharing Eddie, and she's doing a great job at adapting to all the changes that come with that. Your clothes in his room, your coats on the hangers. Your work stuff where her princess ponies used to live, your fancy shampoo next to her jellybean two-in-one. Getting married would make you her bona fide mom. Eddie's not sure Roan realises that she's the one who'd be getting shared.

Though you act like you're her mom already. It's one of the many reasons he loves you. You've never once made Eddie feel bad for being a dad, or for having Roan full time. You genuinely miss her when she's at Wayne's. You love his daughter. You play games and you sing songs and you cuddle her whenever you can. You wash her hair and take care of her curls, you do plaits and bows and bunches. You'd learned how to do all of that stuff without ever having been asked.

Eddie wants to marry you so badly it's a physical ache.

Which is why he's as scared as he is to ask her about it.

"Roan?" he calls, stretched out over the couch with a coke can on his chest. Moping, maybe.

"What?" she calls back, voice littler still because of the distance.

"Are you busy?"

He hears the tap running and then she appears, water dripping down to her wrists. Eddie swaps her for the coke can, rubbing her wet hands dry with the excess fabric of his shirt.

She sits on his stomach. She's incredibly big and small at the same time.

"What, dad?"

"I got something to ask you."

Roan squirms until Eddie brings his legs up to let her lean against his thighs like a chair.

"It's a big question," he says tentatively.

Roan crosses her arms in front of her, hands on his stomach. "Like, big as you?"

"Right. Super big."

She nods thoughtfully before flashing a huge, charming smile. "Okay."

Eddie lifts his hands to her small face, tucking her freshly shorn locks behind her ears. Long hair like daddy had been a good idea in theory, but she just can't stand all the fuss of it.

"I'm asking because... You're five now. And I know you have lots of big feelings. I wanna know what you think about-" He doesn't chicken out, per se, more like opens softly midway through. "Uh, how you feel about Y/N."

Roan wrinkles her nose. "I love her."

"I know you do. And you don't mind that she spends so much time here?"

Again, Roan looks perplexed. How many times has she cried now because she wants to see you and you're busy? How many times has Eddie told her you can't spend all your time here? It probably doesn't make much sense to her that he'd be asking.

"No. I wanted her for my princess party after and you said no."

He grins ruefully. "I didn't say no, babe. She couldn't come because she's at her own house tonight."

"Why can't she be at our house?"

Brilliant question.

"She has stuff to do." Like make sure moths haven't eaten your clothes. And dust.

You don't really spend a lot of time there.

Roan harrumphs. "Whatever. Why can't we go to her house, then?"

He takes Roan's hands into his and toys with her smaller fingers. "I can't really explain it. But you like when she's here all the time?"

"Yeah," Roan says, clearly bored of this conversation.

He laughs under his breath and steels himself for a bunch of huge questions.

"You know I love you more than anybody else?" he asks.

"I love you more," she argues.

"No, like. Out of everybody in the world, I love you the most. I could love Uncle Wayne the most, but I love you the most." Sorry, Wayne.

And while Eddie loves you so much (and Wayne, of course), it's the truth. You're always gonna be that tiny fraction below, though Eddie's not sure he likes the word below. It's a different kind of love, regardless.

Roan seems really, really happy with this prospect. She giggles for a second and throws her arms out toward him, face landing perfectly under his chin.

"I love you, daddy," she says. She manages to sound both shy and exuberant, little face digging into his collar. "I would pick you out of the world too."

"You would?" he asks. Eddie's not too proud to admit he wells up. He laughs it off, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he can.

"You first. Um, and Uncle Wayne and Y/N and damnation and Stacey P. second most."

"Damnation your imaginary dog is on the same level as Uncle Wayne and Y/N?" he asks, laughing hard enough to shake under her hug.

"Dad!"

"Sorry. Your totally real and invisible dog."

"Well, maybe not as much as Uncle Wayne and Y/N."

"No, I thought so."

She hides her hands inside of his short sleeves. Eddie lets her get on with it, happy and honestly buffeted by her affection. He feels both the euphoria of having a great kid and the self-satifaction of a parenting win.

"Do you think Y/N loves me that much?" Roan asks. "In the world?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation. "Of course she does."

"Mm," Roan hums, pleased. "I miss her."

"If I ask you my really big question, maybe we can go see her afterward. But it's- it's a big question, Roanie, I mean it. And it's okay if you don't know the answer, or if you feel mad or angry first."

Roan looks very concerned, climbing up on his chest to giggle at him. "Ast me, dad."

He blows her hair out of her eyes with a breath from the corner of his mouth. Heart in his throat, he grabs a hold of her waist in one hand and tries.

"I want to ask Y/N to marry me."

She blinks.

"I don't know if she'll say yes, but if she does that means lots of things would change. We would live together, and we'd maybe not live so close to Uncle Wayne, I'm not sure. Do you know what I mean?"

Roan leans forward. "Marry in a wedding?"

"Yeah. A big wedding. Or actually maybe a little one. I haven't really asked. Roan..."

He drifts off, distracted by her lovely tiny face growing more and more excited by the second.

"She would-"

"She would be my mom?" Roan shouts, eyes wide with a blazing amusement. "She would be my mommy?"

"Sweetheart," Eddie says apprehensively, "I'm not sure-"

"Oh my god," Roan says, already climbing off of his chest.

"Roan, I really need to finish talking to you," he says, listening to her sprint away in defeat. He rubs his eyes for a second, stressed, though slowly he starts to smile.

That's a good reaction.

That's a great reaction.

"Roan, if we get married, that means more- It means a lot of things," he calls, struggling to keep the smile out if his voice as he gets onto his feet to track her down.

"Yeah!" Roan calls.

Eddie walks down the hall and finds her in the middle of her room, backpack in the middle of her floor and upheaved. She's crammed three different teddies inside and a mismatched pair of pajamas, and now seems to be deciding between her pens or her long crayons.

"Babe, what are you doing?"

"I'm getting my stuff!"

He bites back a ridiculous smile. "For what?"

"You said we'd ask the question and go see Y/N," she whines, expecting a rejection.

"I didn't ask my question yet."

Roan shoves her crayons into her backpack and stares at him expectantly, a frenzy of ringlets and a palpable excitement.

He feels suddenly sheepish. "So can I... Is that okay? If I ask her to get married?"

Roan starts laughing like a maniac, the smallest, most intense vestibule of joy that's ever existed. "Dad, I need my shoes."

"No, but you can't tell her! It's a secret!" he warns seriously.

"You said we could go!"

He looks down at his girl. She's frenetic, jumping on both feet with her hands bunched into fists like she's willing to fight him for this. She wants to see you so badly now she's practically vibrating.

"Alright. Alright, come on. Let's get your shoes on."

Roan screams and runs past him, almost barrelling him down. He picks up her backpack and zips it closed, standing in the middle of her room for a few private seconds.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

"Dad!"

"I'm coming, Roan," he says, closing the door behind him.

more eddie and roan

#eddie and roan #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

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pupyuj · 4 months

Note

YUJIN WITH AN UNNIE KINK 👹

OHHH 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 this ask was sent a while back but i had some time to think about it and yeah… YEAHHH…

yujin knows everyone thinks she’s an idiot despite having this big position as the leader so when she comes across the starry-eyed starship trainee (whose favorite idol happens to be yujin) (y/n)… well, she became obsessed! 🥰

you kinda-sorta took over as the leader of the trainees in starship when gaeul debuted so you had this aura of level-headedness and maturity in you.. but that all evaporates into nothing when yujin was in your vicinity! you had such an absurd amount of respect for her and you made it known every other time you and yujin would bump into each other in the company building and chat for a bit! you were so nice and friendly and so adorable 🥺 but you practically worshipped the ground yujin walked on… so yujin knew you were messed up deep inside your head… and all she needs to do is bring that beast out in the only way her perverted ass knew how!

offering to help you with your practice and your routines every time she so happens to pass by your favourite dance room in the building… her touches getting more and more bold as time went on but you didn’t really care to, well, care bcs yujinnie was just helping you out, right?? so what if she was basically groping your ass! 😵‍💫 god, you were so easy to manipulate it almost made yujin mad but at least it’s a fact that you’ll only be an idiot for her 🫣 to everyone else you’d be the same old reliable (y/n) who’s very serious about making her dreams come true someday but when it comes it yujin… well, you were nothing until she makes you into something, is what she decided!

how could she not try to break you down, anyway? your sweet voice calling out to her every time she was around was enough to get her panties soaked and she wasn’t even joking!

“good afternoon, yujin-unnie!”

“yujin-unnie, i saw your recent performance! you were amazing.”

“yujin-unnie, i thought you looked gorgeous in that last photoshoot you did!”

‘unnie’ is what really gets her though 😵‍💫 lots of people call her ‘unnie’ now but something about you, specifically, saying it just does something to her brain… and it was nothing good! fuck, she’d jokingly film a short vlog with you to showcase your daily trainee life and she’d fuck herself while listening to your voice… she’s that obsessed 😳😳 see she’d have this great elaborate plan to turn you into her little slutty doll but you’d unfortunately catch her on a bad day one day and suddenly you’d find herself alone with her on a small, empty room in the building and she’s sitting on a chair while you’re on her lap, sobbing and crying from both pleasure and pain while your favourite unnie fucks your cunt relentlessly 😔

your confusion regarding the situation wasn’t helping either… it turned yujin on how confused and embarrassed and ashamed you were… holding her face close to your chest, hugging her while she took out all of her stress on you… “always knew you’d be so willing to do this… you love unnie that much, don’t you, baby?” she’d ask, grinning up at you just to see you blushing and nodding your head bcs as much as you hated this, it was true! your admiration towards yujin was never completely innocent, so you couldn’t resist all this… why would you anyway? this was one of your biggest dreams aside from debuting.

yujinnie moaning with you while you came… not even letting you catch your breath before she was laying you down on the floor and fucking you again… this time faster and harder bcs that string of “unnie”s that you let out just for her was too fucking addicting 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 she’d fuck you until you were nearly all spent, laying on the floor holding onto only the tiniest bit of your consciousness before yujin takes your hands and pulls you up… letting you see how she’s stripped herself of her pants and underwear and has taken a seat back on the chair… spreading her legs wide open and beckoning you over… 😳

“come on… don’t keep unnie waiting any longer.”

oh, how you worked that tongued on her cunt…you know what? yujin can say that you were the best risk she’s ever taken 🤭🤭

#ive smut #ive x fem reader #ive x reader #ive imagines #ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin imagines #yujin smut #yujin x reader #yujin x fem reader #yujin imagines #girl group smut #girl group x reader #girl group x fem reader #girl group imagines

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chaosandmarigolds · 20 days

Note

imma request more bc that adoption one actually sent me to the heavens and back..

so i have a similar idea that i wanna throw out there but have it be Dad!simon riley and foster/adopted!reader. Have like, their interactions when reader has to first meet simon, and simon is able to bond with reader bc hes traumatized too

it can be like a headcannon style or a one shot, whatever idea striked you.

like actually can i be you? like you write SO GOOD so QUICKLY my writers block could NEVER

(I'm actually a Tomato right now I'm blushing so much in my school library what- thank you so much!! your words will live rent-free in my head for the next seven to eight weeks ngl

Ahem ahem I have a new thingy- Adoptive dad Simon! lil blurb (700-1000 words i think) & foster!care reader (i don't think I used gendered pronouns but if I did please remind me)

For the record, you never thought yourself to be a problematic child, sure you were a little unruly and you lived by your own rules but to be honest any person in your situation would be the same. A child whose childhood was ripped from you the second your father grabbed a beer bottle and the rest you preferred to keep locked away under a lock with a key you kept away. So you sat in your social workers office for what you thought was the billionth time in the month, hands mindlessly fiddling with your hoodie string and eyes staring out the window.

Birds. You always wondered what it would be like to be a bird, it must be nice, to be free like one at least- no matter how cliche the thought you enjoyed it.

Only for it to be ripped from you as you hear your named hissed from the workers, Margi's, mouth. With a grumble you turn to look at her from across the oak table, trinkets from her perfect life adorning it, and her perfect little family in a golden frame, staring at you- made you sick.

"Seventh school, seventh! Are you trying to have to move counties again?" She snipped at you, her voice dull as she typed something into her computer.

"Maybe I am."

Margi gives you a look, a frown written across her face, "What does that mean?"

"The Wilsons, Adams, Johnsons, Kievs, they all suck and they were mean."

"They were mean?" She mocked your voice and then scooted her chair to face you fully, "I'm trying here, kid, I'm trying. But you-" she shuttered a laugh as if she just found your mere presence unbearable, "You make it so hard, you're goin to Douglas county."

A look is etched across your face as you take in the news, Douglas was forty miles away, so the news was a bit shocking. "Wha-"

"There is a single man-"

"No."

"Yes. You'll sleep here and he's picking you up in the morning."

It was stupid, Price had told him he needed to find purpose in his life and that fostering might fulfill that- well...he didn't realize his captain meant dogs and cats and somehow he had passed to be a foster parent. For reasons that are beyond him. So there he was, four foster kids deep- all adopted within two or so months and then going to their new homes. He wouldn't lie, he didn't like any of them but he was sure to be as kind as possible, as...open as he could (which is close to none) but according to the children he did a great job.

Somehow.

There was a new one, problematic from the file, a story reading a bit too close to his own that he almost didn't want to take it up for the sake of his own mental clarity. However, it was urgent, and there was a need and the solider in him urged him to go on and fulfill it. So that is why he was now standing in the police station at six in the morning an hour away from his home.

A brief conversation with the social worker and a few police officers that had encounters with you, all warning him with the banter of your antics and that if he had any common sense he'd 'slap some sense into you' All of that he just responded with a glare and changing the topic.

Then they brought you out your lively hood packed into a small and tattered black and blue duffle bag and clothes a bit worse for wear, looking exhausted upon all of that. Simon made eye contact with you for a moment, it almost seemed like a stare-down- until the social worker cut in-between you both.

She motions to you as she introduces you to him and she then motions to him, trying to take your bag to hand to him but you had an iron grip, "Mister Riley-"

"Simon." He interjected, giving the worker a look, "Call me Simon."

You bite back a smile at how flustered Margi became by his correction and after a few more warnings of how you like to run away and skip school and everything you had a tendency to do you sit on the bench in the building. A good forty or so minutes passed and you wouldn't lie you were hungry so as soon as 'Simon' came over you chirpped up, following as he had motioned for you to do.

"Could we get some food?"

Simon stayed quiet until you reached the truck, letting you put your duffle bag into the back and then stopping you from getting in the front, checking your height against his chest and then with a breif motion of the hand told you to sit in the back.

Alright. You thought, not a big talker.

"Diner okay?"

"There's a good one down the street-"

Simon hums and grabs his phone from his pocket as he buckles up, holding it back for you to take, "Put it in the gps, yeah?"

A faltering silence as you stared at the phone, which was new, normally your foster parents wouldn't let you touch anything of theirs- much less a piece of technology. An unlocked piece of technology.

"Can I get juice?" You ask quietly as you look over the menu, subconsciously looking for the cheapest option.

"Mmhm, what else?"

To that you look up, "An...and pancakes?"

"An' eggs."

"What?"

"An' eggs," he said again, looking up from his menu, "Growin, need protein."

"I don't...like eggs." You see his blonde eyebrows furrow to your words and you mumble on, "Not alone, I like potatoes and eggs but eggs alone make me gag."

"Then get potatoes an' eggs."

Darn, there goes pancakes. So when the waitress comes back over she gets Simon's order and then yours, and you ask for the potatoes and eggs, only for when she left Simon to be staring you down.

"Have you ever been told you're scary?"

"All th' time. Though' you wan' pancakes."

A moment and you blink, "You said to get eggs and potatoes."

"Get al' three."

"But that's expensive."

"Ah, yea- 20 dollar's for a meal tha' gonna make you full an' happy is expensive," He dully replied, and then your expression he did his best to soften his expression, "Kid, is okay, yeah? Don' feel bad."

You sniffle as you see the waitress come over with your juice and his very boring black coffee, "Can I actually pancakes?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

(anywaaay that's it! hope you liked it! <33 ps. i love feedback and comments it truly makes my day!

#simon fluff #simon riley x platonic! reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #dad!simon riley #dad simon riley #dad!ghost #call of duty mw3 #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #ghost call of duty #cod imagine #ghost cod #coco's chaos <3

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dellalyra · 11 months

Note

Imagine the continue of your latest family formation where reader has high fever and starts crying in her sleep because she's seeing satoru get killed by toji again

The kids getting worried aick because "when did gojo die?!"

And satoru not knowing how it still haunted you even after so many years

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long!! I wanted to think it through but I hope u like it bc I loved writing it!!

CW: hints at ptsd, mentions of blood and canon typical violence and sickness, angst but not really? Soft soft soft soft

Family Formations • Kind

You were tossing and turning in your sleep, fever from the flu still wreaking havoc on your body. Satoru was worried, but luckily, he had Shoko on speed dial – and she would never let anything happen to her precious best friend. You had kicked the sheets off long ago, and the mumbling had started rather funny.

“Satoru you can’t take home a seal from the beach.”

“Megumi let go of Satoru’s hair.”

“Get that stick outta your ass Nanami – you used to smoke blunts on the school roof.”

He was loving it; it was like a free stand-up show!

But then, you started to whimper. He had fallen asleep, and it took some time to rouse him from his slumber but what woke him up was you sobbing in your sleep.

“Please no, please don’t take him from me. Please, not him. Not again. I can’t watch ‘Toru die again, please god NO NO NO NO!” At this point he was kissing your head, whispering your name to wake you from the fever dream, tears in his own eyes because he knew what you were dreaming of.

You gasp awake and bolt upright, wrapping your arms around him.

You stay sobbing in his arms as he consoles you.

“It’s okay, Princess - I’m here. It was just a dream, I’m safe, you’re safe, and the kids are safe. Nothing gonna happen again, okay? He’s gone. Nothing can take me from you again.”

You had been there; you had seen the father of the kid in the next room over. You had heard the burst of the blade through your love’s pale throat, the ivory skin turning crimson red in an instant as he gasped and choked. He had died in your arms. You had screamed and cried and managed to lodge a vine through the shoulder of the man who had done.

But he was here. He fought his way back to you.

You ran your shaking hands over his face and torso – as if checking for injuries.

“I saw it all again, he came back. He had you and he did it again and I couldn’t move and then you were dead again.” You sobbed into his shoulder. He hated seeing you this way, he still had nightmares of the day himself – sometimes the true events, sometimes reversed.

As your breathing steadied, he unwrapped himself from you.

“I’m gonna make you a hot chocolate, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, sniffing into your Kurama plush.

Satoru opened the door to your room.

And he wasn’t prepared for two wide eyes faces on the other side looking up at him.

“Shit.” He spoke. He knew they’d heard, they’re faces told the whole story.

“You died, papa?” Tsumiki whispered.

Your head perked up at the voice.

“Shit.” You agree.

Megumi’s wide eyes and uneasy stance mirror his sisters.

There was no avoiding this conversation, even at 2am.

Satoru looks at you, you echo his panicked look. Fuck, you two are only 21! How do you explain all this.

“C’mere, come sit on the bed for a minute.” You were past the infectious stage now, so it didn’t matter if they got close. They did as say. Tsumiki crawling up to sit facing you and Megumi dragging his frog plush up to sit beside you. Satoru takes his own side of the bed.

“I’m sorry you guys heard that. I was having a really bad dream which made me feel a bit scared.” You pet their little heads.

“Did you really die?” Megumi pipes up, eyes focused on Satoru.

“Yeah, kid. A long time ago. I got pretty badly hurt and I died for a minute, but I used my technique to bring myself back.” He softly says, and these are the moments that you realise how great a father he really is.

“How did you get hurt?” Tsumiki asks, quietly.

You lock eyes with your boyfriend. They’re too young for the truth right now.

“He got hurt trying to keep a little girl safe.” You add.

They’re silent for a minute.

“Who hurt you?” Megumi asked.

“A really, really strong man. I wasn’t as strong as I am now – and I was tired.” Satoru adds.

Another bout of silence.

“Will the man come back?” Megumi asks again. At this point, there’s fresh tears on your cheeks.

“No, baby. He’s never coming back.” You pet the boy's hair. You’re not going to tell him the man in question was his father, 8 years old is too young for the truth.

“How can, you be sure?” Tsumiki’s voice wavers, and she moves closer to Satoru. She’s worried, you can’t appease her worries by just saying he went away, a grain of truth will do.

“Because he died, sweetheart. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Are you sure he died? Because Satoru died but he came back.” Megumi questions, ever too smart for his age.

“Hey! I’m unique little man, only the strongest can do that.” He winks, but humour won’t work now.

“We’re sure he died honey.” You nod at the boy.

“How are you sure?” Tsumiki interjects, Jesus you’re getting the fifth degree here at 2am.

You both quiet for a second.

“Because I’m the one who did it, ‘Miki.” He grasped her little hand.

Funnily, that seems to ease both their worries. What these kids have been through, it astounds you – not that you or Satoru had it any easier.

However, it’s a testament to their trust in you both. They know that Satoru would kill for them, and you would too. They feel safest when you two are the ones handling the issues, because they will forever be safe with you both.

“And it makes you sad, because you were there Mama?” Tsumiki asks, petting your hair, as if she’s the one to comfort you.

“I was, angel. I was very scared, and sometimes when bad things happen your brain remembers them, and that’s why sometimes we have nightmares.”

“Were you hurt?” Megumi asks.

“No honey, I was just very scared and very sad. You see, I love Satoru so much that I felt like I was dying too, because of how much my heart hurt. Him and I are made of the same star, and that’s why we love each other so much. So sometimes I get bad dreams of it happening – but I promise you both. We’re all safe now.” You pull all three of them into you, whispering ‘I love you’ to Satoru.

After a minute of family hugging, Satoru leaps up.

“I’ll be right back, 4 cups of hot chocolate with extra cream for Tsumiki, extra cinnamon for Megumi, extra marshmallows for my princess and extra sugar for me!” He does a silly walk out the door to make the kids laugh – well, Tsumiki laughs, Megumi rolls his eyes.

They snuggle in between your pillow and Satoru’s.

“Does everyone get someone made of the same star, mama?” Megumi asks.

You smile at him.

“Some people get lots of people, some people get friends, some get boyfriends or girlfriends. There’s matches out there for everyone, in all ways. Some people know them forever, some people only meet when they’re really old. Your papa and I were lucky to reunite when we were so young.” You muse.

“I hope mine is a Prince, or a handsome King!” Tsumiki says.

“You’d make a great Queen, ‘Miki.” You giggle with her.

“I hope mine is kind.” Megumi quietly muses. Your sweet soft boy, so much more sensitive than he pretends.

The other half of your star walks back in at that moment, holding a tray of mugs – steaming and overflowing with cocoa.

You all curl up in your California King Bed that night, you and Satoru holding hands over the heads of the kids between you – Tsumiki by Satoru, and Megumi by you. You lock eyes and smile as they both fall asleep.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, ‘Toru.”

7 years later, Megumi’s other half of his star came barrelling into his life, all smiles and pink hair and chaos – but as he had hoped, completely and utterly kind.

Recommended Listening:

Matilda - Harry Styles

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #anime #dad!gojo #family formations extras #family formations drabbles

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awesome-opossum-after-hours · 6 months

Text

AT au where instead of Betty, it's actually FINN who sacrifices himself and makes the wish with the crown.

I've seen some au's about Simon doing this, but we're forgetting the secret third option I guess?

now obviously, the loss of Finn will have an impact on most, if not all of the citizens of Ooo. but I'd like to think that Finn's intention is to make this wish, not just for the safety of one person, but to keep all of Ooo safe and free from any more chaos. I've seen some shows where the hero "dies" on the end (though in this case, there'd be the idea that he IS still conscious and able to watch over everyone), and honestly it can be a great ending if played right.

here's how it would go down: Finn, Simon, and Betty are being digested by Golb. they're at the point where Betty and Simon have both returned to their sane, pre-Mushroom War selves and are having their reunion. Finn notices that the crown has reset, and also taking notice that he's not being "digested" because he hasn't changed all that much. he realizes that he has the chance to make a wish, make a true difference in Ooo and ensure the peace and safety of all his friends, something that he's clearly wanted through the whole series. he sees how happy Betty and Simon are now that they're reunited, and begins to put on the crown. when the tunnel opens up, he tells Betty and Simon to leave. he gives them some brief things to tell his friends and family on his behalf. he also tells them to finally get married, and to go on with their lives together. (I'd like to think he also, in Finn fashion, jokingly tells them to name their first kid after him :) )

after some coaxing, and tears, they finally give in and leave Golb. Finn makes his wish, which is "I wish for the power to keep Ooo safe", and merges with Golb in the same style Betry did (idk what he'd be called- maybe "Golbfinn"? a silly name kinda like goldfish lol). Jake would be torn, but I feel like he would also be a bit proud of Finn after a bit of grieving. as Finn said in the episode before (in canon), he used to be all about violence. and now, he's keeping the peace.

Gunther still gets the crown in this universe bc that's just funny

in the little Come Along With Me montage, we'd see the other characters rebuilding the tree house, along with the rest of Ooo that had gotten destroyed. I think they would start to worship Finn actually, he would become the hero that everyone would tell stories about, the stuff of legends. we'd also get to see the Petrigrof wedding! it also flashes forward to about a year or so later, we see that they do, in fact have a kid. a little girl named Fionna, who grows into her namesake and becomes hero- material herself.

#adventure time #come along with me #au #finn mertens #betty grof #simon petrikov #petrigrof #they need their happily ever after

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kyojurismo · 6 months

Text

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟔 : 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. +18 nsfw, 1.9k words, age difference (reader is in her 20s, satoru is in his 30s), top!satoru, dub-con, fingering, nipple play, degradation, not proofread + pls notify me if there’s something else to tag, i’ll fix it asap.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. hello dear readers. i know it took me a whole month to start posting something for my kinktober event, but life (and my depression) got in the way, so i wasn’t able to fully dedicate myself to writing (i take this opportunity to also remind y’all that 1. i do it as a hobby and 2. eng is not my first language). starting w day 6 bc i suddenly got the desire to write for satoru lol. well, that’s all from me now, i hope you guys will enjoy and please be sure to read the tags carefully !! ♡

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

satoru gojo was a close friend to your father, they worked together and sometimes he would invite satoru for dinner. he was charming and funny, so of course it never disturbed you. he also looked incredibly handsome, with those beautiful light blue eyes and white hair.

he looked so sad when you mentioned you were gonna move out for college, saying that he liked your young presence and your sense of humour, especially how you two often ended up talking about scary movies — a passion you two had in common.

you recently got back home, your father’s birthday was getting closer and you wanted to organise something to celebrate it, as long as help him decorate the house for halloween.

you weren’t exactly a fan of halloween costumes, more like you enjoyed the atmosphere and watching others dressing up as something.

you finished preparing yourself a snack when your phone started ringing, your father’s name appeared on screen.

“hey dad!”

“i’m gonna get home late tonight, i’m sorry baby. gotta catch up to some work, but we can watch the movie once i’m back if you’re not sleeping already. how does it sound?”

you took a couple of seconds to reply, because well — you’ve been looking forward to it for days, but you also knew that his job was important and that he couldn’t really left early because ‘he has some movie to watch’.

“yeah, sounds good. i’ll try my best to stay awake.”

“great! i asked satoru to pass by and check on you. i think he’ll bring something to eat too.”

“dad… i’m not fourteen, i don’t need a babysitter.”

“i know, i know. he just offered since it’s his day off.”

“whatever. see ya later.”

you hung up the phone and rolled your eyes. it was obvious your dad asked him to come over and check on you, but you didn’t mind it that much. he would leave quickly and you would end up having the rest of the evening all for yourself.

at least, that what you thought.

“i’m so surprised to see you,” you opened the door, sarcasm clear in your voice. you didn’t expect to see satoru dressed up as none other than the slender man. you chuckled, checking the mask a bit closer. “wow. you really got into it, huh?” satoru didn’t answer at first, playing the part before you rolled your eyes and walked back into the kitchen, leaving him there.

you heard the door closing a couple of seconds later, while grabbing your sandwich. satoru took off the mask and sighed deeply, glancing around the place. “what if it wasn’t me?” he sounded serious, concerned about your careless behaviour. “my father told me you were coming over to check on me, mr. babysitter.”

he rolled his eyes and put the bag with your food on the kitchen island, before looking at you. “what are you up to tonight?” he casually asked, watching you eating your sandwich in silence. you shrugged before meeting his eyes. “i’m gonna read or watch something, waiting for my dad to come home. what about you?” you smiled innocently, as if you didn’t have in plan to do a marathon of your favourite horror movies.

“dunno. my friend ditched me, so i’m all alone in this frightening night,” he pouted before smirking at your change of expression. “i’m talking about suguru, not your father.”

you rolled your eyes and pretended to be offended. you finished eating your sandwich and put the plate away. “well? are you leaving?” you asked him, making him gasp dramatically. “kids today are so poorly mannered! is this the right way to treat an old man?”

“you’re not that old, that’s also why i don’t get it how you became my father’s best friend in the first place,” satoru was around thirty years old, like ten years younger than your father. “i’m everyone’s favorite person,” he winked and you shook your head, chuckling. “you’re not, really.”

satoru looked offended and followed you into the living room, waiting for an apology. he got none. “whatever. can i stay over? maybe we can watch something together,” he asked you, genuinely interested in doing so. you thought about his offer, knowing that it wouldn’t hurt to have some company. “hm, okay. but i’m choosing,” you glanced at him while sitting down on the couch. “yeah, sure. just pick something scary.”

halfway through the movie, satoru started shifting towards you, making it look casual. you bit your inner cheek as your leg touched his, stiffening a little.

“scared?” he murmured during a moment of silence, you shook your head. “hm,” he licked his lips before looking at you, noticing how you were growing nervous.

in reality, he had been looking at you differently since earlier. you felt strange about it, but you tried to ignore it for your own good. maybe he just wanted to mess with you a little like he would usually do.

one of his hand reached your leg and started caressing your clothed thigh, you shivered and quickly glanced down at it as your heart skipped a beat. your attention was caught by the size of his hand, before you slowly looked at his face. satoru’s eyes were glued to the tv, causing you to turn towards it a bit too quickly.

were you misreading the whole situation or … ?

“satoru,” you gathered some courage to call him. “what is it?” his voice sounded deeper and you gulped louder than expected, causing a smirk to appear on his face. “what—” you gasped as his hand tightened its grip on your thigh before moving closer to your center. “hmm?” satoru finally turned to look at you, your heart pounding rapidly into your chest as he casually cupped your sex. you unconsciously clenched your thighs, trapping it between your legs.

“i’m sorry, this movie is becoming more and more boring,” he spoke casually, looking unbothered by the whole situation. he acted like he wasn’t touching your body at all.

your cheeks grew warmer, you tried to find the right words and ignore how it all was affecting your poor body. it was wrong, he was your father’s best friend and he was older than you. it was very wrong… right?

the way his hand was grinding on you caught your attention and you snapped out of it, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “we-we can’t do this… it’s wrong,” you murmured, pushing it away. “is it though? your body is telling me something else,” he chuckled and finally met your face. his gaze felt much more intimidating now, as he hungrily stared down at you.

you felt slick gathering in your underwear and you shifted uncomfortably on the couch, causing a low laugh to escape satoru’s lips. “now now, why lying?” he suddenly pulled you closer, sitting you on his lap. you could feel his erection right against your lower back, which caused your whole face to grow warmer.

“satoru, wait–” you tried to say something else before his hands pushed your legs apart, then his hands reached your chest and he grabbed your breasts, groping you experimentally. you bit back a moan, squirming under his touch. “sensitive, hm?” he went to pinch your nipples, playing with your boobs as he liked.

a sparkle of excitement filled your guts, even though a part of you knew it wasn’t right, some other was trying to convince you to give in and let him touch you. he was an experienced man for sure, different from other college students. a part of you was also craving some well deserved release. you tilted your head back, closing your eyes. you jumped as his hands slapped your thighs, making you shiver and moan softly.

“i wanna hear every sound coming from your little mouth, you got that little slut?” satoru spoke right into your ear as one of his hands slipped under your shirt while the other sneaked into your leggings, starting to caress your clothed clit. his hands were cold compared to your actual body temperature, and that caused another shiver to run down your body.

“this is wrong,” you whispered, more for yourself. he smirked and rubbed your clit faster, his hand finding a way to slip under your bra and finally touch your hardened nipple. your will to fight the moans caused by the pleasure provided by his skilled hands left your body and you finally gave in.

you moaned as satoru pushed two fingers into your wet channel, taking advantage of how much wet you were already. his long fingers were able to reach spots you couldn’t, which made your stomach turn as whimpers escaped your parted lips. “you’re this wet for your father’s friend, hm? and those sounds, that some real slutty behaviour,” satoru’s tone was completely different from before, he kept speaking — degrading, you while his fingers worked inside your cunt, thrusting deeply and hitting the perfect spot to make your toes curl and cause your back to arch, unconsciously pushing your chest into his hand. “what are you, some college whore now?” his lips kissed right under your ear, biting your neck softly before licking your shivering skin.

“n-no,” you tried to argue back, your hand grabbed his wrist desperately as you grew close to your climax. “no? then why are you this wet? you enjoy getting manhandled and fucked, huh?” satoru’s movements never faltered. “the way you’re clenching on my fingers tells me you like being degraded too.”

you were too embarrassed to reply to any of his accusations, but also too focused on the incoming orgasm. you tried to clench your thighs together as your pussy spasmed around his fingers, gushing hard as you finally came while crying his name.

you sobbed when his thumb massaged your pulsing clit, making you jolt in his lap and almost hitting his chin with your head. he chuckled at your reaction, deciding to play with you for a couple of seconds more before finally leaving your poor pussy alone.

as his hands finally resurfaced from inside your clothes, you clearly saw him licking his fingers clean, groaning softly at the taste. he seemed satisfied even though you were the only one who had the privilege to have an orgasm that night.

“well, little star,” satoru moved your body off of him and placed you back in your previous position, you were still a bit dizzy from what just happened. “time to go,” he got up and stretched, before turning to look at you. “you should change yourself, hm?” he glanced at your ruined leggings before cupping your cheek with his large palm, caressing your warm skin. “i’m proud of my little slut,” he murmured before tracing your lips with his thumb, smirking at you. “goodnight,” he then patted your head and walked towards the main door, opening and closing it in a swift motion. he left as if nothing happened, he didn’t asked if you enjoyed it or not — your cunt sure did. your head was filled with too many thoughts at once. it was alright, it was wrong, it felt good, he knows how to treat a woman, he’s an asshole, it was so hot.

then one single thought filled your mind, causing you to fall back against the cushion of the couch. you found yourself staring at some random point in front of you.

satoru gojo, one of your father’s best friends, made you cum with his fingers… and it felt a bit too good.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @naomi-nana @euphiroo @eynnwwyjth @titantears @plast3c @katsuslover

#🩶 — kinktober 23 !!#📂 — writing !!#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo drabble #satoru gojo blurb #satoru gojo one shot #satoru gojo imagine #satoru gojo fanfic #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut

267 notes · View notes

danikamariewrites · 6 months

Note

ohhh love the new theme😍

i was wondering if i could please request one where it’s feysand x reader where reader has a mommy kink, mdlg kinda vibe. I literally cannot stop thinking ab mommy feyre, she would be the perfect caretaker ever. Like imagine laying on her tits just sucking on them while she strokes your hair😩 I NEED HER RNNNNN

ohhh imagine rhys walks in and sees them chilling with reader sucking on feyre. ugh and he would be the perfect daddy🧎‍♀️ and he puts his dick in reader and the three of them just lay there all night.

i just need them right now… like it’s getting ridiculous

OHHH and imagine when they’re being casual, like feyre does cute hairstyles for reader, rhys picks out dresses for them to wear, and anything reader wants, they give to her. literally spoiled rotten. and they’re so wise and give great advice and really lead the relationship. reader doesn’t even have to use her brain around them, she just ✨ exists ✨

i’m so desperate for them someone help

Taking Care of You hc

Feysand x reader

A/n: thank you! Omg I need them now too, this request is everything 🤪

Warnings: ddlg, mdlg, nsfw content at the end

The two of them are truly perfect for this kind of relationship

They’re both gift givers and they just want the best for those they love

You love & cherish them with your whole heart

You’re very clingy with them and they don’t mind one bit, they think it’s adorable

Especially Feyre, she adores how much you want to be with her and when you call her mommy she tries so hard not to blush

Every morning Rhys is always the first one awake for training and work

You and Feyre like to sleep in and get ready together

Your morning routine is typically taking a bath together, dress, and eat breakfast

Rhys lays out your outfits for you bc he’s a style icon. They always want you to look and feel pretty and cute

After the bath you sit at your vanity and Feyre brushes your hair, styling your hair and putting in the most gorgeous, expensive hair clips

You’re positively spoiled rotten on a daily basis

Eating out at the best restaurants in Velaris

Shopping at the expensive stores across Velaris

Vacations in the summer and day courts at villas

Anything you could dream of it’s yours. Even if you think it’s something so wild and unreachable Rhys always tell you to ask anyway and he will do his best to make it happen, “Anything your heart desires my sweet. We will get it for you.” He’d say while holding your hands

It’s just princess treatment 24/7 with them

They’re great advice givers. Between everything Feyre has been through and Rhys’s years they always know what to say

They also always know what you need

Both of them being daemati is perfect for you

They can look into your mind and know what you want, what you’re feeling, and what your mood is

Rhys and Feyre want to make sure you’re happy with the way things are. They want what’s best for their sweet little angel, it’s their job to take of you after all

Whenever you’re feeling tired Feyre and Rhys always encourage you to go bed

“You need your sleep angel so you can stay perfect.” Feyre tells you. “Go to bed sweet we will be up soon.” Rhys adds with a kiss on your head. A big yawn comes out as you nod, giving them each a hug & kiss before going upstairs

You never know who’s going to come up to bed first

70% of the time it’s Feyre and when she comes into the bedroom she gives you a cute sleepy smile

She climbs into bed next to you and lays on her side facing you as she gently strokes your face

The three of you always sleep naked

On nights when you can’t fall asleep Feyre always knows calms you down

“Angel you need to sleep. Do you want mommy to help you?” “Yes mommy.” Feyre turns slightly, exposing her breasts to you, opening her arms and motioning for you to come closer

You shimmy into her embrace and place kitten licks on her pert nipple. Feyre moans softly, gently placing her hands in your hair

She lightly scratches at your hair as you start to softly suck on her

Her praise in intimate moments like this makes you blush like crazy. “There you go Angel. I can see you getting sleepy, good girl.” “Just like that baby.” “You’re doing so good for mommy.”

Rhys comes up and wears a faux pout when he sees you and Feyre tangled up together, “Aww you couldn’t sleep baby?” He coos. Feyre shushes him and gives the High Lord a stern look

“Daddy will you help me too?” You ask, pulling your lips away from Feyre to give him a sleepy pout and doe eyes. “Of course baby.” He climbs into bed After undressing, spooning you and making sure you’re ready for him with his fingers

As Rhys slides into your dripping pussy you moan around Feyre

Rhys stays cuddled to you with his arm around your middle. occasionally kissing the back of your head and whispering sweet nothings of praise and love in your ear

They can tell you’re getting sleepy and Feyre goes back to tracing your face as your eyelids start to droop

You try to force your eyes back open and jerk yourself awake but Feyre shushes you, “Sshhh Angel. Let yourself sleep, we’ve got you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and drift off to sleep

When you wake up in the morning your squished between the two of them

Your head on Feyre’s breasts and Rhys’s chest pressed against your back

Noticing they’re still asleep you snuggle back into their warmth to get a few more minutes of sleep

200 notes · View notes

cheegu3 · 8 months

Text

Enhypen - the glory (part 6)

summary; after rejecting one of the most popular boys at your new school, you soon realised that you'd done the gravest mistake of your life; these weren't ordinary boys, and now they were set on making your life a living hell - heavily based on the kdrama with the same name

warnings; yandere themes, bullying, swearing, blood, fight, poor ass attempt at manipulation, mentions of wounds, mentions of non-con kissing,

genre; yandere

wc; 5k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

note; I think the definition of the word impulsive is me bc I added a damn plottwist last minute just to stress ppl out 💀 pls note that the boys aren't featured much in this, not my best chapter it's a bit of a messy filler chapter but I hope you can see my vision for the next ones ?? also y/n girly is doing a bit of a 180, good for her !!

masterlist

After a long night of hanging out, talking and just watching the movie, Soobin kindly dropped you off at your house as promised. With a head full of thoughts, it distracted you so much that you didn’t see where you were going; causing you to bump into a chest when you were near the entrance to the apartment building.

‘’ Sorry, ‘’ he grunted.

You were about to respond, but when your head snapped up as you were apologising profusely you swear your heart skipped a beat.

‘’ Jake? ‘’

He smiled and tried to go in for a hug. When he was pushed away hard on his chest and it caused him to stumble he scowled at you.

‘’ Why the fuck are you here? ‘’

‘’ Just…hung out with your dad. ‘’

The amused tone in his voice enraged you. In seconds your fists grabbed onto his collar and trying to intimidate him, tugged him towards you.

‘’ Y/n? ‘’

Your burning eyes softened. Searching for the owner of yet another familiar voice, it soon landed on the entrance where you poor dad stood, looking confused and slightly embarrassed.

He gave you a stern look before marching over, pulling your hands away with great force and standing in between you and Jake so he could bow his head.

‘’ I’m so, so sorry. I- she’s not usually like this. ‘’

A crooked smile slowly crept on your bully’s face, only you could see the disingenuity behind it.

‘’ I know. We’re usually very close, we just had a small disagreement.‘’

‘’ Dad! He’s not my friend, he’s the one that has been bullying me. ‘’ you said exasperatedly, hoping to get through to your dad with those words.

‘’ This guy? ‘’

It was almost laughable how hard Jake was putting on a show, blinking his enlarged puppy eyes at your dad while his lips had an offended pout on it. What a shame he was so fucking good at it.

‘’ Yes, I know that he looks…’’ you grimaced, ‘’ Innocent and sweet but he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he- he has kissed me before, without my consent. ‘’

You ignored the way he lit up at your compliment and he seemed to really struggle to not show it while your dad was still watching him, the only sign was the corner of his lips tugging upwards for a split second.

With your dad’s back turned to you there was no way for you to tell if your dad believed your words. But you could sense that there must’ve been some hint of acceptance there because Jake panicked, hurrying to speak before you or your dad did.

‘’ Sir, I’ve been really worried about y/n recently. With her mother in the hospital, she’s been kind of off…’’ you mouth hung open at the scene unfolding in front of you, he really wasn’t giving up.

‘’ She has been confusing me with her actual bully, Soobin who transfered not that long ago, along with this girl. ‘’ he gestured towards your arms, feigning a distraught look. ‘’ They did that to her. They left her in pain and with those scars. ‘’

He pretended to choke up, sighing and looking away from the audience.

‘’ And it breaks my heart that she doesn’t recognize m- ‘’

A cry broke from your lips as Jake was cut off mid sentence. A fist had swung and hit him right in the nose, and when he raised his head you could see blood trickling from it.

‘’ Dad! ‘’ you gasped, both impressed and pleasantly surprised.

Like the crybaby he was, he took a few steps back and then crouched down, pressing his hands to his dripping nose while glaring at you two. Your smile faded when your eyes met, he was even angrier than the last time you swore that was the angriest he’d ever looked. His hands were shaking and he was breathing heavily. You swallowed thickly. What would this mean for your dad? Would he try to get revenge on him too now?

‘’ Let’s go, y/n. ‘’

Your dad dragged you away by the arm, continuing to do so despite your protests and attempts to get out of his grasp. Knowing Jake well enough by now, you knew that if you comforted him and apologized, maybe even hugged and kissed him - then, he maybe wouldn’t hit back. But your dad didn’t even let you try this time, leaving you with a horrible sense of dread at the pit of your stomach as you ascended the stairs.

‘’ You should get in before he comes back. ‘’

You followed your dad into the apartment. Your two distinct moods were pretty apparent to one another. He looked worried and at the same time determined, not an ounce of regret present on his face; you on the other hand, kept your head down, a different kind of worry gnawed on the inside causing you to sit on the couch with a somewhat dead look in your eyes.

You sitting there and staring straight ahead for a very long time made your dad come over, a growing concern having taken ahold of him.

‘’ Hey, y/n? ‘’

You almost had to tear your eyes away from the wall you’d been staring at.

‘’ I’m sorry about that. I hope I didn’t cause any more troubles for you at school, ‘’ he hesitated, ‘’ Did I? ‘’

Robotically your head shook no, although your true feelings were quite different. Knowing he couldn’t do anything to help you anyway, there was no need for him to know anything, right? He’d just worry even more, and he had too many things on his plate as it was already.

‘’ Okay, good good. ‘’ he mumbled, appearing to be stuck in his own head too.

In an attempt to lighten the mood and get you both to think of something else, your dad reached out for the TV-remote and put on a show that faded into the background for you.

‘’ I need to go do homework. ‘’

Your dad nodded but couldn’t help but look after you as you left, a look full with somberness. Well inside the room, you walked over to the wall with the post-it notes. It looked as empty as it had been last time you wrote anything on it.

Now you had more info. Walking over to the desk, you scribbled some words down and hung it up next to the others. Then you moved that one and added seven more notes, all with their names, figuring it would be better to separate the things you knew by person.

Under Jay you added the note that read - dad is the mayor of Seoul. Sunghoon, Sunoo and Jungwon were the only ones except for Jay that had a note, and that irritated you. Sunoo’s read - gave information in the past, someone we can use? While Sunghoon and Jungwon’s said - has my number.

A heavy sigh sounded in the room as you scanned over the other names. Heeseung, nothing yet. Jake, nothing, Ni-ki…Ni-ki? You hurried to the table. With a new note in your hand, you almost ran to the wall eagerly and added the information you got from Sunoo regarding his childhood, adding the same under Sunoo’s.

The fact was that you knew more about those two than the others. While staring at Sunoo’s name you hoped to yourself that it’d be as easy to get more information out of him as the first time. Maybe giving some clues about the other guys so Soobin wouldn’t have to work as hard.

Once you realised you couldn’t really add anything to the wall for now, you finally sat down at the desk to catch up on all the schoolwork you had neglected the past week. The phone that laid nearby was a powerful distraction to the math you tried very hard to get immersed in. You kept glancing at it, hands clenching the pen in your hand in anxiety at the possibility of them texting you since they could unfortunately do that now.

Almost as if you’d manifested it, the phone pinged after about the tenth time you peeked at it. It was impossible to miss, in the darkened room it lit up and the display shone at you brightly.

A quick breath was released before you dared to pick it up. Both disappointment and relief filled you instead as the notification was just from an app. The radio silence from the guys felt a bit unnerving. Had he even told them? What were they talking about? Were they angry, would they text- no, you had to stop letting your mind wander. There was no point in trying to somehow read their minds through telepathy, it would only serve to increase the worry.

You looked at the neglected homework and reluctantly pushed it away once again, opting instead for a good night’s rest.

*******

The next day was Sunday. Normally you’d go to weekend-school to do some extra work but after last night’s run in with Jake, you decided to do what Soobin had told you to do, stay at home.

8:17 am

You: Soobin? I thought about what you said and I won’t come to the academy today. Do you think you’ll be okay on your own?

Cousin: I’m glad you trusted me :)

Cousin: I will be okay. Maybe I could try to get closer to them today?

You: Yeah. I kinda expect them to since I’m not there. They might ask about me, especially since,

You: Well…

He didn’t reply right away so you exited the messages and instead went to email. During last night, Soobin suggested that you could hire a private investigator. He emailed a suggested official website where you could easily get all kinds of people willing to help with anything, and he even offered to pay for you.

Soobin had said that his dad used it in the past, when trying to find proof of infedelity in his marriage so he’d seen first-hand how it worked. They never asked too many questions or reported anything since they had their own interests. The one he chose was a corrupted cop, working on the side for extra pocket-money. In the end, he proved to be a good choice as he did find proof and the divorce was finalized.

You scrolled down the long list of names, thumb stopping and hovering over one in particular - Choi Hyuntae, Kim Doyun, Park Chaewoo, Kang Siwoo, Lee Seoyun, Yang Yena…

With swift fingers you clicked to message the person. The probability of you choosing her was low, but curiosity lead you astray for a moment.

8:20 am

You: Yena? Why are you on this website? / from, y/n

A whole minute passed before you got a response.

Unknown number: Y/n? Wtf are you doing here?

You: Answer me first

Unknown number: I recently passed the exam. I’m a cop now.

You: And you’re already corrupt…

Unknown number: Just trying to survive like everyone else. Your turn to answer.

You: I was looking for someone to help me with the situation at school.

You hesitated before giving the truth. But it wouldn’t be the biggest deal if she told Jungwon, you hadn’t even done anything yet and if they confronted you, you could always make them think you had no power to do anything anyway. Your scars hadn’t itched in a few hours, maybe if they did you’d be reminded of the pain and shy away from just jumping into action.

Unknown number: You mean my brother and his friends?

You: Yeah.

Unknown number: I could help you with that. I hate him and have always wanted to take him down. I guess this is fate, huh?

You: Why do you hate him though? Except for his personality ofc.

Unknown number: I was always second best, in school, in looks, in talents and personality etc. Jungwon has dreams of becoming a singer, I guess they found his dream a lot better than mine too. Besides, they only wanted sons anyway.

You: Sorry to hear that. I guess I could give you a chance, but I don’t trust you yet so don’t expect too much.

Unknown: I won’t

You: If you have a car, we can meetup tonight at 9pm in that abandoned parking lot by the beach, the one a bunch of highschoolers used to drive to when they ditched school.

You: Do you know it?

Unknown: I think so. See you there!

It was a bit reckless to decide to meet up just like that, without even consulting with Soobin. Him being away left you feeling bored and restless. You wanted very badly to make moves as well, but you couldn’t go to the academy. Finally he did eventually answer, redirecting your attention elsewhere.

8:22 am

Cousin: Well what???

You: I did something stupid. Jake was in my apartment while I was at your house. I told dad that he bullied me and he punched him.

Cousin: WHAT? Y/n!

You: Sorry…Can you deal with the mess tho?

Cousin: I can try :/

Cousin: I’ll keep in touch during the day. Why the fuck was he there though?

While reading the texts from Soobin, your smile faded away. You realized you had never asked your dad about it. Surely there was a reason right?

‘’ Dad? ‘’

‘’ In the kitchen, honey! ‘’

You ran there.

‘’ Did Jake say why he was here yesterday? ‘’

The typing on the computer stopped for a few seconds. A low hum came from his throat as he rubbed his beard.

‘’ He did…I think- yeah, he said it was because you got injured during P.E and missed out on the last lesson. So he wanted to give you the notes. ‘’

‘’ Did you not question it? I haven’t told you I have any friends. ‘’

‘’ You know your school is on the way to my office. I look through the gates sometimes. ‘’ he shrugged.

‘’ Did you see me? ‘’

‘’ Many times. After school, I saw you once with some guy but I could only see the back. ‘’

‘’ Soobin. ‘’ you mumbled to yourself.

‘’ I got the wrong guy? ‘’

You hummed. ‘’ Seems so.

‘’ Can you blame me? I saw that same guy be surrounded by a bunch of guys before that, could’ve all been twins to an old man like me. ‘’

His voice slowly dimmed in the background of the new stream of thoughts inside your head. Wait, was he talking about Soobin? With a bunch of guys…

‘’ If you ask me, everyone looks the sa- ‘’

‘’ Dad! Do you think at least one of the guys could’ve been Jake? ‘’ you interrupted.

He was caught off guard by your rapid question and took a bit to recollect his thoughts.

‘’ Possibly. ‘’

Shit. Why was Soobin with them? You felt a bitter taste take place in your mouth. The phone in the backpocket of your jeans was fished up as you contemplated texting him and asking him head on. But that seed of mistrust you always had inside, stopped you from doing so.

It had gotten watered again after having been kept away the more Soobin got you to trust him. Now it was growing, like it had never stopped. Was he two-timing you? You squeezed your hands around your phone, to the point your arm started shaking.

‘’ Honey, are you alright? ‘’

You snapped back and gasped when you realized what you were doing. With an awkward laugh you nodded and smiled, hurrying next to leave quickly so you could lock yourself up in your room.

Had Jake been in your room? You tried to take your mind off of Soobin by ravaging through your stuff to see if there was any trace of him. Then, a deeply unsettling thought popped into your head. In seconds you were at the drawers, pulling them out and throwing things around.

Oh no, that fucking pervert! You counted your underwear over and over. No matter how many times you did so, it didn’t add up - something was missing. Boiling with rage you took out your phone and without thinking, you called Sunghoon.

He picked up on the fifth dial, sounding brash even from the get-go.

‘’ Hey, sweetheart. ‘’

‘’ Sunghoon! Put Jake on the phone, now! ‘’ you yelled.

He didn’t question it or joke around more, probably hearing the anger radiating in your voice. A small laugh slipped out before muffled sounds followed and Jake finally was put on the phone.

‘’ Jake? ‘’

‘’ Yeah? ‘’

‘’ What the fuck did you do in my room? ‘’

The line went quiet, but you heard a few snickers in the background. If he had put it on speaker for everyone to hear, it would solely serve to make you even angrier. You weren’t even sure where all this newfound confidence and boldness came from, or if you’d regret it soon enough. Now all that mattered was your anger, and only that.

‘’ I- uh…what do you mean? ‘’

‘’ Don’t you dare try to play dumb! ‘’ you screamed.

Jake chuckled. ‘’ I don’t have to tell you anything after what you did to me. ‘’

‘’ You deserved so much worse than that. ‘’

He hummed.

‘’ Maybe. But thank you babe, I’ll have fun tonight. ‘’

You screamed in frustration again which doubled when you heard they hung up. You couldn't even retaliate or cuss them out. Falling back onto the soft cushion on the bed, you stared up at the ceiling, almost struggling to breathe properly.

The phone pinged.

8:21 am

Cousin: I’m here. What do you want me to do?

Glaring at the screen, you couldn’t help but feel angry at Soobin even though it wasn’t his fault this time either. For some reason you kept imagining that he was probably looking at his phone while the guys over his shoulder all laughed, calling you all sorts of names and coming up with more plans on how to torture you further.

But another part of you came to the conclusion that you’d have to confront him and talk about it like an adult, because it could still be a misunderstanding; you didn’t want to give more life to the seed of doubt and falsely lash out on him again.

You huffed, but replied for now as if you were completely oblivious about what your dad had told you. Likely, you’d talk to him about it later. But it would be even better if he could get you proof that it was all a misunderstanding without you telling him. Your reasoning for this was that if it was one and you had confronted him, it would probably break his heart that you got suspicious of him again. Problem was, you had no idea how he could give you proof without you mentioning any of that.

After some pondering, laying on the bed and letting the silence make brainstorming happen, you settled on the first somewhat decent idea you came up with, voice notes. It could potentially mean you could hear in the others’ voices if they were acting or not.

But god, you hoped with every fiber in you that Soobin was still someone you could trust and that he was in no way affiliated with your abusers.

8:24 am

You: Could you voice record the whole thing?

Cousin: Sure!

And now you just had to wait.

*******

The time you spent in the car wasn’t very pleasant. Most of the day was spent finally being able to get into the zone long enough to finish your schoolwork. Soobin had texted about five minutes before you left to go meet Yena, saying that he had the recording and that he wanted to listen to it together.

You told him you were meeting Jungwon’s sister, which quite expectedly made him freak out a little. He was probably on his way now and you hoped he wouldn’t jeopardize the meetup.

A white honda pulled into the parking lot a few minutes past 9pm. It went round in circles near the entrance a few times. Then the driver seemed to spot your car as it slowly started making its way over.

When it reversed into the empty square next to you, you craned your neck to see the person behind the wheel. You breathed out in relief upon seeing it was Yena like you had thought. For some reason, you always felt like they were watching you and half expected one of them to pull up, either instead of Yena or behind her.

Now that you knew that wasn’t the case, you unlocked the car and gestured for her to get into the front seat of your car. Getting out in the parking lot didn’t seem as safe or discreet, especially in case they did follow her here.

She got in and immediately reeked of pure business. No unnecessary politeness or small talk, just straight into it, ‘’ What do you want me to do? ‘’

Your eyes widened. ‘’ Not even a hi or how are you? ‘’

She just stared at you blankly and you had to look away, getting an awful sense of déjà-vu under her unsettling and very familiar gaze.

‘’ I’m still a cop working full-time, ‘’ she paused, looking a bit more relaxed. ‘’ Sorry, I just always seem to have my hands full. ‘’

‘’ Tough cases lately? ‘’

Yena nodded, looking quite gloomy all of a sudden. But you didn’t press further, agreeing it was best for the both of you to get right into it. You dug in your backpack and taking out a bulky camera, you handed it to her. She started turning it and inspecting it until you had managed to lay out all the equipment on the dashboard.

‘’ It’s not the best. Just an old camera my dad has used in the past, only one I could find. ‘’

She put the camera to her eye and started twisting the lens, playing around with the abilities of it. ‘’ It works just fine. You don’t need anything too expensive. ‘’

‘’ Okay, that’s good to hear. ‘’

‘’ So what do you need me to do? Follow that little asshole and his friends around and take pictures of them? ‘’

‘’ Yeah, pretty much. ‘’

‘’ That’s…kinda creepy, I like it. Anything else? ‘’ a small grin spread on her ruby lips.

‘’ Anything that seems relevant. Like their families- ‘’ you paused and licked your lips, watching her reaction closely, but her expression remained unchanged. ‘’ Things I can use against them. ‘’

‘’ You’re getting revenge. ‘’

‘’ Yeah. ‘’

She laughed loudly.

‘’ And you have no choice but to trust me or? ‘’

‘’ I don’t know. I could’ve picked someone else on that website. I guess a familiar face feels more comfortable. ‘’

‘’ I’m his sister though. If I were you I wouldn’t trust people that easily, even though I am telling the truth. ‘’

‘’ I don’t, and that has been a problem in the past. I need to be a bit more open to people. Let’s say you did tell him, ‘’ you imagined yourself in that scenario, thinking about what you’d truthfully most likely do.

‘’ What can he do? I mean I can run away, move schools or…something. It’s not like I’ve done much anyway. Or I can pretend I’m in love with them and super regretful about what I tried to do. ‘’

She looked amused and you could see why. The anger from Jake escalating things and getting into your personal space like that had made you be a lot more impulsive. You felt like you didn’t have much time. As if there was some kind of timebomb to something, but you didn’t know what.

All you knew was that it wasn’t completely crazy to think and feel the way you did. They had started closing the circle around you. Meeting outside of school, getting your number, visiting your mom in the hospital, and then going to your apartment to take your things. What would they do next?

There was a feeling that if you didn’t make a move now, however hasty and reckless, you’d never get the chance to even try. You weren’t sure if that was weird paranoia making you try to predict the future or a good intuition knowing what storm was heading towards you.

‘’ They’re probably worse than you think, sweetheart. But okay, I’ll try my best and hopefully the hard work I put in and all the material I will give you, will make you trust me. ‘’

‘’ I don’t have to trust you. I have nothing to lose. ‘’

Yena raised her eyebrows.

‘’ Yes you do. ‘’

You bit your lips guilitly, knowing she was right. But the one who has nothing to lose, is the one who is more likely to win. Fake it till you make it.

‘’ When can you get me the first pictures? ‘’ you attempted to change the subject.

‘’ On Wednesday. Try not to die before then, I heard Jungwon talking about you with them today. ‘’

‘’ What? What did they say? ‘’

‘’ They all came over after the academy. I didn’t hear much except for your name and Jake, those were said a lot. ‘’ she shrugged.

You hummed. ‘’ Okay, I’ll try not to. See you then, same time and same place? ‘’

‘’ Sure thing. ‘’

She left and you got your phone out to call Soobin. You had noticed a car parking a few spaces away from you, only too far away for the driver to be visible. Just as the phone was picked up, you could see movement in that other car.

‘’ Hello? ‘’

‘’ Are you here? ‘’

‘’ How did you know? ‘’ he gasped dramatically.

‘’ You weren’t very discreet, ‘’ you sighed, but a small smile tugged at your lips.

‘’ Sit in my car so we can talk. ‘’

‘’ It’s kinda cooler like this though, on the phone. It’s like we’re secret agents. ‘’

‘’ Soobin! ‘’

‘’ Sorry, sorry! I’m coming. ‘’

You shook your head at the sight of him getting out of the car you thought he was in. He looked very funny while running over, hunched over and trying to look in all directions when running which caused him to almost stumble several times.

‘’ Hey. ‘’

‘’ Hi. Hurry. ‘’

You locked the door when he was in. The immediate silence after the car door closing made it echo felt a bit awkward, but he looked as happy as ever to see you. That��s when you remembered what your dad had said that same morning.

Soobin noticed the way a scowl slowly crept up on the friendly face you first wore when he got in. He felt a bit self-conscious, thinking that he did something wrong.

‘’ Are you…okay? ‘’

‘’ My dad told me something very interesting about you today. ‘’

He gulped, almost feeling like he wanted to press himself against the door so he could get away from your angry self.

‘’ He said that he saw you with my bullies. ‘’

Soobin went quiet.

‘’ Soobin? ‘’

His face grew pale as he struggled to speak. ‘’ I-I, no! It’s not what you think, y/n! ‘’

‘’ Then tell me. ‘’

He tried reaching out for your hands, expecting you to withdraw them and was surprised when you didn’t. You let him hold you if it helped alleviate some of his sudden anxiety so he could tell you the truth.

‘’ I…went to go talk to them to tell them to leave you alone. ‘’

‘’ What? ‘’

He looked very ashamed.

‘’ It was after the first day, when you showed me your scars. We barley knew each other then, but I- I shouldn’t have, I know. ‘’

You almost felt too stunned to speak. All the questions you wanted to ask didn’t want to come out smoothly and you weren’t even sure what to feel. Were you still angry or suspicious of him or - did you feel a bit grateful?

‘’ I did it quickly while waiting for you after school. Remember, you went to the bathroom? They walked right past me and I couldn’t stop myself. I guess they didn’t want you to hear, so I was practically dragged or pushed out to the front of the school. ‘’

‘’ What did they say? ‘’ you asked after he answered your first question.

‘’ Threatened me. Said they knew who my dad was and that Jay could get my dad fired. ‘’

‘’ Why didn’t you tell me this? ‘’

Your groan of frustration was so loud it made Soobin jump. He looked at you, his doe eyes begging for mercy almost as if you were a hunter and was about to take his life. Maybe there was some truth to that, you had the small urge to shake some sense into him and also quite literally choke him in anger.

The plan had quite literally fallen into pieces, the plan that was just made. Now you had to come up with a new one quickly.

‘’ They knew we’ve been friends since the fucking beginning, you sat there with me to come up with a plan and immediately agreed to what I said! ‘’

‘’ I thought I could somehow pull it off and still be useful even if they knew. I would just…find a way, ‘’ he trailed off.

His head had started to hang in shame now, too embarrassed and guilty to look at you. Without doing so, it was still pretty obvious how you were feeling on the inside. He’d likely feel the same if he were you which meant he was well aware that this wasn’t a good look for him at all.

‘’ If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I get it okay- I just, I want to help you. I can promise you that. ‘’

You scoffed.

‘’ It would’ve been a lot better if you were just honest from the beginning. I wouldn’t have cared about your mistake. ‘’ not even giving him a chance to respond, you continued, ‘’ But I guess I have no choice now. For all I know I have two backstabbers by my side, so who cares? ‘’

Soobin sensed the bitterness in your words. He hoped that despite whatever was going on would be solved soon and hoped even more that you hadn’t given up. It was stupid not to tell you, he admitted that. For some reason he was confident it would never get brought up; at the same time, he was happy it did right now and not later when the bullies could’ve used that lie to turn you against him.

‘’ I hope I can earn your trust back. ‘’

You didn’t say anything. His explanation made sense, no matter how angry you were, especially when Yeonjun’s words echoed inside your head. It seemed to be perfectly in character for him. So just before he stepped out of the car, looking very sad, you smiled at him.

His eyes grew twice in size, but he didn’t get to say anything because you gestured for him to get out, not that he’d have the right words anyway. He stood there dumbfounded, staring after your car even as you left.

‘’ What’s wrong? ‘’

His eyes hadn’t widened due to your smile, but something standing in the shadows.

‘’ Y/n…’’

‘’ What’s wrong? ‘’

Terror flashed across his face, and he choked out breathlessly,

‘’ He’s watching me. ‘’

(tell me if you've changed ur user bc I could've just tagged some poor locals LMAO)

taglist; @peaceout97blog-blog, @ayadikreino, @beoms-sugar, @keikeu, @sunghoonnsupremacy, @lilyalone, @sweet-kisses-and-bloody-screams, @eunchaesmileyface, @nunugget, @seunns, @nshmrarki, @huening-ly, @espyluvsyou, @yncel, @loserwithnofriends, @enha-stan, @binchanluvrr, @ariek-divad, @obsessed1with1straykids

#enha the glory #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere enhypen #yandere enha

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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part one)

summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.

— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos

warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!

explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. the whole lyrics layout inspired by @/upsidedownwithsteve! 1979 is like one of my fav songs ever and i wanted to write a story about it. sorry it took a while to post :( hope you guys all enjoy.

PART TWO; SERIES MASTERLIST

Shakedown 1979

Cool kids never have the time

On a live wire right up off the street

You and I should meet

In a field miles away from a town that’s cursed him, Eddie lays in the colossal grass with his hands on his chest and his eyes closed, the sun blinding him through the thin skin of his eyelids. Growing weeds tickle his inked skin, dirt stains his leather jacket, and ants cross over his hair; he does not mind one bit.

He daydreams of the sky. How accepting they’d be — how they wouldn't mind his disheveled, long hair, or his punk style and see him as one of them; One of the clouds who form themselves into whatever they want and float freely across the cerulean aether atmosphere. A place where he can be himself, where he can bring his darkness into that white airy cotton, even when it turns grey or when the night begins. Eddie would be himself, and no one would judge.

Ringed fingers touch the grass when he removes one from his chest, soft beneath his fingertips that he massages. Eddie hums, taking in the calming sound of air swishing the trees, the faint sound of passing cars, the optimistic birds, and the sound of Dustin talking to his girlfriend with a sickenly high-pitched and lovey-dovey voice. Which reminds him:

“Hey, Henderson,” he turns around, laying on his stomach. Eddie takes a quick glance at his watch — 7:05 am. “Wrap it up lovebirds. We gotta go to school.”

Dustin nods his head, his cap blocking his eyes. “Yeah hold on. I gotta go, Suzie-poo. I’ll talk to you later, I promise. I miss you already. I love you.”

A giggle. “I love you more, Dusty-bun.”

“I love you more multiplied by all the stars in the galaxy.”

“No, I love you—”

“Alright,” Eddie suddenly takes the microphone from Dustin, shooting him a judging look with a raised brow before he speaks. “Sorry, Suzie-poo. Gotta take Dusty here to school or else you won't be seeing each other and he’s gonna spend the rest of his life running up this hill crying. Bye-bye now.”

He almost laughs at the thought of Suzie’s shocked face when he turns the radio off. And maybe that same laugh comes out when he sees Dustin’s horrified expression when he realized he’d — or Eddie — had just cut her off. He looks back at Eddie, mouth agape, before he playfully punches his shoulder.

“Asshole,” Dustin kicks his shin. “That was my girlfriend, you idiot. She’s gonna be pissed that you cut her off!”

“Nah, she loves you too much,” he stands up, patting the dirt off his knees and his jacket, fixing his hair. “Now come on, Dusty bunny, we gotta go to school.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dustin swats his hand away when Eddie tries to ruffle his hair by slipping it beneath his hand, but the kid smiles anyway. Anything for the affection he gives. “You know, you’ll be like this one day,”

Eddie plays with his keys, walking down the hill in heavy footsteps that threaten to twist their ankles. “What’d you mean?”

Dustin hops over the fence, followed by Eddie who grunts loudly. “Being sweet. Disgusting. In love.”

He scoffs, walking over to the side of his van and opening the door, but not before he looks at Dustin over the hood of his van with a look. “So you admit that you and Suzie are disgusting?”

“From the words of you, Steve, Lucas and Mike — who actually both have girlfriends — yes, I admit that we are disgusting. Disgustingly sweet.”

They close the doors simultaneously, the keys jingling when Eddie shoves the keys in the ignition. “You know, when I was fifteen, I spent my time playing the guitar and studying songs. My fingertips were bleeding, Henderson,” he shows him his palm, letting Dustin see the faint scar lines on his fingertips. “I never dated a girl. So I highly doubt I’d fall in love.”

“The only reason you never dated was because of your reputation,” Dustin throws his bag behind him. “And you’ll fall in love. I bet you will. You may be cynical and mad, but you’ll find the right person, Eddie,” he smiles at him. “Trust me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he shakes his head, the car shaking into a start and Mötley Crüe starts blasting that startles the poor boy beside him. “We’re gonna take this bet to my grave, then.”

Eddie Munson has only fallen in love once. When his Uncle, Wayne, had come home with a red guitar after his night, tiring shifts at the plant. He remembers clearly the way his eyes lost focus of the world and remained on that guitar, like the center of attention; the only attraction in this terrifying world. Eddie remembers the way his heart pounded like he’d fallen down a roller coaster, and remembered the way his tears had mimicked said coaster when he hugged his Uncle and sobbed out his gratitude.

That had been five years ago. When he was fifteen. And he swears he’ll never fall in love again.

Because love—in his own concept—was a dangerous game. More dangerous than when you decide to go and attack Vecna powerless in Dungeons and Dragons, or taunting a swarm of demobats. It’s a game with unknown intentions and arduous side quests that render you defeated before you even get to love itself. Dangerous and tiring, if you’d shorten it. And no one wants to delve into a love so treacherous if you’ll end up getting hurt anyway.

It’s what Eddie thinks; understood. How he perceives love and what he thinks love is with his semi-nihilistic mind despite never having to fight for love. It’s a game he refuses to partake in and narrate, and would rather watch people struggle with it from the sidelines (with a beer in hand and a freshly rolled blunt in his mouth, as he’d imagined).

So he prays Dustin would win that game. Despite being miles away from his girlfriend; give him all the makeshift spears and shields made of garbage lids and dull nails. He cares so much for him that he actually hopes their love will succeed, that he’d go out not scathed but covered in grime and a triumphant smile. Even now when Eddie looks beside him to see the lovesick smile on Dustin Henderson’s face who replays every memory he had with Suzie during that one summer.

He reaches over to give his friend a pat on the shoulder, which gifts him a bright smile before he races off to Hawkins High with eternal dread.

—

His day wasn’t at all dreadful. It felt like a normal day.

Probably because Jason Carver wasn't at school today due to a foot injury, and his little balls-in-laundry-baskets friends had no leader to bark at them around all day. They did nothing but practice and sit quietly at their tables, and so did Eddie.

Albeit the day being normal, he’d still get his usual judging stares and glares. Eddie Munson wearing a Dio shirt today? Freak. Eddie Munson wearing shoes other than his Reeboks? Freak. Eddie Munson trimmed his bangs today? Freak. Eddie Munson’s not wearing his vest? Still a freak.

He kept his head low, eyes on the ballpen that draws on his palm as he walks through the emptying hallway. Dustin had gone with Steve Harrington, and the rest had decided to leave early. Eddie? He’d just gotten out of detention for spacing out during class. Why detention? He'd never know why. Even Ms. O’ Donnel thinks he’s a freak.

Eddie whistles. Mandy. Something new and unusual, a song he’d heard from Wayne early in the morning that he too whistles as he makes his coffee and smokes outside the porch. He’d woken up to the sound of it for two weeks and he finds himself subconsciously copying his Uncle.

His footsteps echo in the walls of Hawkins High. He jumps and spins and occasionally taps his fingers across the lockers covered in stickers, if not dents from rowdy students. The sight of the exit doors surprises him when he turns right, and a bright smile comes up to his face when he sees them. Eddie pulls his keys out of his back pockets, shoves his pen inside, and continues to whistle like he’s taking a walk on a quiet, sunny day at a park.

Until by the time he’s about two rooms away, he hears the sound of a piano. Soft and ear-pleasing, yet startling since it’s been an hour after school ended and no one, not even the teachers other than Ms. O’ Donnel should be here. Eddie stops his whistling, eyebrows furrowing as he hears the piano play the same tune he’d been whistling.

And then a voice. Far and hushed, like a ghost. Unseen through the walls, floating and yearning to be noticed; so they sing to be noticed instead. Eddie’s heart palpitates a little in panic, wondering if the ghost is singing the same song he’s whistling to get his attention. His hands curl into fists and prepare to run away.

But he thinks of disturbing whoever's in that room. He also thinks he should just go home because it probably could just be a ghost, seeing as half the victims from the Starcourt fire had been students and they’d probably come here for refuge in the afterlife. But Eddie’s curious. Maybe taking a glimpse over the small window on the door and seeing a ghost would cause no harm other than a possible possession, right?

So he tiptoes his way to the door he recognized as the music room. He’d seen this room once when he snuck in here during middle school and he needed a guitar for Gareth or else they would have lost that talent show (they did. No adult would let a child playing quote unquote, Satan’s Music, win).

Carefully, he peeks sideways through the small window, where he sees through the blurry glass; a girl sitting in front of a keyboard. Her back to him, head bobbing slightly at every key she presses, showing merely the tip of her nose and the plump apples of her cheeks when she sways lightly to her gentle playing. Eddie quietly shoves his keys back inside his pockets, pressing his ear against the glass, and watches the grace take upon her fingers.

“I see a memory. I never realized how happy you made me,”

A voice so celestial, like an angel he’s never seen but envisaged. Maybe like an angel he’d imagined in the clouds up above; a voice so warm like the summer breeze, soft like silk and the denim of his vest. It’s inviting and it’s hypnotizing, with every perfect lilt.

Something new from his usual heavy ululating music. Something he might like and never get used to.

And it’s tempting. So tempting that he finds himself opening the door harshly that the doorknob slams against the thin wall of the room that even startles Eddie.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

You scream, hands slamming on the keyboard that makes a distorted sound of unmatched keys. Eddie’s eyes widen and his hands raise in defense, hiding behind them when your own hand comes up to gasp into your palm, horrified by his sudden arrival. His heart pounds against his chest, hands coming down to clasp at his pec. And he’s staring at your petrified look.

“Mother of God,” you whimper.

“I’m sorry!” he closes the door behind him hastily. “It’s, uh, I heard you. And I thought you sounded… great,” Eddie’s shoulders deflate, sighing when a small smile comes up to your face.

“Really?” you finish for him. “Sorry. I- I thought I was alone.”

“No, it’s okay.” Eddie finds himself smiling with you. More at the way there’s dimples at the bottom of your mouth and your teeth show slightly through your lips.

He stares at you, longer than he intends to, a sense of familiarity waves down him when he traces the slope of your nose and the thick eyelashes that meet with your cheeks when you blink. Eddie thinks you’re pretty — especially with your small smile that makes his heart feel weird when he realizes he’s the receiving end of it. A faint picture flashes in the back of his head, and he limply points at you. “Hey, uh, I kinda remember you,”

Your eyebrows raise a bit, hands falling to your lap. “You do?”

“Yes! I think…” his eyes narrow. “Middle school.”

“Yeah,” you tell him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It was back in middle school.”

Yes, he remembers you. Only that blurry picture in the back of his mind only focusing on the small pigtails of a girl shorter than him, the ends of a borrowed purple dress that tickled his knees, and that similar smile of yours except you’d been missing a tooth on the bottom row of your teeth that matched his. And that voice, still sweet but deeper than it used to be, still entices him like it used to do.

Eddie gawps. “Holy shit,” he says your name with pure shock, the smile on his lips starting to strain his cheeks. But he doesn't care, not when you’re prettily smiling with him. “You— you played that same song! Mandy, right? You played that too?”

“I did, yeah,” he walks over to you, hands on his lap and slightly bent. Eddie walks until he’s standing beside the bench you’re sitting on, hand grazing the plastic of the borrowed keyboard. “Mandy by Barry Manilow. Yep.”

“I’m Eddie Munson. Although I'm sure you already knew that,” he offers his hand, hoping you won’t notice the trembling and the silent clinking of his rings. You smile at him, taking his hand into yours and he wonders why even the handshaking felt familiar.

And your hand is warm. Soft like the grass he’s touched earlier this morning, feeling the same small scars in the pads of your fingertips when his thumb slyly runs through them. They were light and they were pretty, your own dainty little ring made by a wire that loops around a gemstone was a hard contrast to the abominable ones on his hand. Almost like an angel shaking the devil’s hand.

Eddie wishes to feel this way again. How a simple touch ignites something new, yet the fire starts within him that he can't find.

“I know,” you place your hand back on your lap, his own falling disappointedly on his side. “Sat behind you during History.”

He nods his head down on the bench you’re sitting on, asking for permission. You scoot aside, motioning for him to sit beside you; and Eddie, for the first time in his life, shyly does. He sits beside you, thighs almost an inch apart as he nervously watches you toy with the black keys. “How come I remember you a bit in middle school but not…?”

“Your early years of high school?” you press on a key he doesn't know. “I left after middle school. Moved to Queens, for my dad’s work. Came back here because my nana got sick.”

“Oh,” he plays with his rings, pulls them up before he puts them back on, a slight indentation on his fingers. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,”

Eddie exhales, feeling his heart unwind when you begin to play a steady beat, watching as you press down on the plastic keys. “I came inside because I thought you sounded good,” he nods his head to you. “Your voice. It’s nice. And, because I also thought that ghosts might have heard me whistling and decided to play with me. Scare me shitless.”

“Ghosts?” you repeat, pressing on a key that emits a deep tune.

He hums. “Hawkins is filled with dead people. Right beneath this school and those roads you walk on,” he points behind him. “‘ve you heard of the mall fire last summer?”

“I think so,” you furrow your eyebrows. “My dad’s friend called him about that.”

“It was horrifying,” his eyebrows meet for a split second when your eyes widen and you look away from him. Eddie smiles a little. “So, piano huh?”

You look at him again. “Well, technically it’s a keyboard but…it makes the sound of a piano,” you slam a finger onto a black key.

Eddie has gotten to the point where he realizes there’s no future in this conversation if he doesn't make up another question. And he doesn't want this to end. He just met you again, and he’d like to stay here a bit more even though he’s been craving to leave the school an hour ago. Anything to get to know you a bit more before he sees what’s going to happen next.

“Can you play me a song?” he asks quietly, feeling embarrassed by his diffidence. “Only if you want to.”

“Of course,” you smile at him, fists clenching that your index scratches on the cuticles of your thumb. He wants to stop you, but he worries about crossing borders and you’re probably just as nervous as he is as you say, “what song?”

“Mandy,” he deadpans. You blink at his tone, which makes him clear his throat and speak again in a rather forced cheerfulness that means no harm but to correct himself. “Please?”

You let out a short chuckle, unclenching your fists to spread them out and stretch. “Yeah sure.”

You began with grace, you performed with aplomb, and his ever-curious mind was captivated by how simple it was for you to play and croon at the same time, as if he didn't know how to do it himself. Eddie watches silently, sings in his head with your gentle humming; remembers how he’d caught Wayne swaying to this song once and thinking he looked funny and at peace, wearing his usual red flannel with a cigarette in his mouth and eyes closed. He looked high back then, unperceived that his nephew had been standing there to the side with crossed arms and an amused smile.

Is this what his uncle felt? Finding peace in music other than electric guitars and heavy drums? Lacking all that yowling rasps and instead replaced with a voice that runs through velvet flawlessly like yours. Where he sways and taps his feet, watching your slender hands switch between keys without having the pads of your fingertips stuck in between them despite him noticing the slight shakiness in your hands, dwelling in on the missing memory that scratches on the back of his mind as he watches you play.

“Caught up in a world of uphill climbing, the tears are in my mind and nothin' is rhyming,” you take a shy glance at him, eyes flitting to the redness of his ears. Eddie smiles to take your attention, making his ears turn redder when you smile back at him. “I…I forgot the next lyrics,”

Eddie chuckles. “So have I,” he lies. He just doesn’t want to sing. Not in front of you, at least. He worries he might crack his voice and he could just jump out that window.

There’s a faint sound of a door slamming shut from outside that makes you jump a bit, which makes Eddie turn around to where the sound was before he completely ignores it.

Trying to hide the disappointment that flows from him when you stop playing, he focuses on the fact that you’re looking at him as you do so. Which twists his heart in a way that’s far from bad, and tries to distract himself by clapping like one of the people he wishes he had after his shows. “That was it, all I could remember,” you motion to the piano, flushing bashfully. “I- stop,”

You laugh, your hand barely touching his wrist but motions for him to settle it down. “Bravo,” he smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows. “That was amazing. Talented. You could be the next, I don’t know, Billy Joel.”

“I barely finished the song,” you nudge your knee with his. “I actually think I made a few mistakes but, uh, thanks,” Eddie fights the urge to remove the lone lint from your hair. He smiles at you instead, settling his hands on his lap. “What about you? Still playing the guitar?”

Eddie’s shoulder bumps with yours when you sway gently as your right hand presses all five fingers onto the keys. He can't stop looking at you, anywhere but your eyes really, so they mostly stay at your cheeks. Sometimes shyly at the plumpness of your lips chastely, or at the dimples threatening to deepen. “Still do. We play at The Hideout every weekend for some cash. We’ve got a crowd of about five…drunks.”

He feels that unfamiliar sensation of heat blooming in his cheeks when you laugh. It’s as soft and inviting as the piano that your hands rest on. “You should come see us,” Eddie continues, nudging his shoulder with yours. “That way I can tell my uncle we’ve got six people watching us now.”

“Hm,” you remove your hands from the keyboard, copying his slumped posture albeit a bit more poise. “I might think about it. If you play me a song too,” you raise your brow at his grimace. “What? It’s only fair.”

“Fine,” Eddie crosses his legs over the small bench, walking around with his hair twirling over his shoulder as he does so. His eyes never leave you even as he crosses the room to pick up an acoustic guitar. “Damn room doesn’t even have an electric guitar. Amplifier’s at the gym and I hate that place.”

You laugh, watching him take the neck of the brown guitar and grab a monobloc from a stack beside the door. He sets it beside the keyboard, awkwardly sitting down before he sets the guitar on his lap eagerly. Eddie smiles at you, grabbing a part of his hair and hiding his mouth behind it bashfully.

“What song, m’lady?” he peers at you through his eyelashes. Eddie feels triumphant when he makes you laugh again, thinking he could watch you push your hair behind your ear with a demure look any time of the day.

Your shoulders raise into a shrug, the smile on your face falling a bit. “Dunno. Ever heard of The Outfield?”

“On the radio. When my uncle listens to music early in the morning,” his fingers slide across the strings, pressing randomly on frets. “Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I listen to music other than metal.”

“Shocker,” you gasp dramatically. “You’ve ruined your image for me. I don’t see you as a metalhead anymore. You’re merely a commoner. A pretender.”

“You wound me,” he pouts at you. “Come on, (y/n). Give me a song,”

“Alright,” you rest your elbow on the keyboard, cheek on your fist. “Your Love. The Outfield. Think you know it or you’re just pretending?”

“Think I might have studied this for… other embarrassing purposes. But yes, I know it.” He clears his throat. “Prepare to cover your ears,”

Your Love wasn’t a song that was merely played by a guitar. However, an acoustic wouldn’t hurt. Not when he’s doing it for you. Eddie fears pressing his fingers on the wrong string, or a strain from his voice because that would just be plain humiliating.

Your observance adds fuel to the fire of his confidence, while it also simultaneously makes him nervous ‘cause you’re watching; not just listening, not judging. You’re watching him like you actually want to see him play. And as far as he could remember, you’re the first girl to actually pay attention to what he’s playing without any cruel thoughts. He wonders if you think he’s great at this, just as much as he thought you were remarkable in the whole piano thing.

Come on. E, C minor, B, E- no A. A, goddamnit.

When he almost misplaced his finger on the wrong string, he almost cried. But you’re not looking at his face anyway, perhaps too enthralled with the gentle sound of plucking; the deep baritone-like sound that the brass string produces makes you sway similarly like his earlier.

“I ain't got many friends left to talk to, nowhere to run when I'm in trouble,” he shoots you a nervous glance, and he’s almost thankful that you’re looking at his hands. “You know I'd do anything for you, stay the night but keep it undercover,”

“You’ve got a nice voice,” his fingers slide across the brass string so quickly that it almost burns his fingertips when his voice dies in his throat and he looks up at you. “S-sorry.”

Eddie sets the guitar down, the flat of its back on his lap and knees. “No, it’s alright. Thanks,” you smile warily when he scratches nervously at the guitar. “So um- you gonna come see us in The Hideout? No pressure. Just, so I can show you that I really am into metal.”

Your lips tug downwards into an upside-down smile that teases him. Eddie tips his head back, flashing you a toothy grin as you say. “I’ll see to it, Eddie Munson,” you take a glance at your watch. “U-unfortunately though, I’ve got to go.”

He fights the urge to voice his disdain through a quiet groan of protest when he sees you reach on the other side of the bench to take your bag and sling it over your shoulder before you stand up from your seat. Eddie places the guitar on the ground, nervously fiddling with his fingers. “Um. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Stopping in your movements, your thumb slides between the leather strap of your bag and your shoulders. “Yeah. Sure. If you’ll see me, anyway.”

“I’m sure I will,” he offers you a smile.

He watches you leave with a sad frown.

But later that night though, when he talks to Dustin on the RT, he remembers telling him that the girl in the purple dress wore ripped jeans now and a yellow blouse covered in pink flowers, her hair down in loose waves over her shoulders that enticed him. Eddie remembers telling him you’d looked mature, prettier, and that maybe you’d come to his show next week.

What he doesn’t tell him, though, is that he remembers every spot on your face that had dimples when you smile. That your voice was like petal silk that pleases his fingertips as he rubs it between them; or that your hands had similar scars like his, only you’ve gotten them for a different reason. How graceful you’d looked playing the keyboard like you’d been the only one in that room.

A veridical sense of déjà vu makes his mind tingle and his heart twist. In his bed, Eddie has his hands over his stomach, staring up his ceiling with a poster of Tiamat he once saw during a yard sale that he bought. But he thinks of you, the exiguous curiousness grows the longer he remembers that bright smile on your face. And he feels nothing but the want inside him that yearns to see you again.

Justine never knew the rules

Hung down with the freaks and ghouls

No apologies ever need be made

I know you better than you fake it

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues? Hey, Nancy, do you think—”

A shoulder bumps you, too hard to be taken as an accident. Your notebook falls to the ground, ball pen tight in your hand as you let out a startled gasp. You look at the boy first, whose eyes widen in embarrassment as they flicker between the journal on the floor and to your agape mouth.

You should have expected it. The halls were crowded and there were very eager students to enter the cafeteria and take tables before someone else would. But still, you’re taken aback by the sudden impact, even after almost squeezing yourself against the lockers just so you would avoid this kind of incident.

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,”

You give him a tight smile. “‘S alright,” he apologizes through a useless smile before he’s being dragged away by his friends. Nancy spins around at the upheaval, and follows the direction of your eyesight before she frowns in disdain.

Asshole didn’t even bother to pick it up for you. Or ask if you were alright.

“What a prick,” she clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. You ignore the slight throb on your shoulder, bending down to pick up your notebook and wipe whatever dirt it's picked up from the ground. “Is it ruined?”

Shaking your head, you close it shut and hug it close to your chest. “No. It’s alright. I’m just lucky the floor doesn’t have any piss or something. Or else I would have…punched that guy,”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head. She turns back around, clutching your wrist to go through the sweaty sea of rushing students. “I doubt that—ow, hey!”

Your face hits Nancy’s permed coils, nose meeting the Fabergé glory of her shampoo. You grimace, moving away to see your friend rubbing her shoulder before you see Patrick McKinney furrow his eyebrows in worry at his mistake.

“Sorry. You alright, Wheeler?” he reaches out to rub her shoulder chastely, but Nancy shrugs it off, nodding. Patrick’s eyes relax, taking a glance at you before he realizes he doesn’t know who you are before he pats her shoulder carefully. “Alright. Sorry, again.”

It was difficult to hide the frown that paints itself on your face when Nancy simply grabs your wrist, guiding you around the crowd once more. And there’s this annoying itch in your head that keeps on reminding you how unlucky you’d been that you bumped into an apathetic guy who hadn’t even bothered to ask if you were alright whereas Nancy got sympathetic eyes and genuine concern.

And you thought, well that’s because they knew her. Having to date Steve Harrington when he was still here, who’d been part of the basketball team himself, of course they knew her. You? The guy looked at you like some random crayon found on the ground. So you tell yourself to get over it; they don’t care and neither do you. It was a simple bump. Your friends would have asked if you were okay.

Nancy didn’t.

Well, she was distracted.

No, she wasn’t.

Shut up.

The cafeteria doors are left open with the people that surges through. Nancy stands on her tiptoes, searching for the boy with glasses that made his eyes larger and took up half his face — Fred, you remember; you practically sink onto her shoulder in fear of accidentally bumping into someone again. And fuck, how muscly was that guy for your shoulder to hurt?

When she spots him, Nancy’s quick to drag you to her side and sit you down beside her in front of Fred, who’d immediately chatted about this thing he’s seen somewhere you don't bother understanding. But when his eyes land on you, his talking stops. Lips snapping shut and he’s staring at you with those wide eyes of his, the scar on his cheek bending when he smiles cheekily at you, his forearms resting side by side on the table as he leans closer.

“I heard a rumor that you were with Eddie Munson yesterday,” he narrows his eyes playfully. Nancy whips her head at you, astounded with the new gossip she’s heard, especially now that it included you.

Nervous with the attention diverted to you, you move back, fingers fidgeting on your lap. “What? Where’d you hear that?”

“Andy saw you.”

“Who’s Andy?”

“That guy who kinda looks like Arnold Schwarze-something.”

Nancy snorts. “He does not look like him.”

Frowning, you lean closer. “What was he doing there yesterday?”

Beside you, Nancy opens a pack of pudding pie that she quietly offers to you. You shake your head politely, offering her a short smile before Fred asks for your attention with a simple tap on your elbow. “He left something by the locker room. Then he said he caught Eddie Munson sitting beside you on a small chair inside the music room being…shit, Nance, what’d he say?”

She shrugs, mouthful. “Dunno. Cute? Or, weird?”

“Somewhere along those lines, but we’re sugarcoating it for you,” he leans closer. “You do know who Eddie Munson is, right? Like, what people say?”

Nancy reaches behind you to take the Hi-C juice box in your bag and puts the straw in for you, shoving it in front of you that you gladly take and quietly thank her for as you say, “That he’s a freak? Just because he dresses out of the trend doesn’t mean he’s a freak, y’know?”

“Steve used to think he was,” Nancy raises her eyebrows at you. “I mean, I don’t think he’s a freak. He does have an influence on my brother though. He’s growing his hair out. Like a mullet, or something.”

“Well he’s not a freak,” you bring the small plastic straw to your lips, the sweet orange-y flavor of the mechanized juice filling your taste buds. “He’s nice. He said I had a…nice voice.”

No one’s said that to me before.

“That’s sweet,” Fred pouts. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s planning on luring you in as a sacrifice.”

Eddie? Cult leader luring you in for some sacrifice? The same person who’d smiled kindly, watched you play the piano like he was actually interested in your performance and applauded you like he’d been watching a breathtaking opera at the same time, invited you to watch his band at some dingy restaurant and thought ghosts might have been haunting him?

His style might say otherwise—with all those brutish rings he’d harbored so proudly and his disheveled mullet-ish hair. But with those wide, curious eyes that watched you like the most interesting flower blooming from the iced frozen ground, a voice so benign and placid who’d praised you in a way anybody else wouldn’t? No. He’s not a cult leader. Or a freak.

And you’d only known him from the mystifying, blurry memories and the couple minutes you’d spent with him yesterday.

That same Eddie who you found with a small frown that lifts into a charming smile when his eyes find you. Briefly does he stop talking with his friends from across the room when your eyes link with his. And Eddie presents you a smile so pretty it makes you dizzy; with his style different, that same leather jacket with a red flannel beneath and a band shirt you don’t recognize, but he had the same fondness in his look that makes your heart flutter wildly like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.

You feel a spark of electricity ignite in the tendrils of your veins; the sound of your heart beating in your ears as everything else muffles and the spotlight goes onto him — like the sun beaming through the window to show you what you’d been looking for.

Yeah sure, he’s a cult leader.

(A cult leader who made you feel noticed in a town with 15,000 ignorant, judgy people despite being with him in less than thirty minutes.)

“What’s she smiling at— oh,” with her laced fingers, Nancy places them beneath her chin and tilts her head sideways to take a glimpse of Eddie, who’s still looking at you. “That’s cute,”

“You really shouldn’t believe rumors,” You turn to her, nudging your juice box with her hand. “I mean, I’ve been here for three months. I barely know him and I think he’s just…being himself. It’s like this town hates people who are comfortable being themselves.”

The corners of Fred’s lips tug down. “Ouch,”

“What? It’s true,”

“Y’know, we had a yard sale last year,” Nancy tells Fred. “Eddie was there lurking.”

“And?”

“Seemed like he didn't caused any trouble. Just roamed around, gave this kid a stuffed animal when he couldn't reach it. He seems nice, Fred.”

And you almost tell them that five years ago, Eddie Munson followed you backstage when he saw you crying; That he’d asked you if you were okay, that he said you’d do great and you did, and in between those hazy flashes of cut memories, you almost tell them that he wore a Bauhaus shirt too large for him, that his hair was buzzed and he made you laugh until you’d—quite literally—forgotten the reason why you cried in the first place.

—

“Hey there, Mandy,”

You yell, clutching the notebook closer to your chest and the pen tight in your hand that it might pop the ink out. Eddie’s hands raise in defense, eyes widening in shock as you both stop walking, the leaves crunching beneath your worn-out shoes and his white sneakers, the birds flying away from the disruption.

“Jesus Christ,”

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” familiar, but the memory’s lost in your worry-filled mind. You laugh disbelievingly at him, closing your notebook and tucking the pen behind your ear. “What?”

“Nothing!” you scratch the dents on your notebook, shying away from Eddie’s intensive look. “Mandy? ‘S not my name.”

“I know. But it’s a cool nickname. And you know,” he tilts his head sideways. “The song.”

You smile when his head lulls back, chuckling shortly when you both begin walking again. Eddie has his hands behind his back, his hair wild from the harsh winds of August’s warm breeze. Which he fixes with quick pats to the hair covering half his forehead, his eyes never leaving you.

“Why are you walking home?” you see him bring his hands in front, toying with his rings, pushing them in and out of his fingers.

When you look up at him, your right eye squints from the brightness of the sun until he steps over it. “I wanted to walk home. And, um, I don’t have a car,” you flush beneath his piercing gaze. “What about you?”

“Because I saw you walking home,” he grins. “You were writing while you were walking so I thought maybe I should come join you in case you accidentally trip,”

The sun draws a halo above his head, painting over the devil horns drawn onto him. It gives him a sacrilegious glow, intriguing you to just push his hair behind his ears and ask him all the things that made him smile just so you could see him smile once more. Yet, you don’t; your hands stay around your notebook, your mouth parts but never says anything, and you merely try to say those words through your eyes.

Cult leader, my ass.

“What, so you…left your car in school so you could walk with me?”

He shrugs. “I guess so. It’s still there when I come back, anyway. After I walk you home,” Eddie swallows. “...after I walk you home as a friend.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Eddie’s lips purse. “So…” he makes a noise, like a random music note. “I didn’t see you in history today,”

History was (unfortunately) the only class you shared with Eddie. Where in the first three months, you’d kept on asking yourself where you’d seen him over and over again as you stared at the back of his head. (Wishing he’d turn around and ask for your name, if he’d seen you before, and notice you like he’d notice every random fuzz he’d find on his table.)

And he noticed you today. Even when you weren’t there, the thought of him thinking about you and wondering where you were sets a comfortable flame in your cold chest.

“I was at the clinic,” you smile a little. “Some guy bumped into me earlier and I don’t know what he’s made of. It really hurt,”

His eyes darken into a gloom of concern, his eyebrows meeting like a broken bridge. “Are you alright? You okay now? Does it, uh, still hurt?”

“A bit,” you roll the injured shoulder. “Still kinda sore. ‘S like I played football, or something.”

Eddie’s teeth join behind his lips that remain separated, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout you can’t fathom the meaning behind. Then he’s biting it, his hands clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to make the hardest decision of his life before he’s pointing his thumb behind him.

“Do you wanna go back to my van?” he asks quickly. “I’ve got something cold in there and I could help you. And I can drive you home, too,” his voice is eager and almost excited with a lace of hope. “But only if you want to,”

You’re unheistant when you say, “Yes,” take me with you. Aid me. Ask me how I am and I’d tell you.

The walk back to school was quicker with his urgent feet that you had difficulty catching up with. You spot his car parked behind the school, befuddled with the amount of dents and the way his van leans sideways more than evenly. Eddie has a hand hovering behind you as he guides you, the other hurling the backdoors open that tricks you into thinking it’s gonna be thrown aside.

The back of his van was messy — with four empty beer cartons stashed aside, a Bauhaus poster that matched Eddie’s shirt with its sides ripped, white ridges seen in that black paper, a red cooler behind the cartons, and a blanket that you assumed used to be white but has been left unwashed for who knows how long.

But despite the messy appearance, you sit on top of the blanket when he asks you to. And he sits beside you,

a heavy hop that makes the van shake slightly and a creak underneath. He shoots you an embarrassed smile, a hand behind him to prop himself up as he twists his torso and pulls on the cooler until it slides near him.

When Eddie opens it, it’s nothing but almost melted ice and four bottles of Boston Lager with one of them being half-empty. You peer over the red box, watching as his hand dives through the cold mess before he hands you an unopened beer bottle.

Out of curiosity, you bring it up to your nose and take a whiff just because.

Eddie chortles. “What’s it smell like?”

You frown. “Like water.”

He stops you from putting the bottle right at your shoulder, looking for something behind him before he sighs scornly, reaching out behind him to pull out a black bandana decorated with large, intimidating skulls. “Here just—wrap it around so it won't wet your shirt too much,”

Eddie gently takes the bottle from you, half of his fingertips covering yours. Half a touch and it already makes you feel like someone had thrown a rope down the hole you’d been stuck in and pulled you out; in that slight formidable tactility does your skin tingle, a warmth that feels like you’re hovering your hands over the flawless dance of a flame. A caress that barely lasts ten seconds, but was a lifetime of gratifyingly dizzy touches.

The coldness of the bottle doesn’t scathe you anymore now with his handkerchief wrapped around it. It seems like Eddie felt the same way, with how his neck reddens, and abruptly places his hands on his lap, watching you from the corner of his eye as you place the bottle on your shoulder.

But the silence is comfortable, with the howl of the wind and the rustling of the trees. You dab the bottle on your shoulder, the bandana itself smelling of cigarettes and a boyish aroma you can’t comprehend, but you had a feeling it smelt just like him. The white skull turns gray, the cloth dampens and turns cold, and you turn to see Eddie with his nose wrinkled into a quick sniff before he looks around him and settles on your notebook.

“So what were you writing?” He gently takes the purple notebook into his hand, tracing its ridges and checking its black spine, flipping it around where he sees your name written on the upper left corner in small cursives.

“Um, just…things,” you pinch your nose with a vacant hand. “Just lyrics, I guess.”

“You? Lyricist?” Removing the hand from your nose, you reach over to flip the journal open, thumb skimming across the thick pages. “Just when I thought you were cool with the whole piano thing,” your face heats, smiling sheepishly at him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m great at this whole thing, though,” your thumb stops on a page you’d been writing on. Eddie diverts his attention on the half-filled page, head tilting down as he brings the notebook closer to his face.

You fear his judgment; not because you don’t trust him, but it leans more into what you’d gone through. That his criticism will be cruel, unkind and harsh like others had been, taking out all their negativity into the words you’d poured your mind onto, leaving without an apology or at least a clement admonition.

There’s doubt that spreads across your mind. You watch as Eddie pokes his tongue out to graze his teeth, his thumbs drumming on your notebook, his own eyes flitting between your unaligned writing. But the smile that breaks across his charming face calms the dread down. Eddie looks at you, the crinkles on the corner of his eyes so endearing.

“Lost in a purple hill, shake these zipper blues,” he reads out loud. “I like it. It’s very…savvy,”

“Savvy?”

“Savvy. Innovative. Creative,” you beam at him, your lips starting to ache from the bright smile you hold as Eddie’s head flips between your creative words and your contagious joy. “What? It’s amazing. Literally, all the words you can find in a dictionary that’s a synonym for creative. It’s—it’s that. W-what?”

His eyebrows join in a confused hill as the smile remains on his face, shaking his head at the shock that amalgamates with your glee. “Nothing,” you look away, feeling your entire body heating with the new sensation of appreciation. “I just thought it was kinda stupid. Like, maybe no one would understand it, y’know?”

Eddie’s thumb rubs his bottom lip. “Well, tell me what it means—hey, please?” he pouts playfully at you. “Tell me what it means, come on. I like it, I might as well know the meaning behind it, right?”

You shake your head in disbelief, placing the bottle on your shoulder to the space beside the two of you. “Alright. Um, well, a hill right? You get up this hill and you feel disconnected from the world in…a good way. You- lose all toxicity and burden this place gives you. And I chose purple because, well, I like the color purple,” you laugh nervously. “And, zipper blues. It’s this depressed feeling you get from moving around too much. So you get lost up this hill, you get rid of that sorrow, and just disconnect all your problems. And, I don’t know if it makes any sense but—I’m rambling too much. I’m sorry—”

“No!” Eddie reaches out to place his hand on top of yours, quick and urgent to touch you again and the way his hand softens on you feels like he’d been substantially relieved to do something Eddie’s stopping himself from doing. Like water to a slowly dying flower, your heart blooms at the touch you’ve wanted to sense since earlier as he stops you from your ranting. “It’s okay. I- I get what you mean. And it’s…”

You feel him squeeze your hand gently. “It’s…?”

“I’m thinking of other cool words,”

You laugh bashfully, a laugh he copies. A laugh that reaches his eyes, went from deep into something high like a giggle until a small snort comes from him. You feel elated to make him laugh this way despite saying nothing.

“It’s amazing, (y/n),” he doesn’t say Mandy, but it mantles your insides nonetheless. “You have other songs you’ve written?”

Toying with the neck of the beer, you nod. “I’ve got a couple of papers back in my place but, uh, I’m not exactly allowed to invite boys in my place yet.” he moues playfully. “But I could um, talk to you over it on the phone? Or give it to you tomorrow? I should just give it to you tomorrow, you don’t have to give me your number—”

Eddie squeezes your hand again. “Hey,” he chuckles at you. “Relax, Mandy. I’ll give you my number and we can talk, yeah?”

You feel like you’re waiting for an ice cream cone to be offered to you when Eddie plucks the pen behind your ear and writes his number down on the bottom of the page that he’s read. His writing is scrawny, unaligned like yours, capitalized when he leaves a note beneath the digits that you can’t read. He tells you not to read it yet after he offers to drive you home.

The drive to your home was filled with small talk and music from the stack of cassettes on the back of his car. Ranging from Metallica to Judas Priest as said from the cases you gave him. And despite his attempt at his careful driving, the van sways against the uneven asphalt of the town streets.

Eddie, with a hand on the steering wheel, has a hand hovering behind you as you twist your torso and lean towards the backseat to search for more cassette tapes.

“What are you even looking for?” he asks, carefully turning left. You pick through the mountain of unarranged music, placing them next to each other when you see something you’re not looking for. “Careful. You might fall forward and I’ll just laugh at you.”

“I found it—turn right!” The wheels of his car screech at the sudden pivot, makes you clutch the grab handle and his arm, feet lifting off the clutch and onto the brakes where he presses lightly. “Fuck,”

“Sorry,” he pushes his hair out of his face, glancing at the cassette in your hand. “Oh, I didn’t know I have that,”

The black case of Reggatta De Blanc is clutched tightly in your hold. “I didn’t know you listened to The Police,” you flip it, scanning the back. “They’re my favorite band.”

“I didn’t know you listened to rock,” he’s still pressing lightly on the brakes to slow the van down, the smoke leaving the hood grows both your concerns. “I used to listen to them. Well, when I used to drive my Uncle to work when his car broke down for a while. Refused to listen to any of my tapes. Misfits? No. Iron Maiden? Still no. I mean, I get that he’s old, or something, but he has to try new things out!”

You open his player and withdraw Sisters of Mercy, prompting him to express his displeasure with a half-joking gasp and a short 'hey!' across the cut music. But you swiftly insert the tape to stop him. Eddie's fists clench over the peeling leather steering wheel, his gaze fixed on you.

“The Police, huh,” he grins at you. You swallow the upbeat tempo of Message in a Bottle, bopping your head to the introduction riff. Eddie’s head turns between the road and you. “Thought you’d be more Kate Bush, or something. Billy Joel. Madonna, maybe. Queen. Elton John. The Cure…”

With a twisted smile, you run your nails through the polyester filament yarn of your seatbelt. “I do. I don’t have a specific genre, Munson,” you turn to him. “I can like anything. Hell, I like W.A.S.P. And Joan Jett”

He gasps, turning right. “& The Blackhearts?”

“Fuck yeah,”

Eddie’s tongue clicks with the roof of his mouth, shaking his head. “What a potty mouth, Mandy.” his nose wrinkles when he laughs. Angelic, you think. A laugh a cult leader wouldn’t have; something Eddie would have.

“Well, people usually don’t believe me,” you laugh timidly. “‘S like people need to like just one genre and make it their whole personality. Like, what if I like metal and pop at the same time?” his eyebrows raise a bit. “Sorry. N-no offense. It’s just…annoying, at times.”

You remember being twelve, recently having left Hawkins with a deep frown on your face. But you had a girl invited to your room in search of a new friend. With a borrowed boombox, you showed her Blue Öyster Cult after going through countless tapes of pop artists. And when she found out that the band had a different type of music, way different than the ones you’d just listened to, she’d told you: listening to different types of music makes you unbalanced. You need to stick to the one that makes you you. Or else people wouldn’t know who you are.

Wise words for a pretentious girl, you thought back then. Nevertheless, you believed her.

For five years.

But when you returned to Hawkins, you need reinvention. Because girls were only ever interesting when they’d reinvent themselves every once in a while to keep people hooked on. And you were tired of being unseen, invalidated; so you went back to your older self. Someone who played the piano but enjoys metal as much as Eddie Munson did, from what you’ve seen. You want to show him that side of you, in hopes for affirmation.

“None taken,” he breathes. “But, you’re right. No need to apologize.” your stomach buzzes with his accordance. “Metal’s just…me, though,” unlike earlier, Eddie turns the hazard before he turns. “So, I hope you don’t mind a man with a shag who’s a high school repeat’s driving you home, sweets,”

Sweets. Your whole body burns in the best way, biting back a smile. “No. I don’t mind. I like that.”

“I like that for you, though,” he gesticulates to you. “Being unashamedly yourself. Without aaany judgment whatsoever. And, uh, that’s amazing,” Eddie, although with his words genuine, smiles weakly and sweetly at you; harbors something that he wants to say but stops himself from doing so. “I should be like you more often.”

“I think you’re already being yourself,” your eyes trace the scratches on the windows, the slight blur on the corner of his windscreen; what once was a far distance of a motion blur of modern homes turns slower when Eddie’s foot lifts slowly from the accelerator. “I should be like you.”

“Trust me. You-...” when he looks at you, he visibly softens at your countenance. His adam's apple bobs in what seems to be rich poignance with the way his pupils slightly shrink when he flits his eyes away from you, only to dilate and almost take over his brown irises when they look back at you a mere second later. Eddie chuckles dryly, can't help but smile earnestly at you. “I like you as yourself, (y/n),”

Your hand compels you to reach for his. Like magnets forced to meet. But the console which separates you both hinders you from doing so. But maybe it was your fear; your lack of courage. A film reel in your mind that slides through its mid-tone dull colors of a possible incident — he’ll hold your hand tighter with the gentle caress of his calloused thumb that alleviates the rigorous pounding of your heart and smiles brighter than the ultraviolet sun.

Or his face would twist in disgust and shove your hand back on your lap, lips curled into revulsion and he’d ask you what was wrong with you, reject any excuse that would come out of your mouth like they always did before he’d drop you home and ignore you like you didn’t exist.

Keep it together.

“Thanks,” you mumble, the pads of your thumbs come across the linear scars on your fingers. You see Eddie balk in his seat, lips pursed to make small incomprehensible sounds while he bobs his head to Message in a Bottle. Your house emerges, curtains drawn and run down car missing. Disappointedly, you press on the red button of the seat belt buckle. “Right here, Eddie.”

The van halts to a stop, passenger door right in front of the pathway to your small home. The radio lowers, the seat belt snapping back in place tickles your arm, and dismay wooshes with his loud ac.

But Eddie leaves unexpectedly before you do, the unlocking sound of his car door disappears quicker than the door slamming shut. You watch as he crosses over with squinted eyes, until he reaches to open your door, bowing lightly with an arm stretched towards your house; a smile that reaches up his eyes and a dimple that comes with.

“M’lady,” he nods his head at you. You can’t help but laugh, picking the bag up from between your legs and slinging it over your shoulder, the heat adding an unfortunate ache on your eyes that shoots up to your head and almost burns any skin that’s exposed. Eddie notices. “‘S hot, isn’t it?”

“Unusually hot,” you shake your head. Eddie closes the door, walking on the unmowed grass on your small lawn until you both end up beneath the porch, in the shade that soothes you.

His eyes desecrate the components of your door, tracing the doorbell button, lips making small psh sh sounds before Eddie finally looks down at you. “Can I have your number?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “But I already have yours.”

“So I can call you anytime, Mandy,” he laughs heartily. “I can’t exactly save phone numbers, can I?”

You flush in embarrassment. “Right. Sorry,” you take the pen from behind your ear, reaching out. “Can I have your arm, please?”

Eddie smiles. “Lovely manners.”

He shows you his arm, a small, almost unnoticeable butterfly tattooed on his wrist where you write your number above it. “Nice tat,” you smile up at him, your own blue ink that’s botched to almost unusable decorates his pale skin.

“Yeah, I don’t really know how I got that,” his eye shuts, nose wrinkling, watches your eleven digits appear on his wrist along the veins. “Nice,” he sings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to get going,” Eddie tugs on his bracelet, his feet lifting off the porch. “See you ‘round, Mandy. Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari for me, won’t you?”

You bid him goodbye with a sad wave, but you cover it with a smile.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. Huh.

Morphine city slippin' dues

Down to see

That we don't even care

As restless as we are

It was a battle between who was gonna call first.

That day when Eddie drove back to the trailer, quietly as Wayne took a nap on the fold-up bed in the living room, he went inside his bedroom and locked the door. Barely was it night. Barely. Yet there he was, sitting on his bed clad in nothing but a random shirt and boxers as he waited for your call.

Nothing.

So he sat and played and thought and dreamed.

Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari? What the fuck does that even mean?

The first ring on his phone, it hadn’t come from you. Mike Wheeler asked if he’d used any kind of shampoo on his hair, and what brand it had been. Eddie answered that it was three-in-one, no specific brand. Just anything he could afford. The second had come from Dustin, who’d asked about something DnD related that Eddie had already forgotten.

And then the third was from Reefer Rick, who was put on probation and asked how he was and honestly, the phone call lasted for two hours. A conversation that barely included any drug talk whatsoever and simply what had happened in their lives.

So obviously, Eddie couldn’t help but mention you. Minus your name for safety reasons.

“Shit, dude. She’s… she’s nice. She’s smart and she writes songs like I do and she plays the piano. And I actually met her before! ‘S just that I don’t exactly-... remember it, y’know?”

“Don’t tell me you’re fallin’ in love, kid.”

“I’m not!”

“You know about love and how dangerous it is, don’t you?”

He did.

Like a dangerous game of Dungeons and Dragons.

Yet there he was, the sun gone and the skies Stygian, painted with scattered specks of the burning stars and the crescent moon. Eddie’s patience had slowly been wilting, his knee bounced on the floor and his ass was sore from sitting too long on his lumpy mattress. A notebook in hand with his own clusterfuck of rhyming words with deep elucidations in hopes you’d be talking about songwriting.

And when the phone rang, he stood up faster than the speed of light and he took the handset off the wall and pressed it up to his tingling ears.

“Hello?”

A huff of a laugh. “Hey, Eds.”

Eds. Eds Eds Eds Eds.

His heart palpitated; a ruthless attack of the Cupid’s red piercing arrow shot through his heart. Eddie Munson rested his hand against the wall and the other tight on the phone receiver as his knees liquified from your giggle.

“Hey there, Mandy.”

“I took your lyric, by the way,” he could only imagine what you looked like that night—pajamas, sleep shorts, a crop top, or a random band shirt he thinks you’d totally have, you’d still be pretty nonetheless. “Shake those zipper blues beneath the burning solari. It’s very impressive. Kinda making me not want to give you credit here,”

Eddie shook his head in playful disbelief and turned over to rest his back on the wall with a silly smile and a belly full of butterflies. “I’d very much appreciate the credit. At least then the world would know who I was.”

A playful sound of consideration kisses his eardrums. “Maybe. Yeah, sure. I’ll give you credit.”

Since then, phone calls had been filled with exchanged conceptualizations and words written with a botched ballpen onto crumpled pieces of papers; Eddie would see you in school, too. Passing each other shy smiles, listening to music in his van as he offers to drive you home, his hand discreetly turning back to you to pass notes during History. He no longer found the random fuzz on his table interesting and thought that the girl who answered his notes that ended each message with a smiley face was way more interesting than anything else in the world.

Maybe DnD and metal, too. But you came in first.

And every night, after a campaign or band practice, after his uncle would wish him farewell before heading off to work, the usual jejune midnights had turned into cavorting twilight nights. Before he knows it, he’s already brushing his teeth at six pm, like you’d smell his breath through the phone, and bounces his knee in anticipation in front of the phone.

One night, when Wayne stayed home to get some proper rest, he'd noticed how Eddie had barely left the room to watch the tv with him, or how he hasn't played a guitar in weeks, or suddenly rush out a farewell to meet his friends.

He took a peek in the crack of his bedroom door, saw how his nephew had a lovesick smile as he laid on the floor with the phone on his ear babbling about things that has happened on his day or something about his past.

"You've been hogging up the phone, Eddie. I've got someone to call too, you know?"

Poor Eddie yelped, almost dropping the phone to the ground. Wayne chuckles, walking over to him which made Eddie clutch the phone to his chest. Wayne claps his shoulder.

"Yeah like who? That recently divorced mom beside Kapinsky's trailer?"

He jested to his uncle, who barks out a laugh. "Probably. I'm not the only one trying to woo girls here, son,"

"I- I'm not trying to woo him, man! I'm just-... trying to be her friend."

Wayne huffs with a smile and a light shake of his head.

It went on for weeks; countless calls that he didn't realize months had passed. Every day, every night, you’d become his friend; conversations started turning into somewhat remedial talks other than songwriting, telling each other the stories in your lives that none had experienced, talking shit of the judgementals and the great pretenders, and gave each other keys to your hearts for safekeeping.

“What ever happened to Benny’s Burgers?”

“Heard some Russian kid got him killed, or something. Jason’s using it for his orgies now. Like ritualistic sacrifices are way more important than teenagers having sex all together. The children of god hath given into their temptations! Those gents might not but repent their sins for foul fornication!”

“Eddie, I don’t care if you sell drugs. Half the kids in my old school in Queens sold them. Would almost kill each other for ‘stealing’ their clients. Hell, even half of the NYPD sold drugs.”

“In all honesty, it’s weird how you’re so normal about this.”

“My mom died when I was a baby. The orphanage had different answers on how I ended up there, though. My dad died, he was in jail, he dumped me there. But it doesn’t matter — I’ve got a new family now, anyway.”

“My old man’s in prison. Haven’t talked to him in years. My mom died too, so at least we have that in common, eh?”

“Sometimes I wish people cared. Like-... sometimes I wish they’d see me; stop treating me like a ghost and ask ‘hey, what songs can you play on the piano?’ and all that shit. ‘Hey, are you okay? What’d you feel about getting left at an orphanage? Sorry, I hit you on the shoulder.’ And all that stuff.”

“‘M kinda tired of being seen as a freak. I know everybody has their own thing. But sometimes I… wish I liked the same thing everybody else did. But that’s the thing about society and their codependency on approval — you like something that people think is far from normal, or something that people say isn’t- trendy, you’re a freak. I mean, sorry I like playing a fantasy game than Monopoly. Or- that I like Eddie Van Halen than Olivia Newton-John.”

“Hey, you love Olivia Newton-John!”

Laying in his bed of lumps and stains, Eddie imagined he’s in a field. The tall grass stroking his inked skin, the clouds that hover over him, all his devotion laid upon the clouds that mutate into your silhouette, which beguiles him more. And even when his visual morphs the sky gray and lets its sickening tears drip down onto him, he stares up at this cloud indentation of you that looks back at him. Until it’s blown away and he finally sees your spellbinding beauty.

“Hey,” your voice startled him. “Still there, or you’re asleep?”

“No. This is Eddie’s soul speaking. He’s very asleep,” his jest was followed by an obnoxious snore that made you laugh brightly. He smiles. “Yeah, no. I’m still here. Sorry,”

“It’s okay,” you softly said. “Hey, um, my neck’s aching.”

He frowned. “Oh. Do you wanna continue this tomorrow?” Eddie twirls the cord around his finger, trapping the phone between his neck and ear.

“No,” you sighed. “Keep talking, please?”

“Okay,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Band practice went well. We, uh, learned a new song. Something that’s not metal. Gareth was kind of a bitch about it but hey, there’s no harm in trying something new.”

“Really?” he nodded, remembering you were not there before he said ‘yes’. “What song is it?”

Eddie turned to his side, facing his Blue Öyster Cult poster. “It’s a surprise, Mandy,” his scoff etched a smile on his frivolous face. “You’ll hear it when you come to Hideout.”

“Shame,” he thought you’d been pouting. Playfully, with your pink lip jutted out. “What should I wear when I watch, though?”

“Anything you want,” it made him panic a little; he didn’t have an outfit for the show. Eddie sat up, his foot knocking over an empty bottle that fell down on his floor that thankfully did not break but was loud enough to disrupt you.

“What was that?” you had asked. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he clutched his ankle, face crumbling in pain. “Yeah, babe, I’m alright,”

Shit.

He sensed it then. When your breathing went silent, when his heart stopped beating for a millisecond, the way your mind registered what he said the same time he did. Eddie’s body had loosened in panic.

“Okay,” you finally said, quiet and gentle. “Um, careful.”

“Thanks,” he almost said it again, getting himself distracted. “Thanks, (y/n),”

A pregnant pause. Eddie was massaging his ankle with a look that berated him for his idiotic freudian slip. He scolded himself by bumping the sore spot against the foot of his bed, hard enough that another loud thump was heard and tears brimmed the edge of his eyes.

“Okay, seriously, what is going on in there?” you chuckled incredulously.

“Nothing!”

“You know what? You should come here before you accidentally trip on a knife.”

Eddie’s head dipped. “I thought you weren’t allowed to invite boys in your home?”

“I can rebel, you know,” he felt an eye roll. “Besides, my parents aren’t home and- I’m bored. And my neck hurts and everything’s better when you’re here.”

He deceived himself into thinking you meant nothing in the last part. Eddie felt the warmth rise to his cheeks then, something he’d grown familiar to seeing as it only happens when he’s with you.

“Sure,” he picked up a random pair of shoes beneath his bed and opened his drawer to pull out the finest pair of jeans he owned. “Be there in a couple of minutes.”

That night, he parked his van a few houses from yours, and he immediately spotted the purple curtain of your windows. The light dimmed with the yellow warmth of your lamp, your silhouette moving across with something rectangular in your hand that he can only assume was your notebook. He felt slightly eccentric.

Eddie, ever the man who loves to put on a good show, decided to climb up the side of your home using the uneven ridges of the brick wall and your pipes. His palms had lightly scratched against the rough surface of the bricks, where he used all his strength to lift himself up until his head peeks through your window.

When his forearms rested on the stool of your window, he propped himself on one arm and used his left hand to knock rhythmically on the glass. Eddie saw your silhouette stop pacing, your shadow growing as you near your window and pulled the curtains back.

He’d smiled, bigger when he saw your shocked, wide-eyed gaze. Eddie knows you’re berating him when he hears your muffled rambling. You unlatched the window and pulled it up, your hands clutching his bare elbows.

“You idiot!” you hissed. “I told you my parents are gone. And you come up through the window? Are you insane? You could break your back or stab yourself with the bushes!”

Eddie fell face down, his cheek meeting your carpeted floor. He pressed his palms on the ground, pulling his entire body in until he flopped on your floor. And when he finally fixed himself and rids of the leaves and dirt that stuck to him, he stood up. And you slap his arm.

He gawped at you. “Ow!” he pouts, massaging his arm. “You wound me.”

“Relax,” Eddie took his shoes off. “It was just a slap, you drama queen.”

Eddie’s eyes wandered across your body. You were wearing a band shirt: Dead or Alive. He didn’t know who they were. But he didn’t care because then he’s got his eyes on your exposed legs, black sleep shorts that barely come across half your thighs and it made him swallow thickly, his blood flowing everywhere and god forbid had he popped a boner right in the middle of your room, he would have jumped out your window and broke his neck instead.

“Y-you know me,” his voice cracked the slightest. “Always a queen. Which is why I love the Queen. Not the Queen of England. The band, I mean. Well, I listen to them occasionally.”

You sat on your bed, kicking his shin. “I know, dummy.”

That had been a couple of nights ago.

Now he’s sitting bored, fourth row in the second lane, his chin on his palm, right hand drawing a small bat on the corner of his notebook. Along with some other words until he quietly rips the page off, folds it, and takes it in his hand before he moves it behind him.

Eddie feels the paper slip off his fingers. He thinks of your smile, whether it be a toothy grin, a closed lip or the one that made your teeth shine prettily. His body shivers from head to toe, cheeks tingling while his knee bounces in anticipation.

A light graze on his bare elbow startles him, the heel of his foot knocking against the metal leg of his seat. He takes the paper from the corner of his table, silently unfolding it.

I think that’s a bad idea.

Offended, he writes. I just said hi >:(

He gets a quick reply after he gives it to you. I can smell you thinking. I’m like a vampire. And I’m already telling you that filling someone’s locker with shaving cream is boring and a bad idea.

You snicker when he takes a quick glance at you with a silent gasp. Then what do you suggest we do?

Fill it with shaving cream and stick someone’s hair in it. It’s grosser.

It’s followed by a brief drawing of two stick people, one with a small triangular skirt and one with a guitar in it’s hand, in front of a crooked rectangle which he assumes is the locker, the door opened and curved drawings oozing out. And some small, clustered lines that represent the hair you’d told him about.

Eddie smiles brightly, folding it and shoving it in his pocket before he shoots you a silly smile.

The bell rings, obnoxious and almost deafening. Eddie stands from his seat, watching you meticulously gather your stuff together, hands gently pushing your items inside your bag. He sits on his table, waiting.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Mandy,” He tucks his book on his torso, watching you sling your bag over your shoulder and narrow your eyes at him. “It’s a great idea,”

“I’m not one for bullying, but I think, even though I contributed to your prank knavery, it’s pretty tame and shit,”

Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you, slapping the top of the door as he passes through. “Oh yeah? Give me something better, do tell.”

“I say fill the locker with water, but then it’ll just slip out,” he towers over you. Sometimes he likes to take advantage of the fact that people would move out of his way merely because they didn’t want to be touched or grazed by him like some disease; he can move faster. “Or we can get your little shrimps to make some machine type of thing that could explode in their locker.”

“Who? Dustin?” Eddie bumps his shoulder with yours. “I mean, yeah could be. And we can just blame it on him,”

“Great idea,” your face wrinkles in confusion. “Wait, who’s locker are you destroying, anyways?”

“Gareth’s,”

Your nose wrinkles. “What did Gareth ever do to you?”

“Breathing,” he sighs. “Anyway, are you doing something later?”

Even in a clustered hallway, Eddie finds it in himself to get the wind knocked out of him when you look up with pensive eyes. Your mouth parts, the ends of your front teeth peeking just a bit from beneath your top lip. You blink and your eyebrows widen.

“Nothing. Homework, maybe. Or just writing again,” his heart pangs at the sad sigh you let out. “Wanna come over?”

He brightens.

Eddie lays on your thick mattress, hands clasped together on top of the notebook that lays open on his chest. Eddie scans every saxe glory of your blue walls, smelling the citrus fragrance of your new white sheets. It’s soft, maybe softer than the field up weathertop, and comforting. You sit on the edge of the bed, W.A.S.P. playing out loud but not loud enough for a complaint.

He turns his head to you, sees how your back is hunched with your notebook on your lap and your fingers drumming on the sides with your pen wedged in between your lips. Eddie leans up, peering over your shoulder.

I put my heart on a piece of paper and you throw it away(?) my heart’s on a string around my neck and

Half the page is scribbled words and annotations with doodles of flowers on the corners. The annoyance radiates off the inelegance of your structure, the bite marks that deepen on the plastic cap of your black pen, and your eyebrows that meet in the middle. Eddie wants to kiss your worry lines away, taking your face in his hands and wonder how, despite the agitated expression, could someone still look so pretty?

Taking his pen from beneath the notebook, he takes the cap off with his teeth. Eddie props himself up on one hand, crosses his arm over yours and presses the black tip on your lined page.

Hi. Notice me pls :(

You laugh cordially, snapping your head to him with your chin on your shoulder and his chin on your bicep, his bottom lip jutting out from the lack of attention.

“What’s up, Mands, huh?” his chin nudges your arm. You soften. “Writer’s block?”

“Writer’s block are for authors,” you say in a small voice.

“Writers. Songwriters. Semantics,” Eddie purses his lips. “Do you wanna turn the radio off? It’s what usually ruins the whole thinking thing, sometimes.”

“No,” you pout. “Maybe I just need a break. I don’t even know why I’m so upset about this. ‘S so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Eddie readjusts himself, his upper body being propped up by his arm with his legs spread on your mattress, knocking your arm with his temple. “Tell me why you’re upset. Come on.”

You ruminate, staring deep into his eyes. “God, I don’t know, Eddie. It’s like my mind’s all hazy these days. It won’t work. Everytime I try to finish this stupid song, I- my mind just stops. It’s like I’ve forgotten the English dictionary, or something. I feel so illiterate. A freakin- a fucking ten year old could make a christmas jingle faster than I can finish this stupid stanza.” you slam your pen in the middle, closing your eyes in a deep sigh. “It’s tiring— I’m sorry. I talk too much.”

Eddie wants to draw this out. Close the space that’s almost not even there and take you into his arms as he heeds the words you avow with the silk petal of your voice that burrs when you tiptoe the edge of a breakdown. But you’re already looking away from him with a visible wobble of your bottom lip.

“Hey, hey,” he finally sits, ignoring the ache on his arm when he limits himself by touching your shoulder rather than grasping your chin; there’s still the lingering hesitation of crossing boundaries when it comes to physical contact, and he doesn’t want to drive you away. “You don’t talk too much. I love listening to you talk,”

A shimmer in your eyes from the tears that coat your irises. You blink rapidly and smile weakly. “Thanks. That’s- that’s nice.”

“You know what,” he plops to his stomach, reaching over to the ground where his open bag laid and took out two cans of Budweiser, warm with dents on the silver tin. “Let’s drink— just one! Have you ever tried?”

“I told you I used to live in New York. The only things I haven’t tried are coke and marijuana,” you take the can from him. “My dad gave me beer when I was fifteen. Not exactly great parenting but, we were alone and he didn’t know what to feed me.”

He opens the can and drinks the bitter alcohol with ease, letting it leave a burning sensation on his tongue as he watches you do the same. Eddie chortles when your face rumples in distaste, a frown replacing your woeful pout.

“You alright there, Mands?” He raises a brow. “Sure your daddy didn’t give you apple juice?”

“Jesus christ,” you clear your throat. “I’m starting to think he did.” Eddie gently takes the can from you when you give it to him, gently placing it on your bedside table. “You know, Fred Benson has a party a couple blocks from here.”

Eddie takes another athirst sip. “Who?”

“Fred. The guy with glasses who’s with Nancy? I sat with him during lunch?”

“Oh right!” He sets his beer beside yours. “He’s nice. He put Hellfire Club in the student yearbook.”

“We should loosen up a bit,” you stand up, stretching your limbs and wince at the ache on your back. Your Beatles shirt, cut up to a midriff, exposes your stomach, a small scar just on the side of your hip and it makes Eddie flustered. He looks down at his hands. “We should go to the party.”

Eddie hops off your bed with the twist of his legs. “You can’t just leave. What about your parents?”

“I can rebel,” you repeat playfully. “And since when do you care about all that stuff, guy-who-got-arrested-once-when-he-sold-weed-to-an-undercover-cop?"

“I care when it comes to you,” he says softly, and he thinks you must have been pretending not to hear what he said. “Gonna call them or leave a note?”

“Gonna tell them I’ll sleep at Nancy’s,” you pull your drawer open and take a yellow sticky note out, scribbling down. Eddie takes his shoes from beside your bedroom door, frowning at the smudged dirt on the heel of his right shoe before he slips them on. “Can you wait outside? I’m gonna change.”

You looked breathtaking.

Embellished in a simple dress that stopped just above your knees, a pair of high-cut canvas sneakers that needed a bit of washing; a jubilant vogue that beguiles him, lifting him off his jittery fee. Your adroit hands accoutred in rings with lilliputian gems, warped around your dexterous fingers in delicate silver wires. And your hair, free from all its restraint, flowing down your shoulders.

Driving to Fred’s house, you looked like a bright star found in the darkness of Eddie’s van. Sat on his seat, listening to all his metal mixtapes and headbanging to the songs you found endearing. His heart quivers whenever you awe at mixtapes you find in the back of his car.

You were beautiful.

Covet reigns his cynical heart; he yearns to touch you. Wrapping his arm around your waist, holding your hand, or taking your face into his palms and telling you all the things that’ll make you smile. He wants to fortify you from all the savage things that ought to hurt you; Eddie yearns to proclaim his devotion into a dulcet whisper until he feels the rapidness of your heartbeat that thumps against his.

But confusion regnants. He doesn’t know why he feels this way for a friend who simply knocked the wind out of him by wearing a simple dress. Then again, he thinks if it were any other person, they’d feel the same way. It’s you. You and your kind, shy, delicate heart that he wants to keep.

You, that he’s also lost.

It has been an hour since you guys have arrived. Maybe more than an hour. Eddie doesn’t know, but when he glances at his watch, it’d already been eleven in the evening. He wasn’t fond of parties but when it came to you and anything related to your happiness, he’d tolerate it. And for the first time in his life, in a house full of alcohol, he’s still sober. For your sake.

You told him you’d go to the bathroom, and he waited at some couch, stuck between two very drunk people who made out and completely forgot that they’re sitting right next to Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson. But, in all honesty, it felt nice not having someone run away as soon as they saw him.

But when twenty minutes pass, where he debates on fetching you in case something happened, or thought maybe you were taking a shit, he ultimately decides to search for you.

Foreigner guides him between the sweaty limbs of drunk teens and students who’ve already graduated high school but remained in Hawkins (aka Steve Harrington. He saw a glimpse of his voluptuous hair towering over the crowd).

“I wanna know where (y/n) is,” he sings subconsciously. “I want you to show me,”

And then, he sees you. In a situation that proves his nagging thoughts right.

Standing against the wall is a drunk you. And lo and behold, Steve Harrington peers over you with a flushed face that spreads up to his neck, shirt unbuttoned like he’s seducing you with the jungle on his chest. Eddie feels the bottom of his stomach twist uncomfortably, a twinge of jealousy floating within the acids inside.

He pushes the people away, as gently as he could, making his way toward you.

“I know— Eddie!” you gasp, pushing away from the wall. You open your arms and fall against him, wrapping your limbs around his torso tightly so that it makes him just as shocked as Steve was. “Where have you been?”

“I was waiting,” a hand massages your forearm, the other resting cautiously on your back. “You said that I stay there.”

“Have you met Steve?” Eddie smiles tightly at him. He tries to hide his disappointment when you uncurl an arm from him.

“Yeah, I met him,” he says softly. “Dustin kept on talking about him.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise in bewilderment. “Uh- yeah. Nice seeing you again, man.” he nods his head at him. “Haven’t seen you since I left highschool,”

“Kinda surprised you’re still here,”

He narrows his eyes at Eddie. “I could say the same,” Steve runs his hand through his hair, shifting all his weight on his left leg. “Didn’t you repeat high school?”

You gasp beneath Eddie, turning your head at him. “You repeated high school?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

“Yeah but I forgot,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I’m sorry. That must have sucked.”

It used to. Until you came back.

Eddie’s mouth parts, but all that could come out was. “Wanna go back home?”

“I haven’t peed yet,”

“You’ve been talking to Steve for twenty minutes?” he exclaims his disdain over this fact, tightening his arm around you without even realizing it. “Alright, I’m taking you up to the bathroom,”

“Hey hey hey,” Steve reaches out to grasp Eddie’s elbow, clumsily but tight as he can see the drunken gloss in his eyes. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

“Oh I heard it loud and clear,” he scoffs. “You’re not taking a drunk girl to the toilet, Munson.”

Eddie turns, hiding you behind him and lets you pick on the loose thread of his vest. “And what do you expect me to do? Let her piss herself in here?” he wonders wherever Steve found the nerve to act all protective over you. “Sending her up there alone is more dangerous, Harrington.”

“And you think I’ll let you take her up there?”

“Hey, excuse me,” with your hands around Eddie’s torso, you spin, your cheek right on the DIO print of his vest. “If you’re thinking that Eddie would take advantage of me, h’wont. You don’t know him. He- he won’t do what you’re thinking,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You know, if you people would just take the time to get to know him, you’d know that he’s not a freak. Or that he’d sacrifice me to the devil, or some shit. He’s a really nice person and you’re just—judgemental morons. And I really need to fucking pee.”

Your sweet mien is stripped off. An austere look makes Steve stumble back, face flushed in embarrassment than inebriation. He sputters out an apology, his eyes sobering in genuity. But surprisingly, he apologizes to Eddie. “I’m just drunk. I know it’s not an excuse but… she’s my friend.”

Still, with your words that left his heart unveiling and pounding like a fast drum bass, Eddie nods his head at him in slight forgiveness. “I get it, man. No hard feelings.”

(But he still is jealous that Henderson liked him more.)

Eddie takes you into his arms, smiles reassuringly at you as he pushes your hair out of your face, and leads you up to the nearest bathroom.

Lamented and assured

To the lights and towns below

Faster than the speed of sound

Faster than we thought we'd go

Beneath the sound of hope

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But maybe he’s wrong.

You sit patiently in the passenger seat, swaying to a Barry Manilow mixtape you found in Fred’s house that Eddie didn’t stop you from taking. He watches you from inside the convenience store, the beep of the scanner faint as well as the jingle of coins.

He bids a quiet goodbye to the cashier and pockets his change, holding two water bottles in his hand, sauntering to his vibrating van, and hopping in with ease.

Your eyes snap open, wide in its demiurgic inebriation. Eddie shuts the car door, placing his bottle on the cup holder in front of the gear shift so he could open yours to save you the struggle before he hands it to you. “Sober up, princess,”

Although half-drunk, you manage to swallow his sobriquet and flush. Princess. Babe. Mandy. What’s next? Love of my life?

God, I kinda hope so.

Eddie’s got his eyes on you, searching for any signs of struggle as you open the bottle with a small grunt before you bring the plastic up to your lips, swallowing heavily. Your eyes flutter shut, eyelashes caressing the gentle skin of your cheeks as you moan.

“Shit,” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “What’s in the water?”

“Special K,” he jokes, opening his own. “You sober yet?”

“I can physically feel it-” you gesture your hands to yourself, waving it in a downward motion as you swallow the thick saliva on the edge of your tongue. “-disappear. I can feel it go down to my bladder.”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he faces the steering wheel and twists the key in the ignition. “Just make sure you don’t have to pee yet. I’m gonna take you somewhere,”

You screw the cap back on, tugging on the ends of your dress as solemn curiosity makes you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Ooh. Where ya takin’ me, Eds?”

“It’s a surprise,” he pulls out of the parking lot, watching carefully from the rearview mirror with his eyes squinted. “I take Dustin up there every morning to talk to his girlfriend. But there’s a special spot I’m taking you.”

“Dustin has a girlfriend?” you gasp. “I always thought he made that up,”

“Oh, but she’s very real,”

Tucking the bottle beneath your chin, you wriggle your brows at him with a skittish look. It enamors him, and it can’t stop him from turning his head at you and smiling softly. He wishes this would last — a fortuitous moment of abundant reposefulness, in his shitty van with your presence gracing the darkness of his world.

Your face reappears in the darkness whenever a streetlight passes by. And every spark, you grow even more beautiful despite the intoxication that drops a barbell onto your eyelids. Eddie watches the buildings disappear, replaced by old trees, huddled together beside the road that swishes and collides with the passing breeze.

With the doo-wop music pleasing to your ears, you hum beneath your breath, hand reaching out to roll the windows down and peak your head out. The wind strokes your skin headily, but the attempt to sober you is in vain. At least, with the alcohol that’s left in your system; you're clearheaded enough to register the lyrics from the radio and Eddie’s words of carefulness.

Unable to detach his eyes from the lengthy road, Eddie filches every moment he’d glance at you out of worry you’d get your head decapitated off a pole or anything that passes by.

But the sight of you with your back arched against the open window, hands in the air and your hair across your tipsy face was enough to relieve his worry. Were his eyes cameras, he’d taken every picture at every blink he took and kept in his mind. Just in case he’d never see such an unfathomable sight again.

“Hey, Mandy,” he yells slightly. “Having fun there, girl?”

“Totally,” you sigh, teeth gleaming. “Are we there yet, Munson? The inside of my mouth’s getting all dry here.”

“Get back inside, then,” he glouts playfully. “We’re almost there, babe.”

He’s getting really fucking comfortable with those petnames, now.

You slither yourself back inside, slumping on his chair, your dress ridden up to your thighs. Eddie blushes from his face to his chest, snapping his eyes back on the road as you squirm on your seat, tugging on the ends until you’ve settled properly and rose the window up halfway.

He tugs on the collar of his Paranoid shirt, a stark contrast to his exposed, opalescent skin. “You had fun poking your head out the window?” he cocks a brow. “Or do you still wanna go chase the cars that pass by thinkin’ they’re treats?”

“Dick,” you kick his shin, dirt smudging on his blue jeans.

Eddie stops beside a broken fence, the vibration of his van coming to a halt when he twists the keys from the ignition and pulls it off. You blindly open the car door much to his dismay, and hop off with bleary feet. He does the same, shuts the door the same time you did and watches you cross over the van until you stand in front of him.

But you look at the hills, high and dark; its luscious green grass unseen by the darkness. He watches your jaw relax and your blinks decelerate.

“We’re gonna walk up there?” you say smally, fiddling with your rings.

“You don’t wanna?” his left eye narrows, a small pout coming up to draw itself on his face. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna. I can try to drive my car up the hill. Unless you also don’t wanna climb up the hill then I can just take you wherever you wanna go.”

You shake your head, tugging on his leather bracelet, hooking your finger around the ornament and crossing the shattered fence. “I can do it. I’m—I’m sober enough. I think I just have to remove my shoes. Hold on,”

He crosses the fence first, planting his feet on the ground as you use him as leverage. You balance yourself on one foot, pulling on the laces of your shoes and pulling it until he sees your socks—blue covered in black bats. Eddie takes your shoe as you do the same to the other, until he’s got your high-cuts in one hand, and the other being pulled by you.

Everything was untroubled. Laughs shared when he trips and scrapes his bare knee on the uncut grass; your socks darkened by the damp soil, his white Reeboks the same. And Eddie matches your heavy huffs, the remaining energy on his body on his legs that continue to lift him up the hill.

When you reach the top, you half-yell in relief, bending with your hands on your knees. Eddie sets your shoes down, letting himself fall on his ass. Once you’ve obtained your spent breath, you plop down beside him.

“Holy shit,” you press your hands on the earth below, shifting to rest on your knees. “Eds, we can see Hawkins from here,”

You see the lights that brighten up the town. The miniscule homes of the village from across, the burnt Starcourt mall, the sirens that lead its way to the Hospital and the variegated radiance from the arcade. You gawp silently.

“Exactly why I took you up here,” he tugs down on your dress when the wind blows it up, keeping his eyes at your face. “And if you look very closely, or if you have the eyes of an owl, you can see the trailer park.”

He laughs amusingly when you squint your eyes. Eddie knows if he can’t see it, so can’t you. But you try, nonetheless.

“I don’t see it,” you lament, sitting back down beside him. Eddie tries to ignore the weight you rest on his arm; the pinky that grazes his behind your backs for anchor, and how your bare legs graze his jeans but despite the covering, he can feel the heat radiating off your body.

“You’ll see it better when the sun’s up,” he leans on his right arm, shoulder bumping yours when he reaches for his Lucky Strike pack. Eddie flips it open, his small lighter lodged to the side of his cigarettes. You peer over, chin on his shoulder. He pulls out one, sticking it between his middle and index before he uses his thumb to pull his lighter out.

Then he looks at you, nose beside yours with the minimal proximity. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” you say. “My dad smokes. The dad who adopted me, I mean.”

“I know,” he smiles before he sticks the cigarette between his lips. He shoves his pack back on his pocket, sitting back down. “Do you smoke?”

The question was muffled through a lisp, but was still understandable. “Haven’t tried,” you answer. “But I almost did. It was weed, actually, that shit you sell? When I came back during summer, Steve picked me up and he asked me if I wanted to get high,”

“Really?” The cigar bobs when he speaks, the hand that cups over lowers slightly, his thumb stopping on the sparkwheel. “How long have you and Harrington been friends?”

He finally lights it up, the white paper burning into a crisp orange until smoke begins to vent. “Since middle school. Met him after my parents adopted me from my foster care. They took me to Hawkins, our house was near his, and we were invited to dinner by Steve’s parents when they were still present in his life.”

A burning jealousy on the pit of his stomach, ignited not by the lighter. “Were you good friends?”

“I’d like to think we were,” you tilt your head back and look at him. Eddie feels your pinky tap his, which he taps back. “When his parents started going on business trips, and mine were…well, working in Hawkins, Steve and I hung out in either his bedroom or mine,” you smile at him. “But, we rarely talked when I left for New York. It was a phone call every three months. And then he picked us up at the airport,”

He lets the smoke leave the corner of his lips, on the other side where you weren’t. “Did he, uh, tell you all that shit about Henderson and Wheeler?”

“Through the phone. It’s kind of crazy,” his heart flutters at your light smile. “You know, I’m not sure if I should tell you this shit or not, but he told me about this whole thing about- monsters, and all that crap. Demogorgons, demodogs, the Upside Down. The Mind Flayer-”

“What, like DnD?” Eddie snorts. “Maybe the little shrimp talked to him about it, who knows,”

“I mean, he was half-drunk when he told me,” your lips purse. “Either he played DnD, or he dreamt about it. I mean, I asked Nancy about the Starcourt fire but she wouldn’t tell me anything!”

Eddie takes another puff, a long one that reaches his lungs. “‘M pretty sure he was just stoned,”

“What about you?” he sees you observe the cigarette, but he’s sure you’d been looking at his hands first and his dimly lit rings. “How’d you know him?”

He taps his finger on the rod, chunks falling down on the grass on the minimal space between your legs. “High school,” his lips twist into a frown. “I had my first senior year with him. And- uh, he was a douchebag. King Steve,” Eddie nods his head, a sardonic smile offered to you. “And when Henderson came and said that he was awesome, kept on insisting, actually, it was hard to believe.”

“Did he ever, uh,”

“Call me a freak?” he finishes. “Once. Twice. Dunno. We crossed paths but never really met, I guess. We knew we existed in each other’s lives but we never really acknowledged. He was too gung ho on Nancy Wheeler,”

You chortle, a plain snort leaving you that renders him amused. “Oh, God. Nancy. D’you know Steve wouldn’t stop talking about her whenever he called me.”

“You ever get jealous?”

He hopes you say no. Never did. He’s my friend. Only ever liked him as a friend. I don’t like his hair, I don’t like his smug smile. Eddie doesn’t care if it deems him jealous. But there’s nothing bad in hoping, right?

“No,” you ponder for a bit. “Maybe,”

His heart sinks.

“Only because I wished someone talked about me the way he did to Nancy,” a pensive gloss covers your irises, lit by the vibrant colors of the town upon your grazing knees and swaying feet. “He sounded so in love. And I always thought about how she would feel if she knew someone talked about her like that.”

He sighs. “You never know,”

You think he’s in thought, with the way his shoulder presses against yours absentmindedly and the silence that’s drawn out from his peart mien.

“I had this dream when I was a kid,” you whisper. “That I was the greatest pianist in the world. I was singing with Billy Joel and—everybody knew who I was,” Eddie smiles. “And, ever since that dream, I’ve taught myself how to be one of the greatest pianists in the World,”

You exert amenity towards him when he laughs bemusingly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” your eyebrows furrow for a split second.

A sudden memory climbs its way to his head. “Do you remember back in middle school? We, uh, hung out a lot after the talent show. And- and all we did was play music,” He says it with slight uncertainty; he himself can barely remember all those times yet he based on a single memory. “We played this one song all the time.”

“Does Everyone Stare,” you answer. “The Police.”

“That one,” he nods his head. “Because it was the only song we knew how to play that had guitars and pianos.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you nod. “I can’t believe we forgot each other,”

“But I do remember some parts,” he takes a short hit. “You said that you wanted to marry Billy Joel, and then you kept on bragging to me how you could play Die Young like, fifty times,”

“Only the Good Die Young!” you correct him. “God, yes! I played that even when I was in Queens. My grandma loved that song.”

“I always wondered why you had a huge crush on him. He was old,”

“He was not!” you gasp.

Eddie shrugs, lips curling in amusement when a huff leaves his nose. “Yes he was! And it was a good reason for me to get jealous, too,”

Shit.

If he could, he’d ululate his stupidity into the sky and embarrass himself further because it’s already out now, isn’t it? But confirming your jealousy didn’t mean he’d harbored feelings for you, right? He could be jealous for other reasons like…

He doesn’t remember.

“Jealous?” you repeat. “You were jealous of Billy Joel because I liked him?”

“We were kids. Hell, I got jealous when Tommy H. brought his Nintendo to school. Or when Barb Holland—may she rest in peace—won class president. I get jealous all the time,” he snickers. “Don't let it get into your big head, Mandy.”

Double crossed between his lies and what you truly perceive, you shake your head mirthly. “Yeah. Okay, Munson.” you roll your eyes at him. “God I… whenever I played that song, I always imagined I was in a concert. With this… huge grand piano. I’d play for those snobby rich people, then I’d get roses thrown at me. I’d play so hard my fingers would bleed and they’d give me a standing ovation,”

Eddie smiles. “What a dream,” he looks away, chin on his neck when he looks down on his lap. “I’d be your first ever watcher. Then I’ll throw tomatoes at you and boo you off the stage,”

He looks back at you and you laugh jovially.

The muddle of alcohol in your head almost makes you miss how his jaw clenches and his eyes soften. A solemn twinkle in his button eyes, nostrils flaring as he stares at you with the smoke on his cigarette flowing between the tangled strands of his hair.

Suddenly nervous with his intense stare, you nod at his cigarette. “Can I-uh, try?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah, sure.”

He offers it to you with a balk stutter on his hand. You lean over, your hand almost on his thigh as you wrap your lips around, lipstick staining the orange filter that leaves a pink coruscating shine. Brazen do you inhale, cheeks sucked in, gray smoke filling your lungs until you cough abruptly and push it away.

Smoke puffs when you cough and he laughs jubilantly. “Mandy!”

“Fuck,” your hand grasps his shoulder, the other covering your mouth. “Christ. No wonder why my dad says I shouldn’t smoke. Oh- shit. Ah.”

He pats around beside him. “We left our water in the car,”

“Screw it. I’ll try again,” you wrap your hand around his wrist and take the cigarette in your mouth, sucking like your life had depended on it until Eddie himself has to pull it away. It’s a bit calmer this time, no coughs and only smoke.

His palm meets the side of his hand to a mock applause. “Bravo.”

“Who taught you this?”

Eddie takes a short puff. “My old man,”

Your smile falls. “Oh, shit, sorry,”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “My…mom got mad when she found out. I was eight,” he licks his lips. “And, you know, I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. But highschool happened and before I knew it, I have a metal lunchbox full of packs and weed,”

You feel his pink shyly tap yours. “My mom used to take me up here,” Eddie continues. “Way before Dustin did and- we used to go up before the sunrise so we could watch it. When he was dead asleep,” he swallows thickly. “She’d make these sandwiches, chocolate and peanut butter, and we’d eat them while we watched the sun rise; and she’d point out all these butterflies,” he shows you his wrist where the insect lays. “And she said ‘Eddie, you must always cherish the beginning of a new day,’”

He mimics the voice of his mother in a high-pitched voice and a tone that lilts to a posh border. Eddie knows it’s not exactly her voice, but he loves a good impression.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” you whisper.

“She was,” Eddie muses, a melancholy wave that crashes on him as he lays on the undertow, helpless. “She always had this bubble of hope, even if my dad always popped it. She just kept on blowing, and smiling, and loving even though she was struggling and honestly,” he looks at you with a sad smile, “she’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met,”

Your heart breaks the slightest. But he looks at you like the brightest star he's ever found.

“She always had a bubbly personality even when everything was tough,” he sighs. “And I haven’t done this. Watching the sunrise since she, y’know, because I always slept in,”

His chuckle makes you smile breathlessly. But it had been more wistful. There’s a mosaic of maudlin rings over your eyes, on the verge of shattering. “Is that why you took me up here?”

“Kind of,” he drops his head sideways. “There’s no sunrise, though. So I hope this will suffice,”

“I’ll take anything you give me, Munson,” you smile softly. “It makes me happy, either way,”

Finally, your pinkies hook behind you. His finger is warm, bigger than yours but bears a whit of gracious familiarity. They hook, as thick as thieves; Eddie gifts you a smile so warm and loving that makes you lean close.

“Even if my van’s all run down and loud and on the verge of burning?” his eyebrow raises. “Or I stain your reputation?”

“I don’t even have a reputation,” you laugh. “But yes. Even if you van smells like marijuana and you, like, listen to Orgasmatron for god knows how many times. I’ll accept anything,”

I’ll accept anything.

Eddie leans close, tobacco breaths exchanged, nose bumping with yours; his eyes are low and hooded, his eyelashes that tickle his cheeks when he blinks rapidly, fearing that once he opens his eyes you’re a mist within the gray smoke. And fuck, you’re pretty.

Prettier than the barely there stars above you, prettier than the morphing clouds that entice him at seven in the morning, prettier than Sweetheart (his beloved guitar, yes); prettier than everything else, you being the center of attention, the only attraction in his terrifying world. His heart pounds like he’s fallen down the rollercoaster, and it feels gratifyingly amazing.

Your pinky clutches his tightly in a silent promise. And he vows to keep it, whatever it may be.

“Just where our bones will rest,”

Befuddled, he pulls back slightly. “What?”

“I thought of a lyric,” although disappointed, Eddie finds it in himself to smile lightly. “My heart's on a string around my neck and I stare just where our bones will rest.” you say. “Shit, Eddie, do you have a ballpen?”

“Lucky for you, I do,” he reaches for his pocket again and pulls out a blue pen with the cap covered in small indentation of bites. You frown. “Sorry. I get nervous a lot.”

“It’s okay,” you unscrew the cap. “Um, fuck,”

You unlace your pinky from his, pulling your left forearm out so you’d write the lyric just above your inner elbow, small across the skin of your forearm.

“I could get this tattooed,” you mutter. And then you look up at him with a proud, bright smile.

“I could do it,” his shoulders raise to a shrug. “I mean, I mostly do my own tattoos,” Eddie shows you his arms—the butterfly on his wrist, the bats on his forearm, before he pulls on the collar of his shirt and shows you The Devil. “Either I use my machine or the stick and needle,”

“Didn’t know you knew how to do tattoos,” you narrow your eyes at him. “What’s next? You can fix cars,”

He almost says yes.

You reach to touch the tattoo on his forearm in awe, delicate finger grazing his inked skin, petting the hairs on his arm. “Seriously. I’ll do it, (y/n),” he chuckles. “Just gotta tell me when,”

With your eyes gilded in delirium, you nod. And he smiles.

Eddie Munson had only been in love once.

But he had no idea he could fall in love twice.

You could remember how delicate he’d been.

Eddie had taken you back to his home. The place dark and desolate with the missing presence of his beloved uncle. He’d sat you down on his couch, apologized for how messy the place had been and that you’re getting your first tattoo at some dingy trailer. And you remember how your words succored the insecurity out of him; how he visibly deflated in relief and knelt in front of you.

Although covered in latex, his hands were warm against your arm, but it was incomparable to the spark you felt when you looped your pinky around his.

His words had saged the pain from the stabbing needles. Constant praises that made your stomach flip; ballyhoos that made your cheeks burn as your mind swallowed them in a way that you shouldn’t— “You’re doing a great job, babe” “Taking it so well, aren’t you, Mandy?” “I know it hurts, but it’ll feel good soon,” “Good girl.”

Good girl had been the last straw.

Eddie was doing it on purpose, right? Or your mind was just too deep into the gutter?

He’d traced the words you wrote on your inner elbow in vigilant precision. Eddie was fruitless of failure, nothing amiss in the Stygian tattoo. Which left you in awe given that he’d used a stick and needle rather than the machine hidden somewhere beneath the depths of his dusted bed.

When he was done, he lathered your arm with ointment before covering it with plastic—cling wrap. And he drove you home with smiles painting both the canvases of your faces; the inside of his van filled with nothing but twitching hands that yearn for reconciliation, and knowing looks exchanged between the music of The Police.

You had laid on your bed with the lingering feeling of his latex touch and his bona fide scrutiny that night. A silly smile on your face when you think of Eddie Munson; the boy who’d disappeared in your life who you miraculously found again.

special thanks to: @vendettaparker, @munsonquinns, @familyvideostevie, @applcrumbl for proofreading :3

PART TWO

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

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sluttywoozi · 2 years

Text

Buy A Boyfriend || chs x reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

Rating: M (18+) | Word Count: 4kish

Content Notes: voice kink, male masturbation, swearing, he is a virtual boyfriend for money, the texts will probs look like ass on mobile, gender neutral reader, reader has cats and I borrowed @sluttywonwoo 's cats bc im their aunt and I love them (sorry if u have your own, please imagine them 😭), they dont have sex (in this part) my bad, reader is a stem major bc I live to project, I think that’s it pls let me know if I missed anything!!

Vernon’s username: bandsboyvern

Reader’s username: allthoughtsheadfull

Vernon sighs as he opens up SVTHub, knowing he has at least three messages that ask, “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

His answer will, of course, be “Yes and I would make you a cute little worm house in a jar and take you with me everywhere,” when he really wants to say, ”No I wouldn’t, because I don't know you at all and worms have a very short life expectancy.”

But this is the life he’s created for himself; getting paid to act like a boyfriend comes with answering cliche boyfriend questions. He’s scrolling through messages, answering good morning and goodnight texts with an appropriate selfie, when one message catches his eye, or actually, wow, 5 messages, all from one person.

Vernon tilts his head, considering how to answer. It’s a bit weird that you sought out a pretend boyfriend to tell these things to but he can’t say the messages aren’t more entertaining than the usual ones. And, honestly, snails are effervescent.

Vernon answers some messages from other users; badbitchesrus is having friend group drama again and he’s dying to tell her, “you’re the problem,” but a boyfriend wouldn’t say that so he just agrees, saying, “you’re so right, Jen did copy ur fit last night but u did it better baby.” He replies to a few selfies with paragraphs of fire and heart eye emojis, and sends out a couple ‘hope ur day gets better babygirl’s.

Clicking out of the app, Vernon tries to force himself to focus on studying. He’s got a music theory quiz this week and a sound design exam next week and he’s not prepared for either. His fingers tap out a rhythm on his knee as he runs over scales in his head, swearing to himself after missing the last sharp in B major for the fourth time. He’s about to pull out his keyboard for manual practice when his phone dings with a message, the tone telling him it's SVTHub. His head hits the back of his chair, hoping beyond hope it’s not another worm message, and he smiles in surprise when he sees it’s from you.

thought 5: legally blonde is peak cinema and has something for everyone so whyyyy is it universally disliked

Vernon tilts his head, realizing that even though he’d never seen Legally Blonde, he did dislike it for some reason. Huh.

His phone goes off again, another thought from you.

thought 6: why did stephanie name it twilight and then have bella meet edward in the daytime

He hasn’t seen Twilight either but, honestly, you bring up a good point. Why name it a certain time of day and then not have them meet at that time?

Happy to be distracted, Vernon settles in to ask you some questions and hopefully get some movie recommendations.

Before Vernon can respond, he gets another message, from bbygrill99 this time. She’s requesting an ab pic, her third this week, and he wonders why she’s so obsessed with his abs when his ass is great too, but complies nonetheless. Lifting his shirt, he tenses his abdominals and tilts his phone to get the perfect angle, his bottom lip just barely in frame and his gray sweats sitting low on his hips. He’s been trying to drink more water because apparently you need it to survive, so his abs aren’t as defined as usual and he hopes she doesn’t say anything. He sends the picture out with a kiss emoji and saves it to his folder of lewds, hoping he’ll be able to reuse it.

He’s very intrigued by the idea of threats to increase productivity, and asks you more questions. This turns out to be counterproductive as it leads to a whole conversation that makes him laugh all the way through, and consequently, he doesn’t get any more work done.

It’s almost time for his weekly goodnight stream, and Vernon’s still thinking about your last conversation. You’d lured him into a debate about living as a pigeon or living with pigeons, and he still wasn’t sure who’d won. You hadn’t sent him any new thoughts today, and even though you’d just become a subscriber last week, he’s missing you for some reason. He really enjoyed the randomness of your brain, and hearing what was going on in there throughout the day. It was a nice break from pretending to be the perfect boyfriend, and he got to respond like he wanted, not like he thought he should.

Starting the stream, he settles into bed and begins telling his patrons about his day, pausing at certain moments to let them respond to him. On their screens, it just looks like a personal facetime, and they get to pretend he’s talking to them and them alone. He tries not to frown when he realizes you haven’t joined, and hopes you will soon; you were the one person he actually wanted to say goodnight to.

You don’t join, and Vernon goes to bed sad and confused. Why were you paying for this if you weren’t going to use your membership to the fullest? His subscribers loved the introduction of goodnight streams, some are even asking for good morning streams too. You also hadn’t asked him for any pictures yet, even though everyone was allowed three per day. Maybe you just hadn’t read the membership benefits when you joined and didn’t know? He should probably ask, right? Just to be sure you’re getting your money’s worth.

Vernon gasps, staring down at his phone in awe.

A cat picture. You've sent him a cat picture. A picture of a cat. Your cat, presumably.

Vernon’s heart stutters, his eyebrows raising.

damn.

He sighs in disbelief before setting his jaw in determination and deciding the perfect combination and sequence of emojis to convey his true feelings.

Vernon puts the phone down for a moment as he remembers what you’d first said about your cats. One likes you too much and one doesn’t like you at all. He wonders which is which, they're both looking at you with such love.

He’s spinning in his desk chair, zoning out a little, when his eyes hit the open sound design program on his desktop.

Fuck, he has an exam tomorrow.

Vernon’s mouth stretches in a smile, his kicking feet sending him on a giddy spin in his chair. Putting his phone on Do Not Disturb, he forces himself to focus.

Vernon is sitting in his Audio Mastering Techniques class when you text him. He was already struggling to focus, fingers drumming on the table and leg bouncing under it, his neighbor sending a glare over every few minutes. He tries his best not to check, but you'd promised him your first thought and he wants to see what it is!

Glancing around surreptitiously, Vernon opens SVTHub with his phone under the table. You'd never sent him an explicit message before but there's a first time for everything (Vernon hopes).

Vernon looks up organic chemistry practice problems but sees ‘Stereospecificity in Addition Reactions’ and ‘Electrophilic Addition Reactions to Conjugated Dienes’ and immediately begins shaking his head, exiting out of the browser and texting you again.

Vernon’s heart starts racing as he reads your text. You want to call him. You want to speak words and you want him to listen and respond and then you’ll respond to his words.

Cool.

Vernon’s sitting at his desk, spinning around as the phone rings and rain pangs against the window.

“Hey! Sorry,” you sound out of breath, “it’s monsooning and i couldn’t text and hold the umbrella and keep my laptop out of the rain at the same time.”

“It’s okay, no worries. How’d the exam go? Did you cry?” He asks, only slightly worried.

“It went well, I think! I did cry but just a little and I didn’t get it on the exam paper this time, thank goodness.”

You tell him more about the exam and he just listens, absorbing your voice and tone and cadence. He wants to record you, wishes he could listen to you all the time, your voice is so entrancing.

“Did you have your midterm yet?” You ask sweetly, sounding concerned.

This startles Vernon out of his trance and he has to ask himself if he has taken his midterm yet today, and sighs in relief when he realizes he has a few hours left to go.

“Nah, it’s not till later so i’m just studying and vibing.”

Vernon chats more with you, trying to imagine what you look like and wishing patrons had a profile picture like he does, before he realizes it’s been an hour and he should get focused. Promising to call you after his exam and wishing he could just take you with him in his pocket, he hangs up.

Vernon does call you after his exam, and he calls you the next day too, and the next. It’s easier than ever for him to respond to messages, romantic words flowing and streams getting more and more popular. He just pretends he’s talking to you and it always works. You haven’t joined one of his streams yet but he’s holding out hope, and secretly wishing that you’d request a private videocall. You still haven’t asked for any selfies but he finds himself sending them anyway, hoping someday you’ll send one back.

He’s getting ready for his bedtime stream when he starts thinking about your last phone call, just a few hours ago. You’d just woken up from a nap, sounding all raspy and sleepy and cute, and he tried to picture your face, cheek lined with pillow creases. He doesn’t remember what you’d talked about because he couldn’t focus on anything but your voice, soft and sweet in his ear. He pictures you, laying in bed next to him, your head on his chest or his on yours, your legs tangled up with his own. He can’t help but imagine your fingers trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, running up and down his chest, and his own fingers start to follow.

Vernon thinks about your fingers moving lower, running along his waistband and dipping beneath. But you’re a tease, and they slip out and over the fabric of his sweats, pressing down where he’s starting to grow hard. He rubs his palm over his dick, squeezing harder the closer he gets to the head, imagining your giggle when his hips buck up. His phone goes off, startling him out of his fantasy and reminding him he has a stream to start.

He hasn’t done one like this in a while but the tips are always insane and he really wants to buy the lego set you told him you did the other day, so he shrugs and presses the red record button on his phone.

“Hey baby, it's so good to see you. How are you?” Vernon pauses to let his viewers answer, thinking about how you’d respond.

“I had a busy day, midterms finished last week but I have a project due soon and I haven’t made a lot of progress on it,” he hears you scold him in his head, telling him to get a move on.

“But I’m really tired, and i just wanna relax. Think you could help me?” Vernon asks, setting his phone down to pull off his shirt, missing the little notification popping up to say you’d joined. He smiles softly into the camera as he picks it back up, sliding on the bed to rest his head on the pillows. He pans the camera down to show his abs, running his fingers down his chest to settle at his waistband, pretending they’re yours. The tips start rolling in and he mutes his phone, the dinging sound beginning to annoy him.

Vernon tries to find that fantasy again, the one where you’re in bed with him and touching him and talking to him, and slips his hand into his sweats, fingers wrapping around his hard cock. He sighs, pulling his dick out and rubbing his palm over the head, his hips jerking at the friction. Leaning over to dig around his bedside table for some lube, Vernon wonders what you’re doing right now. He opens the cap and dribbles some onto his length, smearing it around with his hand. It’s chilly but he just tells himself your hand is cold, and starts squeezing his cock, pulling a little when he gets to the head. A punched out moan leaves his chest, lube warming up and dick getting harder.

It feels better than usual for some reason, but Vernon isn’t willing to think about why at the moment, and keeps jerking his cock. He’s panting a bit now, staring into the camera with half-lidded eyes and lip bitten between his teeth, feeling his abs tense with every pull. Closing his eyes so he can picture your hand moving on him, he tilts his head back into the pillow, wishing he could moan your name.

The heat is starting to rise in his stomach, his hips bucking into the movements of his hand, and he knows he’s getting close. He really is tired so he doesn’t try to draw it out, just squeezes at the head harder and tries not to whine at the pressure. He thinks about your hands on him, god, your mouth on him, and imagines your voice telling him to cum.

Vernon almost drops the phone on his chest with the force of his orgasm, trying to decide if he should turn the camera to show the cum shooting out of his cock and pooling in the ridges of his abs. He leaves it facing him instead, knowing his face is screwed up in pleasure and his moans are echoing throughout the room. Staring at the ceiling, Vernon tries to catch his breath and wonders why he just came so hard. He can feel his eyelids drooping, mind going hazy with sleep and oxytocin, and blows a kiss into the camera, saying goodnight.

You haven’t texted him in a week.

Vernon’s messaged you, selfies and thoughts and questions, but you haven't responded. He even checked your profile, just to make sure you hadn’t canceled your membership. He doesn’t know what to do; you’ve only been a subscriber for a couple months and you’ve only been gone a week, but he misses you. He misses waking up to a random philosophical question from you, or a picture of your latest A, or a video of your cats play(?) fighting.

But Vernon also doesn’t want to bother you, or overwhelm you, so he’s cooled it down a bit. He only texted you once yesterday, and he hasn’t texted you at all today. He just wishes he knew you’re okay, that nothing bad has happened to you, that you’ll come back. He knows now that being a pretend boyfriend is no fun if you don’t have someone whose boyfriend you want to be.

For now, he’ll just keep checking his phone and hoping to see a message from you.

Vernon's knee bounces, jaw clenching as he listens to the phone ring, waiting for you to pick up. He can't wait to hear your voice, it hasn't even been two weeks but that's more than long enough for him. You just soothe him, quiet his brain and still his hands. He's not sure if it's how gently you speak, or how your voice feels like a soft, warm blanket right out of the dryer, or how your words slide over him like silk, but he's missed you and as soon as you pick up and say hello, it's like his entire body relaxes.

He chats with you a bit, catching up on your classes and telling you about the work he's done for his project (little to none), letting you scold him for having done no work on his project and enjoying it.

The conversation draws to a natural conclusion, both of you having exhausted every possible topic in an effort to avoid the reason for the call. Vernon takes a deep breath and tries to steel himself; he's never been good with uncomfortable situations or feelings talk but he's willing to try, for you.

"So, you thought this was like a... pen pal situation? Didn't you have to put in your ID to prove you're over 18?"

"Well, yes, but I thought it was just so we could talk about adult topics, not because it's porn!"

Vernon blanches, he hadn't really thought about the fact that he was basically a porn star and he's not sure how he feels about it. He's not ashamed, sex is normal and human and he needs to make money somehow, but he does wonder how much longer he'll want to keep doing this. It's not easy to act like a boyfriend to so many people at once when he knows there's only one person he wants. And he does know it now, he wants you.

"Does it make you uncomfortable? That I do this?" Vernon worries, knowing he doesn't want to stop but also knowing he doesn't want to lose you.

"No, I mean, a job is a job and you get to make your own schedule and devote all your focus to school. It seems like a great gig, and you're good at it obviously..." You trail off, sounding sad for some reason. He hasn't heard you like this before, your voice a bit thready and foggy, like you're suppressing tears.

"What's wrong?" Vernon asks urgently, becoming more and more concerned with every sniffle that escapes you.

You stay silent for a while, Vernon tries to be patient but he can hear your breath catching, and he's about to start crying too just so you don't cry alone. He breathes out your name, hoping you'll respond.

"Ugh, I just-" you stop yourself, sounding... embarrassed?

"I..." you take what sounds like a very deep breath, and Vernon feels like he's at the edge of a cliff, just waiting to jump.

"I like you! I like when you call me babe and flirt with me and call me and I liked the face you made when you came and I liked how you sounded and then I wanted to make you sound like that! But this is your literal job, acting like a boyfriend, and I didn't know that so I let myself have a crush on you not knowing that it was all fake!"

It takes Vernon a second to process what you said, you'd said it all in one breath and spoken so fast, your voice shaking with the cutest mix of nerves and annoyance.

"Nononononononono!!! It wasn't fake! It was fake with everyone else but never with you," Vernon spits out in a rush, desperate to make you understand. He's pacing in his room now, phone pressed to his ear, arms crossed and fingers taptaptapping at his elbow. He wonders what he can say to make you believe him, to make sure you know that you've always been different, been special, to him.

"I look forward to your thoughts every day. Whenever you text me, I literally kick my feet like a little kid. Every time I streamed - they're not all like that, by the way - I couldn't stop checking to see if you'd joined. Patrons can only ask for three selfies a day, I send you like five, unprompted-" he could go on, but you interrupt him with a call of his name. He's not sure he's heard it on your lips before, but it does something to him. Something that's very inconvenient for him to deal with now, during this very emotional conversation. He's tempted to send you a picture, maybe that will convince you.

"Vernon," you call again, bringing his focus back to your voice and away from what your voice was doing to him.

"So, what are you saying?" you continue, starting to sound a bit less sad and a bit more like yourself.

"I'm saying I want to be your actual boyfriend, and not for money, so you'll have to cancel your membership, sorry."

There's silence for a few beats; Vernon feels himself teetering on the cliff again as he waits for your response.

"I mean- is that... allowed?" You seem unsure, sounding slightly hopeful but a bit apprehensive still. He wishes he could see your face, wishes he knew what you look like at all (knowing would definitely help at nighttime or in the shower or when he wakes up for ... reasons). He shakes his head to bring himself back to the conversation before you notice that his mind had wandered.

"Yea, I mean, my friend does cam shows with his partner and another friend of mine found out his roommate was watching his shows and now they fuck everyday! That could be us!" Vernon tries to reassure you, hoping you're willing to at least try.

"Ummmmm I don't know about that just yet but we could try... dating, I guess? It may be difficult just online but I like you and you say you like me so, why not?"

Vernon thinks that if he jumped out of his window right now, he just might fly. He won't because he's not trying to die now that you're letting him be your boyfriend, but the feeling is there.

"Yes! I do like you, I like you a lot. I like you so much. Please date me." He knows he's practically begging at this point, but he doesn't care. Vernon's willing to beg, on his knees if he needs to, if it means he can be your boyfriend for real.

"Okay! Okay," you giggle, a bit muffled as if you're covering your mouth. "I'll date you if you date me?"

Vernon can't contain his grin, spinning in circles around his room even though he's already dizzy.

"Deal."

Vernon squints, sitting in his 9 am and staring down at the purple pen in his hand, the one he’d found sitting on the desk when he came in.

There’s no way though, right?

Right?

Vernon tries not to freak out as he looks under the desk to find a water bottle. One with your name on it.

Vernon has a choice to make. He could sit here, try to focus on class, while he thinks about you somewhere on campus, struggling through an exam and dehydrated and sad. Or …

Not on my watch, Vernon thinks, shooting up from the desk and grabbing his stuff and yours. He’s jogging across campus before he knows it, dodging frisbees and dogs on the green, weaving through hammocks and hopping over sleeping students. He’s not sure what lecture hall you’re in but he knows the chemistry building, and if he books it, he’s sure he can make it.

He’s speedwalking down the hall, peeking in windows and listening at doors, trying to find your class. His eyes catch a paper taped to a door, warning, “EXAM AT 915. DO NOT DISTURB.”

He could jump in glee but, glancing at his phone and seeing that it’s 9:10, he knows he doesn’t have time.

Vernon’s hoping, praying you’ll listen to him when the door opens a smidge, and the most beautiful face he’s ever seen peeks through. It's like heaven’s light is shining down on him, he thinks he can hear angels, and is that wind? Blowing through his hair?

Staring back at him, your eyes shoot open in disbelief, before landing on your pen and water bottle in his hands. You squeal, bouncing in your shoes and throwing your arms around his neck. He breathes you in, reeling at the weight of your body against his, and you pull back before he can return your embrace. Vernon misses you instantly but he knows you have to go be a genius so, handing you the water and pen, he accepts a kiss on the cheek and watches you leave.

Hiiii!! Would love to know your thoughts, whether they come in a like, reblog, comment, or ask! Please feel free to come talk to me i will cry and smile all day!! Planning a pt 2 for this but i'm hoping to get pt 2 of like a cowboy out first!

Part 2

And check out the rest of SVTHub! A good few fics are out and you’ll still have something to look forward to as more will be posted over the next few weeks ☺️

I am so grateful to @sapphichui for trusting me with this and I’ve had such a great time collaborating with and getting to know other awesome authors on here!

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