#Stranger Things reader Insert

[magical-reid]

The Unexpected Connection

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: When Miss Popular offers to help Eddie Munson with chemistry, an unlikely connection forms between them as they bond over shared interests. The relationship deepens when she surprises Eddie and his friends with homemade cookies during a D&D campaign, leaving everyone shocked by her unexpected presence in Eddie's world.

The fluorescent lights buzzed above the cafeteria, casting their harsh glow over the crowded tables. You sat at your usual spot, surrounded by your group of friends. They were all in their usual cheerful chatter, gossiping about the latest trends and upcoming weekend plans. Your life had always been filled with sparkles and smiles, but there was something a little different today—a subtle unease you couldn’t quite place. That unease was Eddie Munson.

Eddie, the resident metalhead and Dungeon Master of Hawkins High's Dungeons & Dragons campaign. He was a mystery—a wild card who didn’t care about fitting in with the popular crowd. You, on the other hand, were the center of attention. Perfect hair, colorful outfits, and always with a group of friends at your side. You'd never crossed paths with him before, at least not in any meaningful way, but you had seen him around. He was hard to miss, with his long hair, denim vest, and that ever-present air of defiance.

But that didn’t stop your curiosity. The rumors about him were relentless—everyone in school had something to say about Eddie. Most of it wasn’t flattering. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder what the real Eddie Munson was like, behind the leather jacket and the weird rumors.

And that was the exact moment you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned to see him standing there, looking unusually hesitant for someone who was oftenly seen as confident and untouchable. His usual cocky grin was replaced with an uncertain smile.

"Uh, hey," Eddie muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. "You got a second?"

You blinked in surprise. “Sure. What’s up?”

He shuffled his feet, looking awkward. “I was wondering… if you could help me with something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Help you? With what?"

“Chemistry,” Eddie said, his voice low as if he was embarrassed to ask. "I mean, I know it’s not the most hardcore subject, but I could use some help. I’m not exactly a whiz with numbers and reactions, y’know?”

You were taken aback. Eddie Munson, the guy who had a reputation for being a rebel and a troublemaker, asking for help in chemistry? It didn’t make sense. But your heart softened at the fact that he was even admitting it. It wasn’t easy for someone like him to ask for help.

“Okay,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “I can help. Meet me after school at the library, alright?”

Eddie seemed genuinely surprised. “Wait, you’re actually willing to help me?”

You shrugged casually. “Why not? I don’t bite. And chemistry’s no big deal, really. Besides, I’m guessing it’s better than whatever you’ve been doing in class, right?”

He chuckled, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Alright, deal. See you then.”

You waved as you grabbed your things to leave, but before you could head off, Eddie called out.

“Hey, uh… you’re not like everyone says you are, y’know?”

You turned around to face him, smiling softly. “I guess not. You’re not what I expected either.”

His smile faltered, but you could see the hint of warmth in his eyes as you walked away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The library was quiet as usual, and you found a secluded corner to set up your chemistry notes. You didn’t know what to expect when Eddie showed up, but when he did, you were surprised at how… out of place he looked. His black leather jacket clashed with the neatly organized bookshelves around you, and he scratched the back of his head, clearly trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Eddie said, settling across from you.

You smiled at him. “It’s not a big deal. Just think of it as another kind of campaign—only with chemicals instead of dice.”

Eddie snorted. “You think I can roll a natural 20 on this subject?”

“Not unless you roll a lot of patience,” you teased, tapping your pen against the notebook.

As you explained the basics of chemical reactions and bonds, you found yourself watching Eddie more than you realized. His intense focus, the way his fingers drummed on the table when he was deep in thought, the furrow in his brow as he jotted down notes—it was strangely endearing. He wasn’t like the other guys in your class. There was something more to him, and you were starting to see it.

“You’re really good at this,” Eddie said after a while, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head. “I thought I was gonna fail for sure, but now I think I’m actually getting it.”

You smiled at the compliment. “You’re not as bad at this as you thought. You’ve got potential, Munson.”

He grinned, but there was a slight vulnerability in his smile that you hadn't expected. “Thanks. You’re alright, you know that?”

The conversation turned to lighter topics, and before you knew it, you were laughing together—completely different from the icy encounters you’d imagined with him in the past. The chemistry lesson had turned into something else entirely. Something more... comfortable.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The weekend rolled around, and you knew that you had a D&D campaign with Eddie and the guys at the usual hangout. You hadn’t been invited to play, of course. That was Eddie’s thing. But you knew this would be your chance to do something a little unexpected.

You had made cookies—soft, chewy chocolate chip cookies—and you had a plan. You'd show up at the campaign and surprise Eddie. You weren’t entirely sure how it would go, but you thought maybe it would break the ice.

You arrived at the trailer park just as the sun began to set, your basket of cookies tucked under your arm. You knocked on the door of Eddie’s trailer, and when he answered, his eyes widened.

“You—uh, what are you doing here?” Eddie stammered, clearly surprised to see you standing in front of him with a batch of homemade cookies.

“I brought cookies,” you said with a smile. “I thought you and the guys could use a snack while you roll some dice.”

His jaw dropped a little. “Wait, seriously? You actually came here... with cookies?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully, stepping inside. “I figured it might be nice. I’ve never actually watched a campaign.”

The guys in the room—Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will—looked at you in shock. You could see their eyes widen in disbelief. They were all accustomed to you being there, but never in Eddie’s world. You were the popular, girly girl who didn’t belong at a metalhead’s D&D table.

“What’s this? We’re getting snacks now?” Dustin asked, blinking.

“Did she just bring cookies?” Mike added, eyes flicking from you to Eddie in confusion.

Eddie, still a little taken aback, blinked before shaking his head. “I, uh, I didn’t expect this. But, hey… you guys are gonna love these.” He took one of the cookies and bit into it. “Damn, these are amazing.”

You smirked. “Glad you like them. I figured the Demon Lord’s army could use a little sugar boost.”

The boys exchanged glances, and even Eddie’s usual cool demeanor melted a little as he let himself enjoy the cookies. For the first time, it felt like you were actually part of something. Part of Eddie’s world. And it was nice. Really nice.

You stayed for the rest of the campaign, sitting beside Eddie, chatting between rolls. It wasn’t the most glamorous, and you didn’t know all the rules, but it felt like you were finally seeing Eddie in his element. And you couldn’t help but smile.

[dearest-nell]

morning person

s. harrington x reader, 2.8k

summary: a snapshot into the morning routine of steve harrington, now that the two of you have moved in together includes: established steve x reader, domestic fluff, steve is a busybody. warnings: literally none except i am still incapable of proofreading properly

a/n: honestly if anyone has any requests i would love to hear them, or just want to chat about this show that has ruined my life, because i'm spiralling into obsession over here.

People who complain about mornings have obviously never spent one waking up beside Steve Harrington, this you’re sure of. Because if they had, then they would know there was nothing in the world so deliciously saccharine than that drowsy, softened look on his face as he blinks the sleep away from mingling eyelashes, his lips curving upwards into a dreamy sort of smile. This isn’t even the first time he has awoken this morning. 

Steve Harrington is a morning person – an early riser, a dawn greeter, a restless child on christmas day. His body clock is set as the sun begins to kiss the horizon, his eyes blinking open into a dark, cool bedroom. New. This bedroom is new. He is still getting used to it, this apartment, a dingy one bedroom located just a few blocks from the rougher side of town. It’s a far cry from the mansion he used to live in, small and outdated and a little worse for wear, if he were to say so himself, but it’s home. It’s home because it’s his, and it’s home because it’s yours. You rent it together, bills strung haphazardly from paychecks of jobs you’d both rather live without. Steve doesn’t mind that he still works at the video store, not when it lights up the lamp on his bedside, or cooks the pasta on your shitty gas top that flickers every so often. He needs to call the service guy, now that he thinks about it, but it’s too early to matter. 

He can feel the heat of your body pressed in beside him, curled in on yourself, face buried into the pillow now folding creases into your skin, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You have never been a morning person, he learned rather early on. You’re delirious, and grumpy, and still so beautiful despite the glare in your eyes when he used to wake you, and now, he knows to let you sleep. His impatience to rouse you, to kiss you and touch you is an urge he’s learned to swallow, so he pauses for a moment simply to stare, to smile to himself at the way you mumble in your dreams. 

He has the time, he thinks, considering it’s still dark out, and his shift at the store is not due for half a morning away, so he lets himself linger, tucked into the warmth of bedsheets as he works up the courage to leave it. He knows he needs to, that he’ll feel better if he does, that the routine always pays off even if it means parting from you. The air will be chilly outside, but he needs the cold to clear his head. His morning run is his time, after all. It gives him the solitude to consider, to plan, to unwind. 

He slips from the bed, careful footsteps walking a still unfamiliar path through the bedroom, boxes stacked against a near wall still unpacked from the move. His sneakers are in the wardrobe, well placed for a quick pick up, though he hasn’t accounted for his discarded shirt rippled right in his path. He trips, stumbling slightly, cursing himself as the thud that resounds as heavy feet meet the floorboards. He turns with a cringe, hearing you stir, though you do not rise as you wriggle deeper into yellow linens, disappearing beneath the comforter. 

He’s quick to dress, not wanting to risk another incident and the wrath of your disturbed sleep, slipping out into the living room to tie his shoes, still half asleep and blinking blearily. Despite its flaws, he likes this apartment more than he thought possible. There’s a passthrough between the kitchen and the living room that lets him talk to you as he cooks, you hanging over the bench to smile at him, pressing kisses into his shoulder when he dares to come too close. There’s a strange nook that sits in the wall by the door, one that now holds your keys and bumble bee umbrella, though neither of you are too sure why it was built in the first place. There’s a flat expanse outside the bathroom window that you want to build a flower box into, though Steve is yet to determine how, since neither of you are particularly good at D.I.Y. He loves this second hand couch Eddie found on the curb, loves the strange, abstract art piece Will designed for you both as a housewarming, loves the ceramic clown that Robin stole from an overpriced giftshop to hide in one of your moving boxes, now settled in the bookshelf beside an array of half read novels between you. 

He’s building a life here with you, and Steve is trying his best to remind himself of it every chance he get. There will be Christmases spent in these walls, games night drinks spilled on this carpet, and so many I love you kisses pressed to smiling cheeks beside that front door – he hardly knows how to contain the excitement for it all, even as he ties his laces. 

The morning is colder than he expected, but Steve has never been one to check the weather even now, even after he caught a cold from a raining run one morning, taking himself straight to work rather than home to you to shower. He figure’s he’ll wing it, deal with the consequences as they come, and enjoy the way you dote on him as he whines and groans in his flu like delirium days later. Cold, but not raining, he knows he’ll be fine this time. 

He’s been planning out this new jogging route as he goes, still learning the maps and turns of each new lane. He’d never been to this part of town much before the move, but he’s starting to acclimate one run at a time. It’s not too far from Hawkins, after all. It still feels like a familiar place, but it’s closer to the community college to save you the travel time. Steve’s a visual learner, after all. It gives him the roadmap that he’ll need to plan out his week. He’s taking himself the long way just to jot down the layout; the farmers market, the hardware store, the cafe with the good coffee. He waves to the people he passes by, few and far between, trying to appear friendly. He doesn’t know yet the culture of this community, but he’s eager to make a good impression. He recognises the old man who runs the news agency, stops to chat as they talk about the community centre. Steve’s agreed to volunteer for the refurbishment, he’s hoping it’ll help you both settle in, and you’ve promised to bake up your best batch of pastries to feed the hungry husbands as they work. Steve’s not yet a husband, but he’s planning on changing that in due time. 

The sun mingling with the clouds by the time he departs again, his pace quickening through midtown suburbia to take him home. The paperboy is tossing rolls at the doors, barely breaking on his bike as he passes house after house. Steve moves onto the road to avoid any collisions, shaking his head as the teen wheels off past a corner. He hasn’t even thought about his week yet, he realises, and his pace drops in consideration. There’s a stocktake coming up at work that will take more energy than he has to give, his parents are due over for dinner later in the week (he’s hoping they’ll cancel), and Robin has booked him tickets to some kind of gig that he’s certain he’ll hate. He mentally notes the checklist – things to buy, things to do, things to clean – now able to see his lot clearly without the buzz of a busy world around him. His days run smoother this way, alone, soles beating against the pavement. It starts him on the right foot. 

He’s out of breath when he arrives back on your block, panting heavily without the grace of a water bottle. He knows he should have brought one, but there’s no point stewing on it now. His thighs ache as he climbs the staircase, three flights of stairs his least favourite part of coming home. He can’t imagine hauling groceries up this stairwell is going to be an enjoyable weekly endeavour, but for the price of rent, he’s willing to make the effort, even with a slightly busted knee. 

He’s a little louder than he wants to be as he eases open the lock, slipping into a slightly brighter apartment than when he left. He doesn’t think you’re awake, but he takes pause to slow himself down, turning into the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Steve clicks on the faucet, hanging his head below the tap to let the cool water run directly into his mouth. He lacks grace as he guzzles down half a litre, droplets trickling down his cheeks and chin into unclean dishes from the night before. There’s urgency, he decides, in this drink. No type for a cup, no time to pause. He pulls away gasping, wiping a cupful of water across his sweat slicken face, unable to suck enough breath into his lungs. He leans back against the benchtop, eyes pressed skyward to focus on slowing himself down, letting his heart rate drop back to a blissful pace. 

He knows he should shower, but more than anything, he’s aching to get back between the sheets with you. It’s funny how he still misses you when you’re not within reach, even for an hour, even when he knows you’re still wrapped up tight in the comforts of his bed. It feels wrong to love a person this much, like he shouldn’t be made to feel so much, so deeply, every passing minute of every passing day. But he does. He knows he’s not the first to feel such a love, but he thinks he might be the only one regardless, because no one else has you. He thinks it’s strange that everyone in the world isn’t aching to be by your side, that hearts all over the town aren’t skipping beats at the wideness of your smile, the curve of your shoulder, the tickle of your laugh. This love must be special, then, because how else can he be the only one so enamoured by you. 

He forces himself into the shower, the water not yet warm even as he sinks his head beneath the stuttering stream. The pipes are old, though a cold shower bothers him far less than it bothers you. He’ll be out quicker this way. He is less thorough in his cleaning than he thinks he ought to be, scrubbing furiously at his body with the loofah you bought him, scraping sweat and red streaks into a now fading tan. He’s seeing the sun less these days in the dead of autumn, but he’ll make it up later. Right now, all he is focused on is climbing back into his bed, his skin stained with a citrus scent embedded into the new soap you had bought. It’s not his usual brand, but he thinks he likes the change anyways. It reminds him of summer picnics with you, fingers digging into orange peels, juices dribbling down his fingers until he tears out slices one by one. The scent lingers, filled with your orange flavoured kisses and sun streaked highlights burning into his mind, and yes, he thinks, the change isn’t so bad. 

He shuts off the tap, yanking his towel from the rack to pat himself dry, hair shaking out like a puppy dog with rambunctious excitement to be on his way. He doesn’t bother to redress, dropping the towel to the floor without focus, padding back towards your bedroom. You’re exactly how he left you, though a little more illuminated in the morning light. You’ve wiggled out of the blanket again, one foot kicked out to the side to regulate your body temperature, one hand reaching out towards his side of the bed. You reach for him in your sleep sometimes, and he hates the idea of not being there for you when you do. 

He clambers into bed his eagerness betraying his stealth, expert hands lifting your arm up for him to slide under, hanging it securely over his waist as he settles into the warm dip of the mattress. Your body responds instinctively, rolling into him with a groan, still not quite awake, though he can tell you’re not so far off. He runs fingers through your hair, trying to stave off your inevitable waking for as long as he can manage. Your alarm isn’t due for another hour, and he wants every second before that  spent just like this.

He doesn’t mean to fall back asleep, but sleep takes him anyways, his eyes blinking shut under the hypnotic pattern of your breathing beside him. He’ll wake up again groggier now, but there is nothing to be done to change it. He tugs you in closer, rougher in his sleep, his neediness permeating his unconscious mind until you’re pressed square against him. The movement spurs you awake, slowly and unintentionally, though it takes you a moment to understand why. 

There he is, your man, your darling boy, mouth hanging open with quiet, rumbling snores, arms wrapped around you in a protective lock. He’s never looked more beautiful, even with your eyes out of focus, one closed and pressed into the fabric of your pillowcase. You can smell the soap, feel the softness of his now cleansed skin beneath your curious fingertips, and you know he’s already been out of bed. He tries his best not to fall back asleep, but your smile curves wider to be blessed to see it. There’s a jealousy in you, after all, that he gets to watch you sleep so often. Times like these are rare, when you awaken first, and you’re greedy in your enjoyment of them. You’d take a picture if you thought you could reach the camera, but the moment would spoil, you were sure. You commit it to memory instead, every dip and curve and freckle and hair burned into your head until it’s all you can see. You want his face to be a fading image that blinks to life behind every close of your eyes, an after image repeating itself well into the day when you’re far away from him. 

He is so lovely, and you are so in love. 

The alarm breaks the two of you out of your reverie, your body jolting at the surprise of it. Steve is slower to start this time, groaning a drunken sort of sound as you slam your hand down on the rattling clock. His arm tightens around you, dragging you until your body is half wedged under his own, your giggles drowning out into muffled chuckles as your face burrows into the crook of his neck. 

“I fell back asleep.” He mutters, closing his eyes with a sigh. 

“I know.” You coo back, adjusting the curve of your back to a more comfortable position, tangling legs between his own until you’re thoroughly wrapped. 

“You sound awake.” He mumbles back, squeezing at your waist with unmasked affection. “Were you up?” 

“Yeah.” It’s an airy sort of confession, made to match the tender strokes of fingers reaching to scrape lovingly at his scalp. “Just watchin’ you sleep.” 

“Perv.” He teases, kissing at your hair, mouth hungry and missing your skin entirely. He lights up as you giggle, his head lifting with heavy blinks to gaze down at you, hair pressed upwards into a lopsided mess. You do your best to pat it down for him. “You like what you see?” 

You crook your head to the side, focusing your gaze in a tender expression. “Something like that.” His brow arches curiously, leaving you to laugh again. “I love you, you moron.” 

His smile widens, head dropping to nuzzle his nose roughly into your cheek, lips catching on your jaw every so often with exaggerated noises of enthusiasm. “Love you too, baby.” 

There is silence for a minute, nothing but his lips dragging affection across the planes of your cheek, his hands wandering underneath the fold of your bedshirt to press fingertips into fading stretch marks across your hips. You’re worried he’ll fall asleep again, and you know you don’t have the heart today to wake him a second time. 

“You want breakfast? I can make jam on toast?” 

He hums a happy sound, though does nothing to release his grip on you. “Yeah, okay. Gonna have to escape me, though. Can’t make my arm move.” 

He pretends to try and shuffle his grip, putting on a little show with a pout when his hold does not dislodge. You roll your eyes, brushing the pad of your thumb against his brow bone. 

“Five more minutes, then.” 

Steve was back asleep within three.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

first love {e.m}

plot: you were eddie's first love and you never forget your first love.

character: eddie munson x reader

Everyone knew about you. A day never passed without Eddie mentioning you and your name whether it be a passing "(y/n) loved that" or a more in depth conversation about you or a memory but Eddie always spoke about you. You and Eddie were high school sweethearts. You'd been friends for years and everyone thought that you'd eventually end up together and they were right.

Eddie was your first. First boyfriend, first kiss, first love. You were the same for him and everybody knew it.

The way Eddie spoke about you made everyone smile. He spoke so highly of you, always complimenting you and telling the craziest stories. The two of you were the perfect couple; the 'it' couple as they say. The pair of you together were free, no cares in the world and just happy. God, the two of you were just so damn happy.

"Well, where is she?" Dustin asked with that toothy grin after Eddie had finished telling him a story about the time you and him broke into the school and ended up catching two teachers making out, "You're always talking about her but where is she?"

Eddie's face fell and it was in that moment that Dustin knew he'd fucked up.

Around the room, everyone who knew the truth's eyes widened and stared at Dustin then Eddie then Dustin. Eddie's eyes glazed over face unreadable as Dustin frowned and looked around the room, "What?" He asked, "Did I say something I shouldn't have? I was only asking where (y/n) is, you all look like you've seen a ghost- Oh."

With a horror filled expression, Dustin turned to Eddie and his suspicion was confirmed, "Oh fuck," Dustin whispered, "Eddie, I'm so- fuck, man, I didn't know- I'm so sorry-"

Eddie shook his head, swallowing hard and forcing a quick smile, "It's fine." He stood and cleared his throat, "I just need to get some air."

The room was dead silent until Eddie left and then Steve whacked Dustin on the arm, "Dude!"

"Why did none of you freaking tell me his girlfriend is dead?!" Dustin hissed to Nancy and Steve, "You- You made me look like an idiot! Fuck!"

Outside, Eddie was on the hood of his car, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket along with a lighter to light it up. He looked up to the darkening sky as he took a puff and closed his eyes. He liked to imagine you up there with all the legends, partying and singing away, just waiting until it was his turn to come and then you'd party for all eternity with each other. It had been almost two years since he lost you and there wasn't a moment where he didn't think about you. Every single decision Eddie made, every thought he had... it was all connected to you. Eddie had bought his new van based on what he thought you'd say about it. Eddie wore the outfits you bought him or at least modelled himself in similar items of clothing to ones he knew that you liked. You were gone but you truly lived on in Eddie Munson's day to day life.

It was a few minutes later when Eddie was pressing the cigarette into the grass under his boot that Dustin came out, "Hey, kid," Eddie said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "Come, sit."

Dustin awkwardly sat beside Eddie on the hood of the car, he was shit scared and Eddie could tell, "Dude, I'm so-"

"S'alright," Eddie said with a half smile.

"No, Eddie, seriously, I didn't-"

"Dustin," Eddie's voice was louder but he wasn't angry, he was calm. This was probably the calmest Eddie had ever been now that Dustin was thinking about it, "It's alright."

Dustin nodded and released a long breath allowing his shoulders to sag. He was silent for a few seconds before he said it anyway, "I didn't know... I'm really sorry."

The older boy dug around in his pocket before he pulled out two things; a photo and his lighter. He handed them both to Dustin, "There's my girl." The smile on Eddie's face when he looked at your picture said it all, "That's (y/n) and that lighter was (y/n)'s. She carved our initials into it, see?" Dustin flipped the lighter and sure enough, yours and Eddie's initials were carved onto the black metal, "I carry those everywhere I go... so that she's always with me."

"Can- Can I ask what happened?" Dustin handed the picture and lighter back to Eddie.

Eddie shrugged, "I lost her, that's the long and short of it all. Got hit by a drunk driver one night when we were stopped at a red light. She was gone instantly. I..." Eddie sucked in breath and released it, "Sometimes I wish I'd gone that night too." Dustin didn't speak, he just let Eddie talk, "She hadn't wanted to go out, she wanted to stay in but I wanted more beer. Had I not wanted it-"

"It's not your fault, Eddie."

Eddie nodded, staring down at his photo of you, "Would you believe me if I said it makes it easier if I blame me? No use blaming the other driver, he died that night in hospital. He's dead, can't blame a dead man but I can blame me... and if I blame me, it means that I can be better; I can better myself for her, for (y/n)."

"What was she like?" Eddie spoke about you that much that Dustin already had a pretty good idea of what you were like but he wanted to hear it from Eddie in this heartbreakingly raw moment.

Eddie's face stretched into a wide smile, "Henderson, you would've loved her. She was fiery, didn't take anyone's shit. She was funny, could make friends just like that. She loved D&D, she was the one that coined the name Hellfire Club. She was... She would've done great things. She would've loved you."

The pair smiled at one another before Eddie's eyes returned to the sky, "S'alright, Henderson. You didn't know, don't feel bad about it."

Dustin nodded, realising that was Eddie ending the conversation, "You coming back in?" He jumped from the hood of the car and looked expectantly at the older boy.

"In a minute," Eddie sighed, "just gonna chat to my girl for a minute."

"Say hi to her from me."

"Will do."

Dustin gave him a small smile before walking back inside. Eddie's eyes closed as he looked up, "I wish you could meet them all, pretty eyes, Henderson especially. I think he would've loved you almost as much as I do... Ah well, I better go back in. Don't want them thinking I've gone all soft, eh?" He opened his eyes and looked at your picture once more before pressing a gentle kiss to it, "I love you."

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we do love Steve..."

🖤 An Ongoing Series, from Misha’s Masterlist Library. ☾⋆ OSWDLS Full Series Masterlist here.

VOLUME II • CHAPTERS 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

VOLUME II / CHAPTER 1-4 (WARNINGS/NOTES): t.w.'s - severe traumatic diagnosis for one of the main characters, heavy topics, language, sensitive mental health matters.

[These chapters are meant to be read directly after Part X, in chronological order.]

Tbh if you are not comfortable reading about traumatic situations that lead to trauma induced mental states, then this is jot the story for you. That said, this story has a very beautiful, warm ending and the light at the end of the tunnel is eternally bright. So in my humble opinion? It's worth every bit of the damn journey, if you wanna hold my hand and get there together (we can follow behind Steve & Bauman, as they hold each other tight through it all). 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh we are so back. And now? We're doing a time jump skip before we travel back in time, to figure out what all led up to this moment. Not gonna say much this time, because I really wanna let these next few chapters & my writing speak for themselves.

But I will say... I *did* make sure to include the first 4 chapters since I've been away for so long... ;)

Huge immense thank you to everyone who has not only been following this story religiously, but as also had an absurd amount of patience with me in picking this back up. Life's been keeping me occupied, but I can't complain. This platform is my escape, and I've nurtured it (along with this story) so that it's never a platform that doesn't provide me joy, release and peace of f*cking mind. You all do that for me and ily all the more for it. :)

Xx, Misha

Bonus: If you listen to this song cover, wayyyylllp then you are in for a treat. It heavily inspired this series volume, and it will be back...

***

CHAPTER ONE Systems Processing

Two months later . . .

The bedroom was dim and still. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful. Just stale, heavy with breath not being taken deep enough and seconds that dragged instead of passed. 

Outside, spring pushed up from the thawed ground like it had every year, resilient and blind to the war they’d all just finished losing pieces of themselves to. Inside, the Harrington house felt like a museum. Untouched plates on the dining table, old jackets on doorknobs, too many pairs of shoes by the door. Haunted by the living.

Steve didn’t move.

He lay on his side on top of the covers, still dressed in yesterday’s shirt and sweatpants, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other hanging limp off the edge like it had forgotten it belonged to a body. He wasn’t asleep. Not really awake either. His eyes were open. Glazed over, red-rimmed, fixed somewhere past the wall, past reality, like he was watching something only he could see.

He hadn’t spoken in four days.

No one called it ‘catatonia’ out loud, not even Owens. Maybe because saying it would make it real. Maybe because nobody knew what the hell to do about it anyway. Even Robin, who normally refused to let anything rot in silence, had gone still around him now. Hopper kept pacing. Joyce kept cooking. Dustin cried exactly once in the garage and punched the wall when Steve didn’t flinch at the sound.

Everyone floated.

Steve sank.

Except when you were there.

The door creaked softly. No knock. Just you. 

Just Bauman.

Just his.

You slipped into the room with the slow ease of someone who’d already been here a hundred times. Which, to be fair, you had. First when Steve was an ass. Then when he was a friend, even though that took a solid four years in the making. And then it’d been whenever things shifted again, into something more. And again and again, as it kept being more. 

And then there was now.

Now, when he was… this.

You didn’t speak right away. Just eased the door shut behind you and made your way across the room with a quiet, practiced patience. You weren’t hurrying. You didn’t tiptoe either. You walked like it was any other Tuesday, like this was just another morning, like Steve wasn’t fractured behind his eyes and lost somewhere between what had happened and what he couldn’t stop reliving.

You climbed onto the bed.

Not over him, not around. Right in front. You lay on your side, facing him, tucking your forearm under your own head as you shifted until his vacant stare met your eyes. He was still looking right through you. You didn’t flinch.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, voice low, dry, but warm like always. “You look like a man who got hit by a bus and is now haunted by the ghosts of every single wheel.”

Steve didn’t blink. But his jaw twitched. Just a little.

“I mean that in the sexiest way possible,” you added, deadpan. “Total roadkill vibe. My type. I’m into it.”

The corner of your mouth curved. You watched him with that unreadable, Bauman-brand expression you always wore, somewhere between ‘I might kiss you’ and ‘I might blackmail you with a secret I haven’t even discovered yet.’

He didn’t smile. Not yet.

You reached up, gently brushed your thumb under his eye. “You didn’t sleep again.”

He hadn’t.

I couldn’t, he thinks.

The nights were always worse. They always got started behind his eyelids. A twisted slideshow began the second he let them shut, VHS clicking into place and no remote in sight to keep it from pressing play all on its own, inside his own head.

Inside his own mind, the tape rolled. The images, the smells. Blood. Burnt hair. Electricity. Boots on tile. Your scream. Hopper’s fear. Dustin’s hands shaking as he pressed them against Steve’s chest, clinging, no longer play-fighting and begging him to not blame himself, no matter what. Max’s cries, raw and unfiltered, telling him she’s scared, she’s scared, “I’m so scared, Steve, please don’t leave me in there, I can’t go back there, please Steve, please.” It’s all so unfamiliar, hearing them all sound so broken, they’re not supposed to be broken like that. He doesn’t understand it. It’s foreign.

Just as foreign as his own voice had been, sobbing for you, shoving Jonathan’s chest whenever he’d stopped pumping yours, demanding him to fix you, “fix her, we have to fix her, Byers, she’s not breathing, no one stopped helping you find Will, she’s not fucking breathing—”

Steve blinked once. Just once. 

Slowly.

You leaned closer. Not to kiss him. Just to be there. In his line of sight. In the only patch of reality he seemed able to touch right now.

“I made coffee. It’s terrible. I thought about poisoning Hopper’s mug, just to keep the spark alive. But Joyce would probably revive him with a look and then shoot me in the foot.”

A breath huffed from Steve’s nose.

It wasn’t a laugh. But it was a reaction.

“Too soon?” you teased, voice of an angel, mind of the devil.

Your smile barely moved. But your eyes did. You looked at him, not through him, and didn’t treat him like glass. You never did.

“I know you’re in there,” you said gently. “Probably trapped in that stupid overachieving brain of yours, underneath that—” you inhaled, allowing yourself to sigh deeply, lackadaisical as the words finished your sentence and eyes shifted to his hair as you stroked it. “—stupid perfect head of hair that I swear has started styling itself. Because your brain just keeps overthinking that hard.” Your eyes soften slightly as you stroke his hair gently, your thumb against his temple. “Thinking about how you could’ve done it all better. How if you’d just gotten to us sooner, or stopped that Soviet with the gun faster, or stayed calmer, yelled louder, climbed faster, kicked harder…”

Steve’s lip quivered. 

You saw it.

So you leaned in a little closer, voice softer now. Letting truth find its way into the conversation without force, the way Owens had told you to do. Unforced, but not kept in an untouched vault. That’s what he’d said. Don’t mask it. Give it room to breathe.

“But I was dead, Harrington.”

His breath hitched.

“I mean, technically. Legally,” you clarified with ease, voice light, head tilting just slightly in the most subtle mock tease of the specifics. “Pulse-free and crispy. And you brought me back anyway.” Your brows lifted slightly. “You. Your hands. Your voice. Five minutes.”

Steve’s stare flickered. A slight twitch of his eyebrow. 

His throat moved as he swallowed, like it hurt. Burned.

The way that your lungs had when you…

“And before you start spiraling,” you added quickly, “Eddie kept time, so if you wanna blame anyone for the fact that my heart stopped for exactly five minutes and seven seconds, blame Munson. Pretty sure he got his CPR certification off the back of a Judas Priest album.”

Steve blinked. Once. Then again.

The silence pressed in again. He still didn’t speak. But his eyes weren’t glass anymore. They were there. Focused. Locked on you.

You held that gaze and didn’t move.

“It’s okay to rest now,” you said quietly. “As long as you want. You fought so hard, Steve. For everyone. For me. For Dustin.” Your eyes glittered, never leaving his face. His beautiful, sweet face. “You don’t have to carry it all anymore.”

His fingers moved. Just barely. A slight twitch against the edge of the comforter, like maybe they wanted to reach for yours but forgot how.

You noticed. Didn’t push it.

Instead, you let your fingers wiggle on top of the sheets. A little flutter, drumming the mattress, shifting just barely an inch towards his as you offered something lighter. “Also, I should let you know Dustin is trying to organize your VHS collection by genre and thematic arc. I told him you’d rise from the dead and end him if he even touched Die Hard, so now he’s avoiding eye contact with your bookshelf like it personally insulted him.”

Steve’s lips twitched. The faintest hint of a smile. 

You grinned gently.

Then softly, barely a whisper…

“...s’fine,” he rasped.

You froze.

Your eyes widened just a bit. “What?”

Steve swallowed hard, throat dry and tight. He blinked slowly, then looked at you, actually looked, and tried again.

“S’fine,” he finally repeated, voice hoarse. “Let him… alphabetize it.”

You exhaled through your nose like someone had just cracked a window in a smoke-filled room. Then blinked hard, as if not to cry.

Steve saw that, his hazy brown eyes never leaving yours. And for the first time in days, he moved on his own. One hand, his fingers slow and unsure, reached out. Touched your wrist. Like an anchor. 

A lighthouse in the vast sea, swelling in the storm.

You covered his hand with yours immediately.

Robin appeared in the doorway not long after. Dustin, too. Both of them froze when they saw you holding hands. Steve’s awake. Not smiling, but finally looking somewhat alive behind his eyes.

The sight of it makes Robin’s hand come up to her mouth. Dustin didn’t even hide the tears. He darted into the room and flung himself at the foot of the bed, landing belly-first on the mattress like a flying possum.

“DUDE,” he blurted. “You talked. That’s literally the hottest thing you’ve ever done. Well, second hottest. First is obviously the CPR thing, because you were like, ‘clear!’ and then—”

“Hey.” You extended your leg and lightly waved your foot at Dustin. “Hey. Volume.”

Steve’s eyes stayed on you. Watching your mouth move. Your eyes flicker, your smile fluttering upwards at the corner like you didn’t want it to, not wanting to risk overwhelming him, but couldn’t help it.

And the ghosts? They weren’t gone. But they were quieter. Just for a little while.

Because Steve didn’t see the bodies anymore. Dead and dying, bleeding and wilting. Gasping for air, pleading for help, croaking out one last breath before their eyes became lifeless… 

He only saw you. 

Dustin didn’t say anything. Not for a full minute. He just stayed right there, half-sprawled on the bed, arms curled under his chest, chin resting on the blanket like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. That ridiculous, familiar grin was stretched across his face. The one that used to hide the gap from the baby teeth he never lost on time. The one that now revealed a full row of permanent teeth, like time itself had forgotten how young they all still were.

He didn’t even try to stop smiling. Just beamed, at you and at Steve, even though Steve still hadn’t looked at him.

Steve’s gaze was fixed on you like it couldn’t be pried away without breaking something fragile. Like you were the only thing that could anchor him in a world that still felt too loud, too bright, too fast. His hand was still under yours, his fingers curled a little tighter now. Not gripping, just holding. Like it was something his body had finally caught up with and realized that he needed.

Robin hadn’t moved. She stood just inside the doorway, still braced against the frame like her knees had gone weak. Her hand was still over her mouth, covering the trembling edges of a sob that didn’t quite make it out. Her eyes were red. Brimming. Silent.

She hadn’t spoken since you went into the room.

You didn’t turn to look at either of them. Not yet. You kept your eyes on Steve, kept your breathing even. Your voice stayed low and calm, your expression steady, but not blank. There was feeling behind all of it. Deep feeling. But you kept it all tightly coiled behind your eyes, refusing to let it all spill out and drown the moment. 

Refusing to let it drown him.

Because you knew better than to flood a fragile circuit. And Steve Harrington, for all his strength, was cracked glass right now.

“Okay,” you murmured, just loud enough for the three of you to hear. “That’s enough excitement for one minute.”

Steve’s lip twitched again, brows furrowing. Barely. But it was there.

You smiled gently and looked past him, for the first time, at Dustin. You didn’t need to speak, just extended your free hand slightly, palm out, a soft gesture of welcome.

It’s okay.

Dustin understood immediately. He always did, with you. Always listeners, and trusted. He nodded once, moving forward slowly. Carefully, like the air in the room might shatter if he walked too hard. He knelt beside the bed, right by where you and Steve’s hands met and held onto each other. He didn’t reach for Steve, though. Didn’t talk, or ask questions, or try to make him speak. He just sat there, patiently, close enough to be seen but not felt. 

Letting Steve see him.

And Steve didn’t flinch. His eyes, still on you, subtly flicked toward the movement. Toward Dustin.

His brother. 

Steve’s doe eyes softened. It was a microscopic shift, but it was beautiful all the same. He didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t.

Owens had told you it would be like this.

“He might echo things you say,” he’d warned you all quietly, three nights ago. “That’s the easiest form of communication for someone in a post-catatonic fugue. He’ll sound lucid, but it’s muscle memory. Like the mind is bouncing off the walls of someone else’s words until it finds its own again.”

And that’s exactly what it had been. Four days of silence. Then, the faintest whisper of your own words sent back at you. Like an echo from underwater.

Until now.

Until “it’s fine.”

Those were his own words.

The weight of it still hadn’t settled. Because it was easier to hear about symptoms than to live with them. Easier to nod while Owens spoke in that tired, professional way of his, full of disclaimers and caveats, than to sit here and watch someone you loved disappear inch by inch. To see them breathe and blink and not be in the room.

But now? Now, Steve was here. Not all the way. Not completely.

But here.

You exhaled quietly and glanced at Dustin. His eyes were still shiny, but he was beaming. God, he was so bright when he smiled like that. Like he didn’t even know the room was still full of ghosts.

“Hey,” you murmured.

Steve’s eyes came back to you immediately. Locked. Like gravity.

“Think maybe,” you said, soft but sure, “you should try some water. Or, you know, attempt the wild and crazy act of swallowing something that isn’t your own feelings.”

Steve didn’t answer. Didn’t even nod. But the little flex in his jaw again, that little tick of muscle like his body remembered the shape of response, was enough.

You turned to Dustin. “Can you grab me that water glass from the dresser?”

Dustin scrambled with quiet eagerness. He brought the glass over, hand shaking just slightly. You winked at him as he handed it to you, not Steve, and backed off again. Still watching. Still smiling.

You took the glass and touched it to Steve’s lower lip gently. “Try,” you whispered.

He didn’t open his mouth right away. Didn’t pull away either.

You watched him patiently. Felt his fingers twitch again beneath yours.

Then, slow as thawing ice, he parted his lips.

You tilted the glass carefully as he lifted his head, which was progress. A little water slipped inside.

He swallowed. It wasn’t graceful. His throat bobbed like it hurt. But he didn’t choke. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact with you for a second.

“Good,” you said softly. Your thumb rubbed his knuckles once.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. And then something happened. Something subtle. Not movement. Not sound.

Shift.

The air changed. Or maybe he did. Something behind his eyes. Like the light finally touched a corner it hadn’t in days.

He still didn’t speak. But he blinked, and this time, the blink felt real. Felt like his, not like the mind stalling and resetting.

Robin made a soft noise behind her hand.

You turned your head finally, just enough to glance at her. Her eyes met yours, wide and wet.

You gave the smallest nod. It’s gonna be okay.

Robin’s shoulders sank like the air had gone out of her lungs. She nodded, and didn't try to speak. Just stayed there, hand still over her mouth, a silent sentinel by the door.

You turned back to Steve.

He was still looking at you.

“Hey,” you murmured. “Still with me, baby?”

Another blink. This one slower, all for you...

You smiled, soft and sure, and squeezed his hand. “Good.”

It’s been maybe three minutes since you said that. Four, at most. Steve still hasn’t looked away from you. Not really. His gaze has drifted, sure, over your shoulder, to the steady weight of Dustin leaned up against the window. Just in his line of sight past you, propped up on your elbow beside him, smiling gently. And right behind you, Dustin was grinning quietly, that toothy smile full of unspoken loyalty. 

But every time that Steve’s glossy eyes flicker over to him, they come right back to yours.

You don’t say anything about it. You just keep holding his stare. Soft, calm, right there. Because you know better than to shatter this with too many words. You don’t want to break whatever delicate thread he’s holding onto. 

And Steve? He’s holding onto you. 

With everything he has left.

He keeps blinking slowly, like it helps keep the noise out. Like he’s sorting through the thoughts that aren’t plagued, trying to cling to the rare ones that aren’t rotten. The only ones that feel real anymore.

Like how beautiful your smile is. Even when it’s small. Even when it’s sad. Especially when it’s sad. And even now, when you’re not trying, it’s there. Still for him.

All for him.

He thinks about how it was the first real thing he could remember after they dragged you back into the light. 

That fragile smile, cracked at the edges, tender around the eyes, pulled from something ancient and bottomless inside of you, had been the first thing on your face when breath found your lungs again. After you’d been sucked underneath the current. The electric current that zapped you over to the other side. Not the literal other side, as in the wall. No, the other-other side. Not upside down. Not right-side up. Past the veil. Somewhere that you weren’t supposed to reach at only 20 years old. 

Somewhere that isn’t supposed to be reached into you’re old enough to become dust in the wind. Not jolted into it by a surge of shock that takes your life decades too soon.

And yet, here you are. His.

It makes his chest hurt. In a good way. In the only way that still feels good.

When he looks at Dustin, it’s different, but not by much. That same warmth, buried somewhere deep under all the sharp panic and muscle tension. The kind of love that doesn’t make a sound. The kind he never even got from blood family. The kind you only ever feel once, and if you’re lucky, you get to keep it.

His little brother. The one he didn’t get to protect. The one they took.

The image is still burned behind his eyes. The frantic, horrible shrieking of tires on the road above, the crash through the back fence, the screaming, the uniformed men, the guns, the gag. 

But worse than all of it was watching them drag Dustin out of that basement.

Drag you.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes. One blink. One breath. Steve had been gagged by then. Arms restrained so tight they bruised deep into his joints. Robin had been crying. Hopper was shouting. Joyce had been holding him, her own wrists tied, still finding a way to be there for him and shout through the fear in her throat. Mike and Max and Lucas had been frozen, pressed together against the wall like kids in a goddamn earthquake drill. Jonathan and Nancy had been shrieking, restrained and petrified, while Eddie had blood on his nose, the heel of a soldier’s boot dug deep into his back, between the shoulder blades. And Steve? Was useless.

He’d screamed so hard into the cloth they stuffed in his mouth that he’d torn the back of his throat. Spit and blood soaked the gag until it stuck to his tongue like glue. And all he could see were your legs disappearing through the doorway. Your voice screaming his name, telling them not to hurt him, not to hurt your uncle. Or Susie, or Dustin. 

Dustin trying to kick someone. His own wrists tearing against the tape they’d slapped onto him. Robin’s voice trying to scream for him. Trying to scream for you. And Steve.

“Steve, Steve, look at me—Steve, look at me!”

He can still hear Robin saying it. After they’d dragged you through the same door where Steve used to let you crash after movie nights, down the same hallway where Dustin always sneaks down for snacks in the middle of the night.

The man cave. His swanky, overcompensating bachelor pad turned game room turned war zone. And now it feels like a coffin. And yet somehow, you’re all still breathing in it.

“—gonna need at least three jars of peanut butter,” Dustin now mumbles beside you, voice low, conspiratorial, but bright. Like he’s trying not to wake Steve up from something.

You glance over your shoulder, raise an eyebrow. “Three? What’re you, eating it by the spoonful?”

“You know I do.”

Robin lets out a little puff of air through her fingers, still covering her mouth. A non-laugh. Her eyes are glassy. Twinkly. She hasn’t said a word since she sat down.

“You gonna back me up here?” Dustin asks, flicking his gaze to her as he steps up behind your back.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow. “She’s in mourning. The last of her protein bars got stolen by Murray.”

“I told her not to leave them in the glove compartment,” comes a voice from around the corner.

Your uncle.

Murray rounds it like a ghost. Barefoot, carrying a mug of black coffee and a clipboard, because of course he is. He doesn’t speak too loud. He doesn’t let the sarcasm spike above a dull rumble. It’s uncharacteristically softened, the way he only does it when he knows someone’s not okay and in genuine distress. He doesn’t comment on Steve’s distant, unblinking eyes.

You don’t either.

“I’m not saying the breakfast situation is dire,” Murray continues, perching on the edge of the low dresser without asking. He doesn’t need to. “But I am saying the last two eggs were questionably expired and Argyle made something that looked suspiciously like psychedelic oatmeal.”

You smirk. “He’s still on the kale kick?”

“Unfortunately. And he brought yogurt. Vegan. Unsweetened. Tastes like damp cement.”

“Ugh,” Robin croaks through her fingers.

You sniff a laugh. Even Dustin makes a face.

“I told him to pick up normal groceries with Hopper and Jonathan.” You flick your eyes back to Steve. He’s still watching you. Barely breathing. “Hopper’s definitely gonna ignore at least half of the list I made for it.”

He stares at you.

“Not if you guilt him hard enough,” Murray mutters. “You’re good at that.”

“She’s excellent at that,” Dustin adds.

You shoot both of them a look. “I use my powers responsibly.”

“Sure you do,” Murray says, sipping his coffee. “That’s why I’m out three Twinkies and half a carton of Pringles.”

You raise your hands. “That’s called preserving morale.”

Clutch.

There’s a flicker. A movement at the edge of your vision.

Steve’s hand.

It shoots out, sudden and sharp, and grabs you by the wrist. Not hard, but tight. Tight enough that it startles you. Tight enough that the others stop talking for a good solid handful of seconds, like the oxygen’s changed.

Steve’s eyes are wide now. Not as scared like they were before. Not as panicked. Just fierce. Pleading. The kind of look that says please don’t go without him ever making a sound.

You weren’t going anywhere. Not even close. But God, it still guts you.

“Hey…” Your voice is steady. “Hey. No one’s going anywhere. I’m right here.”

He doesn’t answer. You didn’t expect him to. So you squeeze his hand back. Gently. Letting him know you mean it. That you always will.

Then, very slowly, you bring his hand to your lips. Press a kiss to the base of his palm. Another one to the inside of his wrist. One more on his knuckles. All tender. All without words. Like muscle memory, like prayer.

Steve breathes a little better. A little more audibly. A bit shaky, jaw tightening and loosening… until finally, it settles. 

You don’t stop smiling all the way through it. 

“Okay,” you say, clearing your throat, and looking back at the group like you didn’t just feel your soul split in two. “We’re making a new list. Items Argyle and Jonathan are actually capable of acquiring.”

“Chips,” Dustin says immediately.

“Done.”

“Chocolate,” Robin murmurs.

“Double done.”

“Eggs,” Murray says. “Preferably not pre-rotted.”

You’re still holding Steve’s hand. Still smiling, still at ease.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel him shifting closer. Subtly. Timidly. He lets himself move inch by inch until his head is pressed against your chest plate, tucked in tight, safe underneath your chin. One strong arm stays curled close to his own ribs. His breathing is soft, still a little shaky, but it’s steady.

You rest your cheek against his hair, willing yourself not to say anything about the way his fingers clutch tighter into your shirt.

Dustin keeps adding items to the list. Murray keeps making dry remarks about produce. Robin chimes in once or twice with a cracked voice and grateful eyes. 

And you, still holding Steve, you just keep guiding the conversation. 

Because you’re the lighthouse.

Because Steve needs to hear the waves crashing on something steady. He needs to hear life continuing. He needs to feel love in the room without it asking anything from him in return. Just letting him exist in it.

Just letting him be.

And you’re not going anywhere.

Steve hasn’t moved from your chest, his breath still faintly damp against the soft fabric of your shirt. The black one he loves so much, the long sleeve that he says always makes him feel feral, ‘because you look like a badass that looks like she always wants to be told what to do but can hold her own in a fight.’ That’s how he’d described it once and it never left your brain. It lived up there, rent free.

Right now, his hand still clutches the hem of it, tucked in against his ribcage like it’s all that’s holding him together. You never stopped cradling him, never moved your cheek from the crown of his head, your arms circled around him like a ring of protection.

Murray sits back on the shallow bureau with a grumble, flipping through his clipboard notes, his pen still tucked behind his ear. “Alright, eggs, bread, three jars of peanut butter to appease the peanut gallery…”

“Rude,” Dustin mutters, no heat behind it.

“—those dinosaur nuggets that El’s now hooked on, that soup Steve likes… Jesus, what brand is it again?”

You answer quietly, not moving your cheek. “The one with the basil swirl in it. He always gets the tomato basil swirl. From that organic aisle.”

Murray clicks his tongue and scribbles. “Right. Pretentious soup aisle.”

“Hey, he likes it,” you murmur, just enough for Steve to hear, brushing your lips against his hairline before resting your cheek right back where it was. “That’s good enough for me.”

Your uncle hums, writing it down.

Dustin is seated cross-legged on the floor by the window now, nodding along as he tosses a grape from one hand to the other. “Mm, and those cinnamon rolls from that one place. The really soft ones he warms up with butter.”

“And peach Snapple,” Robin chimes in from the wall, next to the doorframe. She pushes herself off it now, moving closer. “He always picks the peach. Even when I tell him strawberry’s better.”

“He also buys it even when it’s not on sale,” you smile softly, letting your palm drift in slow circles across Steve’s back. “It’s like his small rebellion.”

Murray scoffs a laugh. Fond, no heat behind it. He sighs. “You people spend money like you’ve never been broke a day in your lives.” 

He pauses, shaking his head, glancing up at you from his clipboard. He pursed his lips, lightly tapping his pen against the paper for a couple of beats while just taking in the side of you holding him in the morning light, tucked here safely in his bed with him, over the covers. 

Murray finally sighs again. “So do you, by the way.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you hum, glancing over at him curiously. He just lifts an eyebrow, still writing down the grocery list.

“The Peach Snapple,” he clarifies easily, not looking up from his clipboard as he scribbles. “The one he always gets. So do you.”

That makes the little knit between your brows smooth over, and your cheeks begin to warm. It’s true, you think to yourself. You’d let that become a habit of yours, opting to start liking it since you’d always go to the store with him and he’d always grab one from the cooler before you both would even start shopping. Even whenever you guys would hit a 7-Eleven, or some really nice grocery market, he always looked for it. So now, you did the same thing. It grew on you. 

Just like he did. 

You smile to yourself. And then, muffled and still buried in your chest… you hear the words again. Echoed.

“…so do you.”

Steve.

Silence drops like a pin in church. Even your newly irregular heartbeat stutters in time against Steve’s forehead.

Murray’s head ticks up in surprise. Robin’s eyes go wide. Dustin stops chewing, mid-grape.

Your arms tighten just slightly around Steve, eyes flickering to your uncle. You’re stunned. Not just because Steve had spoken, but because it was that. A mirror of Murray’s own words, mouthed back with just the faintest hint of knowing. Not entirely his voice, but not not his either.

Oh my god, you think.

Oh my god, oh my god.

Murray blinks, and then, with the smooth recovery only he’s capable of, scratches his beard. “Well. At least someone’s paying attention.”

You grin, watery and full of love, kissing Steve’s hair again. “Yeah. He always does.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to.

The conversation moves on, gentle and easy. Robin makes another comment about almond milk, Dustin tries to convince your uncle to get one of those pre-marinated chickens. Murray pretends not to be listening, even though he is as he lists every single thing that they ask, like the secret softie that he is.

And all the while, Steve stays right there, clinging, hidden, breathing shallow but steady.

Eventually, Murray rises from his perch, brushing his hands off on his jeans. He claps them once, casually. “Alright, you guys ready?”

It’s meant for Robin and Dustin. A polite cue. A quiet way of giving you and Steve the room.

But Steve hears it, and before you can even blink, he makes a small, high sound. Barely a noise. 

A soft hitch in his throat, more breath than voice. Squeaked. 

Steve’s whole body jerks slightly, muscles snapping taut. His grip tightens on your shirt like a vice. And then he’s pressing harder into your chest, panic blooming in every stiff line of his frame. He starts shaking his head a bit. As if to say no.

Murray looks over sharply, brows pulling tight.

You freeze, but only for a second. Then you’re wrapping him tighter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, no—Steve. Baby, no. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re safe. It’s just Jonathan and Hop going with Argyle, that’s all.”

Murray watches somberly, lips pressed into a hard line. Robin covers her mouth again, eyes widened with grief. Dustin looks like he wants to say something but he just swallows it, knowing better.

Your uncle waves them both down carefully, silently. As if to say don’t speak, let him do it.

You lock eyes with your uncle over Steve’s shoulder, and what passes between you in that look guts you. Because he’s never looked at anyone like this before. So carefully, so seriously, so heartbroken. Not even you, not even as a kid.

You know what that means.

He’s scared, too.

Steve’s breathing stutters through his nose a couple of times so Murray crosses the room slowly, movements deliberate. He crouches beside you both and keeps his voice low, gentle, like you didn’t know he could be.

“Kid, we’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re stuck with us. Me and her and Dustin. Robin, too. This house is on lockdown now. We’re practically self-quarantining just to annoy the government that no longer has us underneath their thumbs.”

No reaction from Steve. But no flinch either. 

That’s the win. That’s the progress.

Once he’s sure Steve can hear him, Murray reaches forward and firmly rubs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. Long strokes. Solid pressure. He doesn’t speak anymore. Just lets the silence hold.

Steve doesn’t flinch. Instead… he relaxes. Just a fraction. Just enough for you to notice the tension start to bleed from his spine.

You look back at Murray again, lips parted. He meets your eyes. And this time, the worry is quieter. Still there. But with something steadier. The same thing you’re both clinging to.

Hope.

Murray finally nods once and gets up. “C’mon,” he mouths to Robin and Dustin after he’s already reached the doorway.

Robin leaves first, fast. She has to. You can see the tears building on her lashes. Dustin follows, biting his lip, head ducked.

Then it’s just you and Steve.

And still, he hasn’t said another word. Just breathing now. His face turned in, almost buried against your chest. Still clutching your shirt. Still so very quiet.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, thumb brushing over the back of his ear. Your voice is barely audible.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I swear to God. You’re not alone.”

He doesn’t respond. But he breathes. So you keep going.

“You don’t have to talk yet, okay? Not if it hurts. But I’m here. And when you’re ready to talk to me? I’ll still be here.”

A long pause. Long enough for your own throat to tighten. You bite back the ache. You can’t cry. Not right now. He doesn’t need that. He needs you to be steady. Needs you soft, needs you strong, needs you period.

So you whisper it again, lips brushing his temple.

“I’m right here.”

More silence. And then, so quiet it’s almost like breath itself…

“So do you.”

The same words again. The ones Murray said. The ones Steve had echoed.

But this time?

This time it feels like Steve.

This time it’s his.

You pull back just a little, enough to see him. His eyes are open. Glazed and distant and tired… but looking at you. Really looking at you.

And you smile. Through the tears now freely falling down your cheeks, you smile. Press your forehead to his.

“Murray will make sure they get it,” you whisper, nodding. “The soup, the Snapple. The rolls. He’ll get all of it.”

You kiss the tip of his nose. 

Peck. Peck. Once, twice. 

Then the space between his eyebrows. Each of his closed eyelids. His cheekbones. Peck, peck, peck.

“I promise.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, nor does he need to. His eyes flutter. His body softens just slightly more against you. And his hand stays right where it is, curled in the fabric of your shirt, like an anchor.

And you hold him.

You just hold him.

***

CHAPTER TWO "Steve 'The Hair' Harrington"

Steve’s wristwatch sits discarded on the bathroom sink, the clock face reading 10:03 AM.

The familiar tile is warm beneath your feet, steam still ghosting along the mirrors behind the shower curtain, thick and slow. You’ve gotten used to this space, his full private bathroom, sharing it more than you’ve ever spent inside of it alone.

You can’t hear much over the steady patter of the water, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not listening for anything.

You already know what you’ll hear.

Nothing.

Not from him, at least.

Steve stands in front of you in the shower tub, his tall frame bowed just slightly at the shoulders, like he’s holding invisible weight. His limbs are more relaxed now, despite the stiff posture, his forearms loosely crossed one over the other in front of his toned, scarred abs. 

His pretty brown-eyed gaze, hazier than the steamy air, is locked on the drain.  The water is gentler today, not the full pressure he usually likes. Because when it’s loud, it startles him. And right now, Steve doesn’t need another reason to flinch.

You’ve gotten used to this. Showering with him. It wasn’t always like this, of course. You used to avoid being in the same house with him if you could help it. You used to flinch when you passed each other inside the Byers’ hall whenever you all would meet there, or whenever you’d exchange dry barbs sharp enough to draw blood. Four years ago, you would’ve rather set yourself on fire than bathe beside Steve Harrington. And he would’ve helped light the match in a fucking heartbeat. Hell, he would’ve sponsored the matchbox with his daddy’s credit card and been all too pleased about it.

Because back when he was seventeen and dating Nancy Wheeler. And back when you, stupidly, maybe, had encouraged her and Jonathan to snap out of it, when you drove the two of them that night inside your uncle’s living to get over themselves, stop lying to themselves. Ever since Steve caught wind of that, he’d looked at you as if you’d ruined him. Talked to you cruelly, discarded you with pride, just like King Steve would’ve done. Treated you like you were the monster in the woods. 

And you were the monster, for a while. In his eyes, anyway.

But that was years ago. And since then, the two of you have clawed your way through with grudging tolerance, reluctant teamwork, long silences, longer conversations, slow trust, soft nights, warm laughter, and then…

Well. And then you kissed.

Or really, he’d kissed you.

Out of nowhere. That night in this house. His house. The one you all ended up retreating to after everything blew sideways again, whenever Vecna vanished into thin air and Max slipped into a damn end 6-month long coma. After that night you’d all gotten a little drunk on Smirnoff (thanks to Murray), a little loud, laughing way too hard at things that shouldn’t have been funny. Hopper had been there. With Joyce. And Nancy and Jonathan. Robin. Eddie. You. Steve.

Just the adults and the younger adults, all breathing in that rare quiet, like maybe for once the world was going to give you a damn break.

Then the next morning, he’d let you read Max’s letter.  The failsafes. The one she wrote to him in case she didn’t make it. 

In case she didn’t wake up. 

He’d gone quiet whenever he handed it to you. Or let you pick it up. He pretends not to remember, anytime you two bring that up, just knowing that it bugs you. Because you remember everything. Every little detail. 

You remember he definitely didn’t read it himself, nor did he want to. He couldn’t. 

So you did. And you didn’t let yourself cry until later, whenever you were alone.

Neither did he.

Then later that night, while you were in your room after brushing your teeth and coming through your wet hair, ready to try and get some sleep, he’d knocked on the door. Steve didn’t say a word when you opened it. He’d just looked at you for a moment. Just looked at you like you were the question he couldn’t answer.

And then kissed you like his life depended on it.

Next thing you know, the two of you were pulling each other close, hands desperate and shaking, mouths open and aching, both sets of limbs tangled in one of his extra beds with the extra set of sheets. All tongue and teeth, and quiet gasps, naked and exploring. Hungrily seeking warmth, seeking answers, seeking common ground. Somewhere in the bend of your knee, or the cut of his v-line, a back and forth of moans and groans sighed and hummed into each other's lips and throats.

One night became two. Then a week. Then two months.

Two whole months.

And now it was this. This silence, this ache. This boy, beautiful and battered and not gone, but not here, either.

You’re careful as you rub the shampoo into your palms, lifting your hands to his head. You don’t speak right away. Not until your fingers are combing through his hair.

“You know how many of these we’ve taken?” you murmur softly, massaging near his temples.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink, or lift his gaze.

“At least two dozen. Maybe more,” you continue, gently. You ponder over them as you let the body wash turn to suds beneath your hands, reflecting. Remembering. “Romantic ones… steamy ones…” You carefully washed over his scars along his torso, silver and healed. Marking a mere chapter of his nightmares. “That one when we were washing bat guts off each other, which was… sexy in a very specific trauma-bond way.”

Still nothing.

You glance at him and smile anyway. “But this one’s new. You’re not bossing me around about conditioner ratios. Not telling me that my rinsing technique is flawed,” you tease gently, mock-serious.

Still quiet. Until… 

“Flawed.”

Your fingers stutter in his hair for a moment. 

It’s almost imperceptible, the way it’s spoken from him. 

You blink. And then you grin. “Exactly. Terrible technique. You should probably report me. Hair crimes, maximum sentence.”

You catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Not yet. 

But you’ll take it. 

So you keep going, running the suds through your own hair while the water sheets down both of you. He’s so warm beside you. Not holding you, not quite touching. But not pulling away, either. And when your elbow bumps his side, he doesn’t shift.

That alone is worth more than gold.

You take turns on both of your behalf, just like that. Soaping your arms, then his. Your neck, then his. And whenever he looks like he might be trying to make sense of things, like he should probably be doing something, you don’t let him. You’re already on it. Steve’s always on it, so now it’s your turn to be. You don’t rush. And you also don’t stop kissing his shoulder every now and then. Or brushing the curve of his jaw with your mouth. Or pressing your lips to the soft, damp place just beneath his ear.

He never leans in. But he never leans out. 

And sometimes, he echoes something. Not a response. Just a mirror. A parroted echo, your uncle had once referred to it as. A faint repeat of your words, like maybe they mean something if he says them too. Which is why you treat it just like regular conversation. Like nothing’s wrong. Like this is your usual morning routine.

You talk about Dustin’s hair gel, how it still smells like pineapple and about how he needs to chill on it before his hair becomes uncooked ramen. About Robin’s meltdown over almond milk yesterday and how you’re pretty sure she’s going to end up getting arrested for smuggling raw milk by the time she’s thirty. About how Murray keeps writing oregano on the grocery list, even though there’s literally 5 bottles of it in the damn spice cabinet. About how Joyce and Hopper need to just get hitched already, how Jonathan and Nancy aren doing better. How they’re talking again. You even go on about how Mike and Lucas and Max have all actually started learning how to play instruments with Eddie, which is helping shape him out to be a great dad one day. Or maybe just the crazy uncle that he was born to be for those kids.

Steve listens, even when he’s not looking at you. He hums sometimes, looks at you sometimes like he wants to speak but can’t. He watches the bloodless water make sweet scented bubbles at his feet, where your toes kiss the top of his.

And finally, when it’s time to rinse, you ease him under the spray, guiding his head down so you can tilt it back. You’re on your toes a little, reaching, palms steady on either side of his head.  You chuckle softly, deep in your chest. The sound of it bubbles out before you can stop it.

“God, you really are happiest when someone’s doing your hair,” you whisper, smiling as the conditioner starts to rinse. “I swear, if I ever wanted to propose to you, I’d probably have to do it while rinsing your bangs.”

That’s when it happens. So fast and soft you almost miss it.

A smile. 

Steve Harrington smiles.

Not big. Not ultra wide. But it’s there, it’s right there and it looks just like him. Like one of those signature smiles of his, all charming and cocky and proud of himself. The one that you used to wanna smack right off his face with a bitch slap, only to end up chasing after it with your lips every goddamn day.

His lips just now had curved up into a flicker of that. Just barely. But enough to wreck you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “There he is. The King of Hair. The Crown Prince of Conditioner. My one and only shampoo deity.” You nuzzle your nose to his gently, teasingly, all featherlight and fond. Your hands keep working through the strands, rinsing the last of it out. “I should be charging for this. This is high-value spa work.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you nuzzle him with hooded eyes that swim with love and don’t look completely lost as you do...

And that? That feels like a miracle.

After carefully flipping the water off, you go to reach for the towel hanging on the rack, one hand still in his, fingers loose. It’s right behind him, where he stands underneath the nozzle where the waterfall has ceased. It’s right within arms reach where you can still see him, still hold onto you as you do it.

But right before you move, Steve catches you.

Not fast. Not suddenly, not with a desperate grip on your wrist like he’d done this morning. Just a slow, deliberate lean forward.

…and then his nose presses into yours.

Just once. Gingerly, sweetly. 

Just Steve’s turn, to nuzzle your nose right back, albeit delayed. Just a few steps behind you.

You stop breathing. But only for a second. Then you smile again, steady and warm and careful not to show how badly you want to fucking cry.

Because he nuzzled back.

You nod like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like it’s just another Sunday morning, another moment in the life you’ve built together. Even though it’s not. Even though it’s everything.

Because Steve might not be talking. But right now, at just past 10AM, in the quiet hush of a half-steamed shower, with conditioner still dripping from your fingers, and hot water is clinging to both your skin instead of blood and grime… 

Steve Harrington is saying something.

And you’re here to listen to every single word of it.

***

CHAPTER THREE "Girlfriend"

It’s not long after the shower. Maybe twenty minutes, tops. The sun has risen higher in the sky now—barely peeking through the heavy curtains of Steve’s room, just enough to cast warm little streaks of light across the bedspread and rug. The room smells faintly of his shampoo, the one you use on both of you now. Cedarwood and citrus, clean and bright.

Steve is sitting at the edge of his bed, dressed in the off-white Henley you love most on him. The sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, loose and rumpled just enough, and he’s wearing those goddamn black joggers that cling perfectly to his hips, hanging just right off his thighs. The Henley and joggers combo? Criminal. It should be illegal how good he looks like this—towel-dried hair falling soft and boyish across his forehead, skin warm and pink from the shower, eyes somewhere far away but still… somehow home.

He looks like a dream. Your dream. Even hollowed out and lost inside himself, he’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

And he’s letting you choose what he wears now.

That part, morbidly, makes you a little happy. You’re the one dressing him lately—picking out what’ll make him feel safest, softest, most like himself again. And selfishly, you get to choose all your favorite things on him. Because now you can. Because he lets you. Because you’re his. And he’s yours.

You’re still in your towel. Haven’t even gotten around to dressing yourself yet. You’re standing at his dresser, rifling through the drawers like you live here. Like you belong here. Because you do.

“Okay,” you mutter aloud, holding up one of his old Hawkins gym t-shirts and smirking to yourself, “I’m not even gonna pretend I’m not stealing all of these. I’m just—these are mine now. Sorry. That’s just the girlfriend tax.” You glance back over your shoulder. “You understand.”

He’s looking at you. Not in that faraway, glassy kind of way. Not completely. There’s something behind it now. A flicker. Something dancing in the honey-brown of his eyes like maybe he’s listening. Maybe not all of him, but enough. Enough to know you’re talking. Enough to be caught staring.

You flash him that grin of yours. The one he used to hate. That cocky, sunbeam grin he once swore made him want to walk into traffic. Back when you were seventeen and he’d still been with Nancy. Back before everything changed. Before the two of you grew up and broke down and clawed your way to this strange, undisturbed place. 

That’s the precise grin you wear for him right now, the only thing you’re wearing right now except one of the plushy towels that hangs around your frame. You tilt your head.

“Girlfriend,” you say again, real sing-song and light. “You like that word, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but you see it. The way his shoulders shift, the way his mouth twitches. The way his eyes trail you as you take one slow step closer.

You say it again, quieter this time, eyes dancing. “Girlfriend.”

Another step.

And again. “Girlfriend.”

You’re barely a foot away from him now, towel still wrapped around you, your hair still dripping a little. Little beads of hot water are still clinging to your bare skin. You’re warm and damp and buzzing all over. And you’ve got this graceful saunter in your step. It’s lithe and teasing and slow, like a lioness, like something delicate and dangerous all at once. You watch him drink you in, even if he doesn’t mean to. Even if he doesn’t realize it.

You don’t reach out right away. You just kneel in front of him, slow and smooth, until you’re eye-level with where he’s sitting on the edge of bed. You’re smiling like you’re the happiest woman on the planet.

Because you are.

Because Steve makes you that.

You reach up, gently, and cradle his face in your hands.

He leans into it.

Oh, God, he leans into it.

Your thumbs press into the hollow of his cheeks, and you feel his skin… It’s still warm from the shower, still baby-soft and damp in the way that only Steve Harrington ever gets. His pretty eyelashes flutter for a second, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to look at you. But he does. He keeps looking. And it hits you all over again, just how much you love him.

How much you love him in the way that makes you ache and burn and swear to yourself you’ll never let anyone hurt him again. That nobody, nobody, is going to take you from him. Or take him from you. Not after everything. Not after what he’s survived.

And then, barely above a whisper… 

“…girlfriend,” Steve says.

Just that. Mild. Hesitant. Like he’s testing the sound of it.

You nod through the rush of heat in your throat, through the sting in your eyes. You smile wide and wicked, all fondness and joy, and you tease him like it’s no big deal, like yeah, you knew he liked it. Of course he likes it. You’re his fucking girlfriend.

Then Steve reaches up. Slowly, a larghetto movement. His fingers wrap around your wrists, right where your delicate hands still cradle his face. His touch is feather-light, but it’s real. He’s grounding himself. Holding on.

He says it again.

“Girlfriend.”

This time it’s stronger. Not loud, but his. It sounds like the way he says your name whenever he’s teasing you. The way that he says it when he’s kissing you and shutting you up. Like he’s not just saying the word, he’s claiming it.

Your chest tightens. Your hands tighten just a little around his jaw, and your eyes glisten even as your smile spreads wider. You lean in, just a fraction, and your nose brushes his.

“Yeah,” you breathe, so quietly. “Yours.”

His sad eyes twinkle, piercing into yours despite the trauma that hazes over them and tries to kill the light inside of them.

"All yours," you breathe against him with a gentle smile, eskimo kissing him the way that the two of you always do.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, Steve’s eyes don’t look lost. They look like they’re finding their way back.

One patient, soft second at a time.

***

CHAPTER FOUR "Frozen Exstinction"

It was exactly 12:31 PM when the front door burst open like someone had just returned from war. Not the type of war that this crew was used to dealing with, though. 

Instead? They’d conquered a war waged in the fluorescent battlefield of supermarket aisles.

“Operation: Grocery Heist complete,” Argyle declared grandly, arms overloaded with a precariously teetering stack of brown paper bags. “We bring you tribute, o mighty household.”

Jonathan followed right behind him, far less theatrical, sunglasses still pushed up on his head and a bag of apples hooked onto his wrist like a purse. “He means we spent an embarrassing amount of money on exactly what everyone demanded, down to the five separate coffee listings.”

Hopper was already at the kitchen counter and halfway through pouring himself what had to be his third or fourth mug of coffee. He grunted like he had every intention of making it to five. “Six. That list said coffee six times.”

Murray didn’t even look up from the bag he was already rifling through. “That’s because we knew you’d think four was too low and five was some kind of trap. Six is your psychological sweet spot. You’re welcome.”

“You people are insane,” Joyce muttered, already reaching to help you unload the loot, her voice thick with amusement. “Who needs six kinds of coffee in one day?”

“You, apparently,” Murray quipped without missing a beat. “You’ve got Hopper’s taste in men, why not his taste in caffeine dependency?”

“Ouch,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh as you moved alongside Jonathan, digging through the mountain of groceries now overtaking Steve’s kitchen. “I felt that one from across the room.”

“I liked that one,” Jonathan grinned, elbowing you lightly. “We should start writing these down. Volume One: The Strangest Things That Piss Off Hopper and Murray: A Sibling Guide to Survival.”

“We are not siblings,” Murray snapped, already tossing a rogue orange back into the fruit bowl like it had personally offended him.

“Yeah,” you smirked beside him, “you wish you were in this bloodline.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Jonathan as you and your uncle high-fived. 

“See? Dangerous combo,” he warned the room, nudging Hopper’s shoulder in passing as he walked past. “You let two people like us exist in the same kitchen? Mistake.”

“I’ve made worse,” Hopper muttered into his coffee. “I’ve married worse.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, laughing. “Oh, please, spare me your sob st—”

“Ayyyye,” you and Murray both said in harmonic unison, your Cheshire-grinned faces both alight with wide eyes. 

You both snapped your fingers at Joyce, who buried her head in her hands, immediately catching onto what she’d just done. Hopper gaped at her.

“It’s sticking,” Murray sing-songs. 

“Exhibit A, Hop,” Jonathan gestured to his mother while looking at him. He gestured wildly between all three of you now. “Exhibit fuckin’ A.”

“Language,” Joyce feebly attempted, muffled into her hands.

In the middle of the chaos, Steve just sat there. Perched on one of the kitchen island stools, still wearing that off-white Henley and those loose black joggers you’d laid out for him earlier, his hair still slightly damp and towel-dried, like he hadn’t moved since you’d pulled it back from his face with your fingers and whispered how stupid hot he looked. Because he did. Even like this. Despite being this quiet, depleted, soft-edged and shell-like, Steve Harrington looked like a goddamn dream.

He wasn’t talking. Not contributing to the mayhem unfolding around him. But he was watching. You could tell, just from the way his eyes flicked from person to person. He tracked the lackadaisical way Argyle dumped a bunch of boxes labeled ‘snack cakes’ onto the counter with a proud “for morale” falling out of his mouth, to the way that you giggled beside Jonathan while Murray muttered “morale’s a scam.”

Steve didn’t smile. Not yet. But he was watching.

That was new. First time he’d actively done it like this in a group setting, for the last four days.

It was progress. And it mattered.

You kept sliding things out of bags, laughing with your uncle as you discovered the outrageous number of hot sauce bottles he’d sneakily requested, when Jonathan suddenly dropped a cold six-pack of peach Snapple right in front of you on the counter with a light thud.

“For the Harrington,” he said with a casual sort of grandiose, handing off another pack to Argyle to put in the fridge.

You blinked, then looked at the label, and instantly smiled. 

Without missing a beat in the flow of conversation, you plucked one cold bottle from the pack and wiggled your eyebrows at Steve, flashing him a tiny grin. Then, you set it down gently in front of him. He blinked at it, then looked up at you, eyes soft and slow and warm in a way that told you yes, he sees you. 

And the truth is, he always did, even when his catatonic state was at a level 2.

He watches as you pick up a second bottle, thinking that the first one had been for him, but then he watches as you silently pop the seal off this one. Not loud, not startling.  And then, you place it down in front of him — exchanging it with the first. And all the while, you kept talking to Murray and Jonathan about who was going to organize the pantry this time.

“Not it,” you said. “Not it,” Jonathan echoed, barely squeezing it in. “Absolutely not,” said Argyle like he had ten minutes to spare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve finally reaching for the bottle. His fingers curled around it like it was made of porcelain. 

His blank expression flickers with glimpses of thoughts. Oh. 

You’d let the first one, kept sealed, register with him… 

…and then you actually opened a second one for him, and let him drink it…

…since he wouldn’t open his own.

Steve warily brought the opened peach Snapple into his lap, looking at it for a moment. And then slowly, so gently, he leaned sideways, his shoulder brushing against yours, the full weight of him subtle and seeking.

You didn’t stop talking. Didn’t react like it was precious, didn’t patronize or praise him. You just kept socializing and let him press into you, gradually and wordlessly, as you reached across the island for a box of granola bars and launched right back into teasing Hopper for having labeled beef jerky as “emergency rations.”

Steve just kept sipping. 

Just kept sitting there, watching and absorbing.

Letting himself be included.

And then, right on cue, like a sitcom entrance with stage lights behind him: Eddie Munson rounded the corner, freshly showered, black hair wild and damp, sporting jeans and a band tee that somehow made him look like he’d just wandered off a stage in 1987.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and traumatized royalty,” he sang, making a grand sweep of his arms as he entered the kitchen. “I bring peace, hydration, and the lingering smell of herbal shampoo.”

“Good god,” Joyce muttered with a fond smile.

Murray didn’t look up. “You’re worse than Argyle.”

Argyle gave him a thumbs up. “I taught him.”

Eddie leaned dramatically against the fridge, letting it hold him up like he was the star of his own soap opera. “So what’s for lunch, huh? What do you feed a recovering hero with a six-pack and the sad eyes of a wounded golden retriever?”

There was a pause as you hummed, pretending to consider that. Murray actually sniffed out a laugh, head still down, while Jonathan drummed the table and squinted as if he actually was searching for a witty answer. 

Joyce pursed her lips from the bread basket, starting to answer as she stocked it. “Well…” 

But then a tiny sound escaped and entered into the mix.

…from where Steve sat quietly nestled beside you, still leaning.

Not a word. Not a sentence. 

Just a soft, breathy puff of tinkered laughter. 

Like surprise had pushed the air out of him without asking.

Every head turned.

Eddie was frozen mid-lean, eyebrows raised high.

Joyce looked like someone had just handed her a puppy. Hopper went still, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth, mouth hung open behind the rim, while Murray flicked his eyes up towards the sound. 

Jonathan’s fingers drumming the counter ceased immediately. And you? Your heart just cracked open like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. You turned to look down at him, your eyes wide, seeing now that Steve’s expression had shifted just the smallest amount. It had the wholesome, innocent appearance of someone who had just caught onto the joke.

His mouth was tilted in a quiet, barely-there, subtly open-mouthed smile. And his eyes were on Eddie, having just processed the lighthearted joke that he’d tossed into the ring a good five or so seconds before he’d reacted. Delayed, larghetto, and wholesome.

It felt like watching a flower patiently turn toward the sun.

You moved before you even realized it, circling behind him and wrapping your arms around him from behind, arms looped around his chest with your hands dangling against his sternum. You leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then again, before moving to kiss his temple. Balmy, light presses of your lips like promises.

“Oh you heard that, huh,” you murmured against him fondly. Kiss kiss, promise promise. “Of course you liked that.”

“You sly dog,” Hopper murmured, shaking his head and finally sipped his coffee while grinning at Steve from behind it. Joyce was right beside him, eyes round and hazed over with emotion, watching Steve with motherly hope.

“Don’t let it go to his head,” Jonathan mumbled, but he was smiling so warmly, looking right at you and Steve.

You couldn’t even help the twittery, breathy laugh that caught in your throat but managed to escape anyway. “Oh yeah, you’re okay,” you murmured, quiet and gentle and just for him. “You’re so okay. And I love you so much.”

Steve still didn’t speak. But he did lean into you. And then, with one hand still holding onto that peach Snapple in his lap, the other reached up. 

Found your wrists. 

Held them there.

And when you murmured, “You’re safe,” against his ear, barely audible… 

He echoed it back.

“Safe.”

Soft, faint.

But there.

Joyce closed her eyes like she’d been praying for that exact moment.

And Eddie just stood there, jaw slack, blinking slowly as his eyes misted. “Holy shit,” he whispered to her. “Steve Harrington just laughed at my joke. I’ve peaked.”

Hopper spun it into something witty and roast-worthy towards him, to help “deflate his ego” but also keep the conversation flowing so that Steve wouldn’t retreat again. And also to keep from letting whatever thickness was crawling up his throat and made him have to keep clearing it every ten damn seconds.

They all resumed chattering. But you didn’t look at anyone else except Steve right now as you leaned closer, pressing your nose against his hair while he leaned against your chest, silent and sipping peach Snapple, surrounded by found-family absurdity, love, warmth, dry wit and everyone who mattered to him.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

And alive.

Jonathan has also learned how to immediately clock the hesitation in Steve’s eyes before it ever even forms in his body. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate, just like you and Murray, before drawing the reins of the conversation back into his own hands like it’s second nature.

“So what I’m hearing is,” he says, plopping a stool over for himself and resting on it with his hip, a half-empty bag of dried mangoes in one hand. “None of you trust me and Argyle to buy groceries unsupervised.”

“That’s what you’re hearing?” Hopper asks dryly as he settles into the bench near Joyce, arms crossed, legs kicked out. “Because I’m pretty dog-gone sure what I said was: ‘next time, I’m writing the list in crayon and attaching it to Eleven’s bike handles.’”

“Oh come on, man,” Argyle chimes dreamily from the fridge, holding a Tupperware of watermelon like it’s sacred. “You said you needed snacks, we got snacks.”

Hopper chews his doughnut hole very slowly.

Jonathan gestures at the kitchen like it's the Wheel of Fortune board. “We hath delivered!”

“Touched by an angel,” Hopper deadpans, mouthful of sugary dough.

“Um,” Murray lifts his head without even looking away from the receipt he’s been silently combing through for the last two minutes. “Did you or did you not purchase a novelty bottle of glow-in-the-dark pancake syrup?”

Jonathan doesn’t even flinch. “It was on sale.”

“You bought two.”

“Two-for-one.”

“I rest my case.”

“No one asked you to be the attorney general of the snack aisle,” you mutter, biting down on a smirk, one hand still draped gently across Steve’s chest as he stays leaned back into you, Snapple halfway to his lips. 

He hasn’t said another word yet, nor has he engaged or reacted, but he hasn’t checked out either. He’s looking at Jonathan. Then at Murray. Then back again. Following. Listening. His lips are slack but not grim. His eyes…they’re a little less glossed over now. A little brighter. They keep shifting from one speaker to the next, not unlike a lazy volley at a ping-pong table.

Joyce is already nodding toward the pile of grocery bags. “Please tell me you didn’t get the edible glitter sprinkles again.”

“No comment,” Jonathan mumbles.

“Jesus Christ,” Murray sighs, while Argyle tosses a grape into his own mouth without even blinking.

“Know what, I say let ‘em buy what they want,” you say breezily, leaning in to rest your chin a little more comfortably on top of Steve’s head, your voice like silk just for him. “Let them spend their money on stuff they’re clearly emotionally attached to.”

“Oh, like the inflatable margarita pool float,” Murray fires.

Jonathan lifts a finger. “That? Is for crowd surfing.”

“You live in Indiana.”

“And it was five dollars.”

Eddie whirls on him, grinning. “Whose five dollars?”

Hopper’s shoulders had started to shake, quietly at first. But then his chest joins in as you all keep jabbering, and the gruff, growling sound of him trying not to laugh just makes everything worse. You and Jonathan exchange a glance that only adds gasoline to the fire.

“I mean, let’s be real,” you grin at your uncle. “You’re just pressed you didn’t get the pool float first.”

“Oh please,” Murray snaps. “Sp—”

“Spaaaaare meeee,” Joyce says it for him, cupping her hands over her lips for emphasis, and not helping Hopper’s failed attempt at keeping his laughter in check.

Murray glares. “I wouldn’t be caught dead inside that avocado-shaped monstrosity. It has sunglasses.”

“And a cup holder,” Argyle points out like he’s reading the back of the damn box. 

You gasp lightly at that and tilt your head towards him, all while looking at Murray with the most robotic doll-like smile. As if you’re on a Truman show infomercial. “For your good ole buddy Smirnoff.”

“Oh, don’t encourage him,” Hopper groans, covering his face with both hands now.

“Smirnoff doesn’t help me float,” Murray your uncle quipped at you. “It helps me sink.”

“Poetic and emo,” you murmur into your Snapple.

“Don’t knock it till ya’ve floated in it,” Eddie sings, pleading your case.

Hopper wheezes miserably, like a dying animal behind his hands while Murray keeps failing miserably at holding his own and Jonathan bobs his head along with literally no music playing. Steve just stares at them, and you just snicker warmly next to his ear and let yourself sway with him a little bit. He honestly looks adorable right now, despite the fact that his expression is pretty blank. But the poor baby looks so focused right now, it makes your heart swell.

But it’s too late. The floodgates are open.

Eddie’s now cracking up from the freezer, tossing something into it without looking. “Hey Hopper, who’s responsible for this?”

“Responsible for what?” Hopper says on an exhale, not even looking up yet. Already dreading it.

“Three boxes of frozen dinosaur nuggets.” Eddie turns, holding one aloft in triumph. “Three. That’s a cry for help.”

Hopper drops his hands and just stares at Jonathan and Argyle. “Why.”

“They were on the list,” Jonathan says automatically.

“They were not on the list,” Murray deflects.

“Oh but they were,” you counter, already snickering.

“Well I didn’t jot it down,” he scoffs.

You clicked your tongue. “Marie Antoinette, why you lyin’ like dat?”

Eddie snorts hard, looking up from the box of frozen extinction. “Did you just call him—?”

“Really?” Your uncle literally gapes at you. 

You lift your eyebrows once, grinning like Satan’s spawn as a little sksksksk escapes from Jonathan.

Hopper, meanwhile, sighs so deeply it could trigger a weather system. 

“Let me guess,” he says in full-blown dad mode. “Ten plus one?”

Everyone knows exactly who they’re for, and that’s Eleven. No one says it, but the fat grin on Joyce’s face and the way Argyle nods solemnly confirms it before anyone has to verbalize it.

“Jesus, she’s obsessed.” Hopper huffs. “First it was Eggos, now it’s fucking prehistoric poultry.”

“She’s your kid,” Jonathan says.

“Your future sister,” you chime in, sipping your Snapple.

“Your daughter,” Joyce echoes, pointing a wooden spoon at him like a gavel, then at herself. “My future daughter.”

Hopper points at them both, then you, then them again. “Enablers.”

“Welp,” Eddie chirps. He’s now crouched like he’s proposing to the freezer. “I’ll eat the evidence if it helps.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hopper mutters, but he’s grinning now, and not just with his mouth. His eyes are soft. There’s no question who El is to him anymore. Not in the way he talks about her, not in the way he sighs, not in the way he pretends to be exasperated while looking at three goddamn boxes of chicken-shaped love.

Jonathan is all sksksksk again, when you absolutely deadpan at Hopper.  “C’mon, Jimothy, let our six little nuggets enjoy their Jurassic Park nuggets in peace, like goddamn.”

It’s the timing.

It’s the phrasing.

It’s the fact that you say it so completely straight-faced, while Eddie starts wheezing and Joyce just shakes her head like she regrets every life choice that led to this moment.

Hopper barks a laugh. It escapes him loud and fast, bouncing out like it was ripped from his chest before he could stop it. And then he schools his face immediately, glaring at you with narrowed eyes like that didn’t just happen.

Jonathan nearly collapses behind the counter trying not to fall over. Eddie is now bracing himself on the freezer door, head ducked into the ice box. And you’re grinning like you know you just won.

Hopper points at you as he walks by, heading toward the remaining bags. “You’re on thin ice.”

You just blink at him. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Send you back to college.”

“It’s trade school.”

“I’ll send you back to trade school.”

“I’m on break.”

“Then I’ll revoke it.”

Argyle hands him a cantaloupe slice without breaking rhythm. “Eat something, Hopper.”

“Yes,” Murray says with a sarcastically wry smile, looking like a fucked up informercial. “Please. Eat. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

And somehow through it all, the back-and-forth, the rhythm, the pacing, the hum of warmth and memory and familiarity… you feel Steve move again.

Not flinching.

Just leaning.

Tilting his head back, so that he’s looking up at you now. His pupils are steady, glassy in a way that’s soft, not quite so distant. There’s something underneath that stare, something warmer than before, something quiet but whole.

“Oh hi,” you whisper, blinking down at him, cracking a smile.

He doesn’t smile back, at least not with his mouth. But his eyes… They dance. Right there in the middle of the chaos, they dance as they look up at you.

And then, barely above a breath, he murmurs, “six little nuggets.”

Your heart stops. Then flutters. Then folds in on itself, slow and radiant.

Because it’s not a joke, not to him.

It’s the dream he once told you Nancy about, but now shares with you. The one where you’ll both hit the road one day in a busted-up Winnebago, long after the world came crashing down again. Where the two of you will pull over wherever you want, whenever you want. Six kids. Loud. Happy. Messy. Yours. His. 

Both of your shared six little nuggets.

You lean down to him without hesitation, brushing the tip of your nose to his, nuzzling his tenderly.

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling into him. “Our little nuggets.”

And this time, when he nuzzles back, it’s slower. Not quite in sync with you. Not as easy as it used to be. But also not as delayed as it was this morning. But it’s real. It’s movement, it’s progress... 

It’s Steve. 

Your Steve.

You stay right there, cheek to his temple, arms still around his middle.

And none of the others see it, except Murray. He watches from across the kitchen, arms crossed now, leaning against the fridge with a soft, unreadable smile.

Then he clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. Harrington?”

Steve turns his head almost immediately, his reaction so instinctive it’s almost childlike. Like he thinks he’s in trouble. But when he looks up, all he sees is Murray wagging that little tub of butter in the air, smug as hell.

“They found this hiding in the dairy,” Murray says, all too proud. “You’re welcome.”

Steve’s eyes catch the label. His go-to butter. The bougie kind. You all talked about it this morning, with him curled up in bed facing you, Dustin pressed against the wall, Robin leaning on the doorframe, Murray perched like a crow on the dresser.

His eyes flicker. There’s something shy and sad and grateful that curls its way into his eyes, piercing through his blank expression.

“Psssshhh,” Eddie puffs out a laugh through his lips. “Knew you were a bougie butter bitch.”

Everyone laughs. 

“My bougie butter bitch,” you purr affectionately, rubbing your hand up and down one of his arms with your free hand. The one that he’s not still holding onto with one of his hands.

Murray winks at Steve, while Hopper walks by and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. And the conversation starts right back up again, full throttle, ridiculous and warm. But Steve puts the Snapple down. And instead, he wraps both of your wrists tighter against his chest, like holding onto you is the only liferaft keeping him from floating straight up into the ceiling. His face folds in a little, not enough for tears, but enough for you to feel that sting behind his silence.

You just kiss the crown of his head and keep joking about nonsense with the rest of your friends.

You don’t need him to say anything else.

He’s here. You’re here. He’s yours, and you’re his.

And that’s enough.

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

TAGLIST

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst bookkeeperlove notlilyyyy @xblueriddlex madaboutjoe ucannotcompare @goosy-goose nevillescomslut

[robinbuckleyluvr]

⊹˚˖⁺ whispers - robin buckley

masterlist | requests

Summary: short and sweet, who doesn’t love to gossip

Warnings: none

Notes: are robin buckley posts still popular in this day and age or did i miss my window after being so busy?

Word count: 201

⸻⊱༺ 

Robin Buckley would be absolutely lying if she said she did not enjoy these moments, moments of closeness and a side of giggles.

Yet again, Scoops stood relatively empty, Y/N and Robin behind the counter gossiping to each other, occasionally exploding in fits of laughter.

Robin loved seeing her laugh and smile at her words, though she would never admit it.

Steve could hear them from the back, in fact, he began to get sick of it. What could they be talking about that required so much whispering and giggling?

Robin leaned into her ear, a smile so big you wouldn’t miss it miles away, yet whispering only loud enough for her co-worker to hear.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she listened closely to what her co-worker had to say on the matter the two spoke of, before she could reply, Steve barged out wearing an exasperated look on his face.

“What could you two be possibly talking about that requires so much giggling? Seriously?” Steve exclaimed, annoyance and despair filling his words as his eyes darted between the pair.

It only took once glance between Robin Buckley and Y/N for them to explode in quiet laughter.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader: Boy Moms

Good morning Hawkins I decided to take a break from my fanfic for a minute and write this short little thing out because fuck it I want to write little mundane crap about Dad!Eddie. Also because you know this GIF is how the fuck Eddie's sitting watching the conversation happen when some deranged boy mom starts speaking. Let me just preface by saying before I get mobbed: There's nothing wrong with whatever gender a child is, but boy moms scare the shit out of me. Seek therapy.

Warnings: boy moms (gags), sexism

****

“Having a boy is just life changing. I’m sorry that you’ll never get to experience true love.”

The silence was so palpable that you could almost hear the comedic sound effect of the metaphorical record scratch in both of your brains as all thought stopped. Eddie had been in the middle of packing the diaper bag in the stroller while you were putting your four-month-old in the bassinette. The two of you had been politely trying to cut the brunch date short.

You immediately wondered if you misheard the woman in front of you.

Not quite slack jawed, just with wide eyes, you and your husband both leaned forward over the pristine white linen tablecloth of the café table. One of your “mom” friends - a woman by the name of April Laurentis - sat back across from the two of you and flounced, the magenta of her Avon lipstick bleeding into the cracks of her mouth. She was admittedly not the typical company you kept. Rather a desperate attempt to connect with other parents in Hawkins, and so far had been the only mother to agree to have brunch with an impoverished pair of fresh out of school metalhead parents who lived in a new doublewide with an uncle in Forest Hills Trailer Park.

“I’m sorry, what?” Eddie asked, blinking away the confusion in his face.

“You had a girl, and girl mothers just do not have the same bond as mother and son.” April said, flouncing her blown out curls dyed autumn barley.

She looked right at you and pointed a manicured finger.

“You won’t know true love until you have a son.”

You mouthed a soft ‘what the fuck’ under your breath, watching as Eddie leaned his elbow on the table. His wide brown eyes were fixated on the older woman before him; the corners of his mouth drooping in a grimace that made his smile lines transform into deep trenches on his face. His fist went to his mouth, as if trying to stop himself from speaking.

But of course, Eddie and his big mouth…

“So you’re saying that my wife…” Eddie had to really emphasize the ‘wife’ part, “Like… the first actual girlfriend I’ve ever had, since high school… I’m not her first true love?”

Eddie was a lot of firsts: first boyfriend, first true love, first sexual encounter, first baby daddy to your unwed eighteen-year-old self until Uncle Wayne paid fifty dollars for the marriage license at the Hawkins courthouse after Charlotte was born. Now hopefully, he was your first and last husband.

“Of course not!” April scoffed, “Because little Charlotte is YOUR first love, daughters are always their father’s first love… Your wife will never know true love until you give her a son.”

April dismissed this with a hand wave while her two-year-old started banging a spoon against her chair. You and Eddie just stood there, unable to comprehend the woman’s delusions of a particularly horrifyingly obsessive nature.

“… so you’re saying that your son, little Timmy over here…” you pointed.

“Tanner.”

“Right, Tanner… you’re equating Tanner here to romantic love…?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“It’s just different.” She argued, “You’ll never understand the bond I have with my baby boy. He’s my whole world!”

“And our daughter is what…?” Eddie asked, “A statue? A ghost? An object? What exactly are you trying to imply here? That my kid requires a penis for them to be counted as a valid member of the family to be loved? That’s a little medieval fiefdom of you, don’t you think?”

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, April began to go off on you even though you hadn’t even said anything, ranting about how you would never understand the deep bond that a mother and son shared because you hadn’t birthed one. Her spiel devolved into a delusional, impassionate speech about how you and Eddie would never understand: her heart was breaking just thinking of her baby boy loving another woman other than herself, and how she couldn’t imagine how Eddie’s mother must have felt when you ‘stole her son away from her’.

You had to lay your hand across Eddie’s chest to prevent him from turning over the table at that comment, and with one last hateful look, April gathered up her child and left the café, slamming a ten-dollar bill on her untouched plate of mixed greens.

For a long time, both you and Eddie just stared after her retreating form.

“… Am I on glue or did that really just happen?” you ventured after a while.

“No… that sure did just happen,” Eddie replied, “That was definitely a real conversation, and it was batshit crazy.”

“I won’t know real love, until I have a son.” You repeated, looking at your baby.

Charlotte had her fist in her mouth, gnawing away at her chubby little fingers with her gums.

“So like… the whole high school sweethearts meeting, falling for one another during a gig at The Hideout, having insane amounts of sex, popping out a kid, moving into the trailer park together, and getting married… That’s not love?” you asked.

“Apparently not.” Eddie responded to your rhetorical question, “I guess your husband is just some dude who occasionally contributes sperm, and the kid is the true love? Mark that down as fucking gross.”

“… okay so you totally picked up on the weird Oedipus vibes from her right?” you quickly asked.

Eddie, still horrified, nodded.

“Oh, hell yeah I did.” He said, “That was definitely Oedipus Complex... you didn’t hear the banjos?”

“I was hoping I had misheard.” You admitted, giving a full body shudder.

The two of you stood, put a few crumpled bills on the table and flagged down a waiter to collect the tab, then began the long, awkward walk to the Gaucho. Both of you were still downright horrified at the turn the conversation took, wondering what sins you committed to get to this point.

“Um… so… Definitely blacklist April as a potential mom friend.” You said, pulling down the visor on Charlotte’s bassinette to protect her from the sun.

“Most definitely blacklisted, I don’t want to know what kind of screwed up family life she’s had leading up to that delusion.” Eddie said, pushing the stroller along the sidewalk, “And I don’t want to expose Charlie to it either.”

“Oh she totally grew up overshadowed by her brothers.” You said immediately, “That’s textbook Freud. And she probably still has all those residual mommy issues, plus a hell of an Elektra Complex.”

“One hundred percent.” Eddie said, “Deep-seated mommy daddy issues, and from the sounds of the first love comment, a dead bedroom.”

“Jesus H.” you laughed, covering your mouth while Eddie let out a dark giggle, “Oh my god… that’s kind of terrible.”

“It’s true!” he argued, “You can’t sit here and tell me she has a great marriage with comments like that!”

“Yeah but that’s gross to say!” you argued back, still unable to help the uncomfortable laughter.

“Trust me,” Eddie laughed, “I guarantee you she was rotting with jealousy. Especially when at the beginning she made comments like ‘It must be so nice that your husband babysits your daughter for you’.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arm around Eddie’s as you both began laughing and making hideous gagging sounds every time either one of you brought up April’s weird son complex.

“See this…” you said, waving your hand in a circle, “This encounter we just had, this is why the aliens won’t talk to us.”

“Amen to that, baby.” Eddie shuddered, “They lock the fucking doors when they drive by us because of ‘boy’ mothers like April Fucking Laurentis.”

[lena-after-dark]

Pairing: Henry Creel x Reader

Prompt: "Why are you running? I did this for you!"

Requested By: Anon

Warnings: Light stalking, yandere themes, death, blood, kidnapping.

Henry was finally free. Free of the lab, of the restraint placed on his powers. Free to mold his surroundings to his desires - to make the world as it should be.

And then he found you.

He saw you out walking and his first instinct was to follow you. Instantly intrigued, he had to watch you; to know what you were doing, to see where you were going. The feeling washed over him so suddenly that he couldn't ignore it. You were special.

Henry watched you every day for a week. He knew that he had to have you. You had to be a part of his new world. To stand beside him. When he finally approached you, he was perfectly polite. A gentleman in every way. He was charming and direct, and he knew once you agreed to spending time with him that he had you.

He invaded your mind. He saw your memories and used them as a guide to form a bond. To make you want him. To make you need him. If you fell for him, he knew you'd see his vision.

Then things changed. He knew that eventually Dr. Brenner would come looking for him. He just hadn't expected to be so easy to find. He'd have to leave - and you were going to come with him. He hadn't yet gotten to show you how perfect things would be.

You were witness all at once to what he could do. Henry, who had been so gentle with you, wreaking carnage upon those that had been sent to take him back to the lab. A mess of mangled bodies strewn about, blood splattered here and there. Some of it had landed on you. The warmth of it surprised you when it splashed against your skin. The smell of rust and death. It felt like a nightmare.

You ran before you could process anything. Your instincts took over and you fled. You could hear Henry calling for you. "Why are you running? I did this for you!" Henry's voice was just loud enough to reach your ears; his tone almost pleading.

He let you flee for a moment - processing his confusion and pain. But he stopped you in the end. And as he held your wriggling form against him, he reminded you over and over that it was for you. Everything he did was for you. To keep you safe.

To keep you.

Buy Me A Coffee?

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Mole

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, the usual? it's been a while i'll be honest

[A/N: It only took her three months to write the chapter she's been looking forward to since the third instalment and boy, am I totally calm about it... But on a serious note, I thank anyone who has been patiently waiting and hasn't given up on this series. It's been a longgggg year for me already and I just can't catch a break. Neither can these characters, so enjoy. And remember; nothing is ever as it seems.]

The Mole

Cold air hits your face like a blast from a shotgun when you cross over,  prickling your skin with goosebumps.

The gate had been tough to get through, something like layers of membrane blocking your path to the other side. For a moment, you weren’t sure it would break, but Jonathan kept a tight grip on your hand and pulled you through with no avail.

The boy in question drops his hand when he locates the stairs to an exit, breathing a sigh of relief to find the place empty. He was expecting another Brenner to be waiting on the other side, ready for the kill.

“Where the hell are we?” He asks aloud, looking back at where you stood still by the gate, blinking up at the glass window above you.

It was strange how familiar this place felt to the Lab. As if you never really left, still stood at that window with a boy you had yearned for even when you couldn’t remember his face.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I had to go through this alone.” Steve admits, avoiding your eyes by turning back to face the window. “It was nice, having someone there. Even if we, uh, hate each other.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m kinda glad you were there, too. Even, yeah, even if we are sworn enemies.”

“Y/n.”

He finally looks at you and you patiently wait for whatever he has to say. The longer it takes, the stranger you feel, like a growing pit of anticipation, both good and bad. You watch as he struggles with the words, like he couldn’t choose or he genuinely didn’t know what to say, his lips forming them in small twitches but never speaking.

“I don’t hate you.”

Nothing ever felt the same since then.

“Um…” You finally blink yourself back into the present, shaking your head with a shrug. “I don’t know. But this place has to have a door, right?”

“I don’t know how else we’d be down here otherwise.”

“If everything is flipped…” You think out loud, hand resting on the rail of the metal staircase. “The radio would be working here. Brenner had to have some source of electricity for those cameras down there, maybe it all leads back here.”

It was only the beginning of a plan, but a plan all the same. This was your chance to finally reach the others and return home.

“I don’t think we’re gonna have the time.” Jonathan whispers, backing away from the gate. You turn slightly, peering through the bright hues of crimson rays. There was a shadow there, growing more and more as it got closer.

The monster had followed you.

“New plan; we run.” You exhale, and Jonathan doesn’t object.

The rushed set of footsteps echoed from the walls as they thump against the metal steps, an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Your heart dropped when you heard the harsh metal clang of a body hitting the stairs behind you.

Bile was itching at the back of your throat as you followed Jonathan further up, spotting the door inches away. It took all your willpower to restrain yourself from looking at the monster behind you; you had a better chance of escape if you just focused on the end goal.

“Help me move this!” Jonathan says as you slam the door shut, creating a barrier between you and a living nightmare. He was pointing at a filing cabinet and you instantly pulled at it, letting it topple over to block the door.

One harsh thump against the door, and then another. Over and over until the cabinet began to rattle, its metal exterior scratching against the floor.

“That's not gonna hold much longer.” It feels like you're stating the obvious, but you don’t care. If you don’t talk, you’ll be forced to hear the harsh irregular breathing of a monster wanting to rip your throat out.

“You think you can lead us back though?” He points at the only exit, a small glass pane showing a long corridor, not unlike the ones you've been exploring the last few weeks.

You simply nod, adjusting the bag wrapped across your body and charging towards it.

The first thing you noticed was how different the walls were. They were a dull grey, pipes lining the ceiling. The strips of light above you were weary, like they were losing power. You still wondered how Brenner managed to bring electricity into the Upside Down, but there were only so many theories you could think of when running for your life.

Navigating the hallways seemed hopeless by the sixth corner you turned. You weren’t sure of where the exit would be, catching yourself in a maze of greyscale paint.

“Where now?” Jonathan asks breathlessly when your attempt to lead met you with a dead end.

“I- I don’t know…” You stumble helplessly, staring at the wall in front of you. Jonathan looked at you with nothing but hope and expectation, and you hated it.

You weren't a leader. For the better part of your short life, you’ve always been the follower. Hell, barely even that; you were simply a spectator. Your dad, Steve, Nancy, even the middle school kids, they were the heroes that saved Hawkins while you sat through your invisible war in detention. You were never taught to take charge. You never let yourself be the responsible one. Rather than fight the secret evils of your boring town, you made a mess of your life and lived to regret every decision you had ever made. 

Much like the decision to turn down a corridor with no lights when being chased by a monster much stronger, and much faster, than you.

“I…” You wrack your brain, eyes glued shut while you attempt to recall the layout of the bunker before, reminding yourself it’s all flipped.

You find the central part of the building, staring up at it with awe, as you did every single time. Here, there were separate floors for separate doors, all circling you as you stand in the middle. This section of the bunker made it seem much bigger than you had assumed it to be. In fact, the label bunker didn’t seem to match the grand scale of it. Although, you weren’t sure what else to call it now. A base, perhaps.

“The centre.” You finally say. Clocking Jonathan’s confused expression, you explain. “The bunker has this massive central part with layers of rooms. They were all locked or out of use but I remember one of the hallways was slightly bigger than the rest. In the Upside Down, it just led to another wall. But here…”

“It might lead us to the front door.” He finishes and you nod encouragingly. “Okay. Yeah, it’s worth a-”

Fear washed over your body, paralysing your mind.

A low and guttural growl reverberated from the walls around you, suffocating you with its severity. The lights further down the hall began to flicker, and each burst cast a horrifying shadow over you.

Teeth sharp, claws long, and yet all you could focus on was the intensity of its green eyes.

The monster found you again. It finally caught you both, trapped at a dead end with nowhere to run.

Dragging its claws along the wall, it approached you with an unsettling familiarity. You’ve been here before, prey in the corner, with a creature that relished the suspense.

The same creature.

Your back hit the wall before you realised you had run out of room, Jonathan’s shoulder brushed against yours. Unbeknownst to yourselves, you both started falling to the ground, a mess of hands grasped tightly together as you felt the breath of death bare down on you with a sinister smile. The weight of a dagger inside your boot was taunting you with its uselessness. Even if you were to fight this creature, you wouldn’t win, and in the comfort of someone else’s hands is the way you’d prefer to die.

Eyes closed, an endless stream of empty wishes strung through your mind as a snarled row of teeth appear in front of your face barely centimetres away.

It was then all too cold. The heat of the beast’s rancid mouth wasn’t there, and you certainly weren’t dead. Risking a glance, you open your eyes to the most unexpected outcome of all.

It was walking away.

Nudging Jonathan, he peels his head from your shoulder and shares in your bewilderment. Neither of you speak, not until the menacing trod of supernatural footsteps echoed far out of reach.

“It’s… gone.” You say, blinking away a surprise of tears.

“We’re just two lucky people, huh?” Jonathan manages to speak, voice tight.

“Oh, yeah, I feel real lucky.” You ignore your shaking legs as you stand, offering a hand to your friend as your eyes stay glued to the end of the hallway. It can’t just have walked away?

“Maybe not lucky.” He corrects, timidly relaxing his shoulders. “How about the unluckiest lucky people in the world?”

“I’ll take it.” You shake your head, grabbing his arm and running back down the hall.

The universe gave you what seemed like your millionth chance and fucking hell, you were gonna take it.

It was official. The universe hated him.

After Nancy and Robin had found the boys in the Radio Shack with a beacon of hope, everything started going downhill. Demodogs had jumped out of every corner, some near misses with their flying sharp claws, barely giving the group time to breathe in between fights.

Their attempted radio calls back to home base weren’t getting through. Or no one was answering. Either way, they were out here alone without El’s foresight to guide them and it only made their quest to the mall that more dangerous than it already was.

And on top of all of that, Steve couldn’t get rid of the rhythmic thumping against his temple.

“You okay?”

Nancy’s voice barely breaks through his growing migraine, her concerned eyes looking right through him. He clearly wasn’t hiding his pain well enough.

“Fine.” He offers a weak smile, ensuring his voice is lowered. The other three were trailing behind them and the last thing he needed was their questions on his struggling state.

“Okay.” Nancy purses her lips, allowing silence to remain between them. But his lie doesn’t stop her from rooting through her backpack to hold up a bag of pills and a water bottle. “At least take some painkillers.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder, he tentatively reaches out and accepts her offering. “Thank you.”

Hesitating, she reaches a hand to brush over his shoulder, nodding determinedly. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay, you know. You’ve done a lot for us. For them.”

The ‘them’ in question was referring to you and Jonathan. Steve doesn’t respond, but he is grateful. After everything that’s happened, he wasn’t expecting such kindness from her.

“Okay, lovebirds, let’s not start this whole thing again.” Billy motions to the two of them, his unwelcome voice making them jolt slightly.

Nancy bites her lip in frustration and Steve huffs, hating how an ounce of guilt settles in his stomach, like he truly did something wrong. Anything like that between him and Nancy was over; he was sure of it. She was in love with Jonathan, and he…

“Sorry.” Billy suddenly says, clocking their upset expressions. “I was just joking.”

While Nancy watches him walk past them with a look of surprise, Steve clenches his jaw and takes a sip of water, handing it back to her when the pills wash down.

“He’s acting stranger than usual.” Nancy mumbles, shoving the water bottle back into her bag.

“Right?” Steve nods, gently grabbing her arm to pull her to a stop, “Something’s definitely going on with him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He keeps disappearing at the most important moments, usually when we’re fighting a monster, and then the next he’s acting like we’re best friends and nothing is wrong.”

Nancy walks beside him in contemplation. “Have we considered that maybe he’s actually trying to be our friend?”

Steve pulls a face, squinting.

“Life or death situations can change a person.” She offers, looking up ahead to where Billy was scouting the next area, shotgun raised ready. “He’s still an asshole, that’s not debatable. He just knows his best chance at survival is with us.”

“How does that explain the disappearing act he pulls anytime we’re in trouble?”

“I don’t know. That is weird. But we have more important things to worry about than Billy Hargrove being nice.”

“I agree with Wheeler.” Eddie suddenly interrupts. He and Robin were beside them now, and the boy’s eyes stared into the sky with a frown. “What the hell is that?”

In tandem, the others look past the sun to see a group of… birds?

“No. Definitely not.” Steve responds when Nancy questions the same thing aloud. “They look fast.”

“And are probably deadly.” Billy adds, shaking his head. “Like everything else in this town.”

Steve only nods, barely giving him recognition as he tells the group to keep going. Nancy raises her eyebrow at his authoritative nature, especially since it wasn’t a role he’s taken on since the great fall of King Steve. She was slightly impressed; even Billy followed his direction despite his obvious disdain to do so.

“Does he know he’s heading down the wrong street?” Eddie whispers to Nancy, pointing out that he was meant to be leading them to Starcourt, not Steve. “That one is gonna be infested for sure.”

“I’ll let him know.” Nancy sighs, smiling. She senses his unspoken questions, nodding ahead of her. “He’s been through a lot. This is the first time I’ve seen him so… determined. Hopeful.”

“Not complaining.” Eddie raises his hands in surrender. “I don’t wanna be in charge. I just don’t want him leading us to where those weird birds are.”

“He won’t.” She assures, shaking her head in amusement.

Eddie shivers when he glances up at them once last time, following in her footsteps. “Good. I would hate to be the sucker caught by those things.”

“Still no answer.” Robin says from behind them, holding up the radio she kept strapped to her hip.

“Maybe the buildings are blocking the signal.” Nancy suggests. “We’ll try again later.”

Robin merely shrugs, handing the girl the radio instead of returning it to her belt. “You better keep hold of it. If we get attacked again, I don’t want to break it.”

With a smile, she takes it off of her hands and slips it into her satchel, letting the boys know she was keeping hold of it for now.

As they all make their way further through the centre of Hawkins, the town around them shifts from a bad dream to a complete and utter nightmare.

Buildings were caved in, rubble blocking the roads into a maze of blind alleyways. Vines littered what was left of the concrete, making their skin crawl. Their home was completely unrecognisable down here. The destruction wasn’t their only concern.

“Uh, Munson?” Steve glances past Nancy to where the metalhead was standing, puzzled. “I thought you said it was crawling with monsters?”

Starcourt Mall stood tall before them, just a couple of feet ahead. The group decided to take cover behind a torn wall in preparation for Eddie’s previous warnings. But now, as they look ahead at the gates surrounding their destination, the scene they had expected to find was completely bare. Not a monster in sight.

“It… it was.” Eddie frowns, even checking behind him. “This whole street, man, it… I swear.”

“Not anymore, apparently.” Billy mumbles, lowering his shotgun he had pointed out in the open.

“That’s good, right?” Robin speaks up, looking between them expectedly. Nancy scrunches her face, offering a shy hand to her shoulder that Robin seems confused by.

“For us out here? Sure. But in there…” Her eyes drift to the building, shaking her head. “Could be a trap.”

“She’s right.” Billy nods, hardening his jaw. “We better take a look around before we start assuming we’re gonna get in and out without a single fight.”

Steve opens his mouth to volunteer, but Nancy shoots up from where they’re all crouching, releasing her gun from its holder. 

“Billy and I will do a quick scout of the area.” She says, holding up her hand when Steve starts to object. “We’re the ones with the guns, and we’re not planning on getting close to anything anytime soon. You guys stay here, we’ll figure out if we can get into the building. Okay?”

It was a rhetorical question. And Steve bit back his complaints as she and Billy step out from behind the wall and begin searching around the gates. He felt bitter about being left behind, but he knew Nancy wasn’t doing it out of malice. It was painfully obvious that he wasn’t doing well, mentally or physically for that matter. Even if he still felt he had to shoulder this alone, it was nice to have someone else taking charge.

“So… either of you played DnD before?” Eddie breaks the awkward silence.

Steve pulls his eyes away from the scouts’ shadows for a moment to send him a look, noticing how Robin scrunches her face at the same time.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” Eddie mutters to himself, slumping down against the wall.

Another beat of silence passes. Before Eddie interrupts it once again.

“Hey, nice bracelet.” He nods at Robin's wrist and she frowns, surprised he’s paying attention to her at all.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Did you make that?”

Y/n did, Steve thinks to himself, remembering the time you spent together in the Upside Down. On particularly unnerving nights, you would find pieces of string, whether torn from clothes or furniture, and you would weave bracelets. You never kept any, and if he were to return to the alternate dimension now he’d probably find dozens scattered across the place, but he remembered your comment on making Robin a bracelet years ago.

“Yeah, something like that.” She says with little heart, returning her gaze back to the shadows Nancy and Billy create.

“Cool.” Eddie raises his eyebrows at Steve, lowering his voice. “Not a talker, then.”

Steve felt such shame and guilt when he watched the gate close the bridge between worlds, your frame still stuck on the other side. But it didn’t feel as bad as the knowledge of what he’s inflicted on the others. Hopper’s barely himself anymore, El keeps having nightmares about losing you, Jonathan almost lost his life, and everyone has been busting their asses trying to find a way to get you back. Still, none of that really compared to what it did to Robin.

When he returned to Hawkins and had to explain what happened, Robin was the first to break. She cried in thick bursts of tears to the point where Joyce had to escort her to another room to calm her down. It had twisted Steve’s stomach in such a way that he could have thrown up from regret.

Robin had told him once that you were the only friend she had. And, considering she never mentioned her parents, he could assume you were her family. A long week left her in shambles, unable to look at Steve without crying. Day by day, her grief chipped away at him. He had told them all you could be saved, but she must have seen right through him back then, knowing. Like she could feel you were gone.

But then her depression… shifted. As if overnight, she no longer sobbed herself to sleep, or shut herself away in the bedroom attic. Instead, she adopted an emotionless state. She still avoided your name, a look of mournful recognition whenever they talked about you. Steve thinks the grief finally hit its final stage, and now she was a shell of herself forced to live in a world without you.

After all that had happened, that was his biggest regret after losing you; letting the light inside of Robin die when he could have been comforting her all this time. Like a friend would. Like you would.

“Do you think they’ll take long?” Eddie’s question shocks him out of his saddening reflection, clearing his throat.

“Not sure.” He responds, returning to his post and leaving the other boy in the silence once again.

After a while, Eddie starts to drum his fingers against his knees, humming a tune Steve wouldn’t recognise. It shouldn’t bother him, but his migraine already had him suffering enough.

“Can you just…” Steve snaps at him when the rendition of an instrumental break echoes out of him, causing him to snap his mouth shut in surprise. “Thank you.”

“Sorry, man.” Eddie sighs, twisting around to peer out from behind the wall. “I need to keep myself busy when I’m nervous or I'll freak out.”

“It’s… fine.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, sitting back down when an especially painful thump against his skull makes him wince.

“Hey, you good?”

“Just a headache.” He brushes it off, blinking away the dots blurring his vision.

“Uh, huh.” Eddie thins his lips, but doesn’t pester any further. At least, not about Steve’s ailment. “So, uh… what happens when we get in there?”

“What do you mean?” Steve shifts back onto his face, quietly apologising when his leg accidentally bumps into Robin’s. She barely casts him a look.

“The plan we made was to get to the delivery bay and raid their supplies.” Eddie recalls, frowning slightly. “It was meant to be in and out. Without, you know, actually going in.”

“And?”

“Now Y/n and Byers are in there.” Eddie says softly and Steve finally understands his concern.

This was meant to just be a supply run. And, if they were lucky, they wouldn’t even have to touch the inside of a building probably filled with dead corpses and hungry monsters. But it’s all changed now that they know you’re in there. Getting supplies was hard enough, but a rescue mission? That was too much for an attempted ‘quick’ trip.

“We’ll have to split up.”

Both Eddie and Robin look at him then with surprised glances. Robin keeps quiet, shaking her head instead to imply the fact she thinks this is a very bad idea.

“Uh, no, that’s not-” Eddie rambles, taking a breath. “How is splitting up better?”

“Two of us make the supply run, the other three will go in and find them.” Steve nods, his posture far from revealing how nervous he was. “There’s no point risking everyone in case…”

“In case they’re not actually in there?” Eddie suggests, but Steve’s silence sunk a deep spark of dread in his stomach.

“In case they’re already dead.” Robin finishes for them, hardening her stare at the mall. The boys frowned at her, mouths slightly parted in shock. “That’s what everyone’s thinking, right? But I don't think that's true. They’re in there. And they need us. All of us.”

It was probably the most emotion he’d seen from her in a long time, and he hated knowing she was right. If Eddie’s recollection of the night he found Tommy was right, then there’s going to be a lot of creatures to get through before they find you. It was going to take all of them to succeed. Shit.

“Hey.”

Nancy and Billy return, taking breaths to explain that they didn’t need to look farther than the metal gates.

“There’s plenty waiting for us in the delivery bay, that’s for sure.” Billy says, sounding a little defeated. 

Nancy nods. “They’re definitely going to be in the building. Whatever we do, it’s going to end in a fight.”

“About that, we’ve, uh, we’ve been thinking…” Eddie starts, looking at Steve and Robin.

“We can’t do both.” Steve says, shouldering the duty of delivering the hard news. “We either get supplies, or we get our friends.”

Nancy stares at him with a startled expression, assessing whether or not he was bluffing. But it wasn't something he'd joke about.

“You already know the answer.” She finally says, voice quiet.

“Same as mine.” He sighs, nodding slowly.

“I assume this means we’re going into the building?” Eddie looks between them, and Steve is surprised he’s including himself. After all, he was only here to help get supplies, not embark on a rescue mission.

Steve thinks back to what Billy said the previous night, how Eddie obviously cared about you. You never mentioned Munson was your friend, but then again he supposed he never asked. Regardless, it made his chest tighten a little bit at how close you both must be. You don’t run into a monster infested fortress for just anyone.

“You don’t have to do this.” Steve says and Eddie’s eyebrows raise at the concern in his voice. “This wasn’t the plan you agreed to.”

He considers this, eyes drifting off to look at the mall with a frown. His face bore a look of decision, weighing the odds of what might happen if he went in with the rest of them. In all honesty, Steve couldn’t tell what he was going to choose until he shared it himself.

“Well, I’ve come this far. Might as well see it to the end.” Eddie smirks, collecting his spear from his back. “Plus, I’m getting pretty good at this slaying stuff.”

“That settles it then.” Nancy nods in determination, adjusting the strap of her bag. Steve could tell she was eager to get this over with. If not in fear of what could happen, but in eagerness to see the boy she thought she lost. “We should radio back home… just in case.”

Steve gulps but agrees. The last thing they need is another search party if they don’t make it back out alive.

Nancy flips open her satchel and digs through. A couple of seconds later, she pauses.

“What’s wrong?” Steve notices the way her face drops. Rather than answer, she continues rooting through, muttering to herself. “Nance?”

“I…” She finally looks up at him, wide eyed. “It’s not… I don’t have it.”

“The radio?” Eddie frowns, looking between them. “I’ve still got ours from the radio shack.”

He pats his backpack, slipping it from his shoulder and opening the front pocket with an expression as if to say ‘See? No need to panic’. Except, nothing was in there.

Eddie blinks, unzipping the rest of the bag. Nothing. He then jumps over and starts helping Nancy look through hers. 

Steve has a sinking feeling of dread. If the radios are really missing, that means Eddie can’t let his uncle know where he is. That means no one will know what they’re about to do. And if they die-

Something was sabotaging them. And they were running out of time to save you.

“We don’t need it.” He finally decides, ignoring their shocked faces. He hasn’t spent all this time looking for you just to change his mind over a flimsy radio. “We don’t know how much time Y/n and Jonathan have left or what condition they’re in. If we’re lucky, I bet there’s an electronics shop. They had to send the signal from somewhere.”

“I agree.” Robin says, nodding earnestly. It wasn’t expected, but Steve knew she was just as hell-bent on finding you as he was. “It might be risky, but they’re our friends.”

Going ahead without a radio wasn’t just risky, it was a death wish. There was no relying on a rescue party if they got stuck. No relying on a girl with superpowers to let them know what’s down there. No way to say goodbye if it all goes to shit.

But Robin was right. Risky or not, you and Jonathan needed them. So, without any more hesitancy, the group starts nodding in unison. All but one.

“So… we’re all gonna die.” Billy comments, a sharp dent between his brows, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Shut up.” Steve says bitterly, ignoring him and looking at the others willing to help, a plan beginning to form.

I’m almost there, he thinks, as if you can hear him.

“I think we need a keycard, or something.”

You and Jonathan had finally tracked down the front door. It was pretty big, etched into the wall at the end of a long tunnel of hallways. 

One problem; it was locked.

Jonathan peers at the device stuck to the wall, face scrunched with uncertainty. “Yep, definitely a keycard.”

“Seriously? Where the hell are we meant to find one of those?” You huff, but not at him. You stare down at the floor as if the card would be laying there, biting your lip in frustration. Then, almost temptingly, a solution stared right back at you, testing your impatience.

Jonathan can only shrug in response to your dismay, surveying the area before he sighs. “Probably the radio room. But that’s all the way on the other side and with that thing still stalking us, I don’t think we’ll make it there without-”

A loud ‘beep’ echoes from behind him, shortly followed by a hiss of a metal door opening. Jonathan stands with his hands at his side, staring at the open wall in confusion before glancing over at the destroyed access panel.

You stand awkwardly, a lead pipe you had swiped from the ground moments before clutched in one hand.

“It's open.” You say, nodding towards it like it was incredibly hard to miss.

“I noticed.” He replies, shaking his head when you smile. “You know, that could have just broken the door and kept it shut forever.”

“But it didn’t.” You place the pipe back on the floor at your feet, striding towards your exit. “It was either this or my dagger.”

“I don’t remember you being this…” Jonathan’s mouth snaps shut when you glare at him. “Nevermind.”

“Uh-huh.”

You frown as he joins your side, staring at your exit. Or, as fate would have it, another fucking wall.

“The universe is having a goddamn field day with me today.” You whine, hands on your head. “Now what?”

“Wait.” Jonathan holds his hand out, looking upwards. You follow his stare, noticing the same panel. “I think we’re in an elevator.”

“Is there a button around here or something?” You mumble, eyes scanning the walls. You walk back to the doors, peering at a console resting on the opposite side of its doppelganger. Before you obliterated it, of course. “Another keycard thing.”

“Well, if it’s operated that way, the elevator isn’t gonna start by just smashing the-”

Another beep and a spark broke his suggestion, your guilty hands stilled with the pipe between them.

“Why do you keep doing that?” He asks as calmly as he can, and you can only shrug. He sighs and comes to your side, peering down at the mess of glass and wires. “I guess we’re climbing up.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, throwing the pipe back to its spot in the hallway for the last time, wincing as it clangs against the solid ground. “Sorry again.”

Jonathan had already begun rearranging the strange boxes around you to get closer to the ceiling panel, fingertips now brushing the edges to lift it up.

“Almost…” He mutters to himself, smiling down at you when it successfully pops open.

You give a reassuring smile back before the elevator doors snap shut behind you, making you jump.

“What the hell?”

Jonathan barely had time to speak before the elevator jolted harshly. He crashes to the ground and you try to help him, but your body is suddenly being pulled down as the elevator jolts once again.

Then it started moving. Fast.

“What the fuck is happening?!” You scream as you attempt to grab hold of literally anything, your back moulded to the floor from the pure speed of the lift.

It lasts maybe 20 seconds before another jolt pulls you to a stop.

“Is it over?” Jonathan groans, pushing the weight of a fallen box from his body.

“Everything hurts.” You murmur, rolling over to plant your hands firmly on the ground, testing the stillness against your fingertips. As far as you could tell, it’s not moving again anytime soon.

“I don’t think you should destroy any more panels.” He says as he sits up to face you, taking a breather.

“Noted.” You push yourself back to your feet and offer Jonathan a hand.

Beep.

The sounds echoes around you and you both immediately brace for impact, your back against a hard metal railing, hands hooked around it for support, while Jonathan planted his feet, fastening himself to the wall opposite.

Rather than be plunged into another tango with death, the elevator doors finally hiss open, your body relaxing as the stress is suddenly pulled away from you.

You weren’t underground any more.

Sunlight creeped in, illuminating the room in a warm tone of amber. Your feet had already taken you to the exit, squinting against the light that you attempted to block with the raise of your hand. But you could never complain about the brightness. Not when you hadn’t seen the sunlight in so very long.

The warmth felt comforting against your face, reminding you of the joy hidden within simplicity. It wasn’t just the sun; it was freedom. Free from the Upside Down, and free from Brenner.

And a step closer to your family. To Steve.

You could almost feel him calling out, bound to you somehow. Like the strings of your bracelets.

“Y/n?” Jonathan’s voice is small beside you. You merely hum in response, eyes closed and focused on soaking up as much hope as you could. “I don’t wanna ruin the moment, but we’re going to run now.”

Your head whips to him and you frown before you finally acknowledge where the elevator had taken you.

It looked like some sort of delivery bay, stretching as far as you could see with the sky shining on your face. But that wasn’t the issue.

It was the swarm of monsters littered across the concrete.

Demodogs, and a lot of them. They acted like guards patrolling the building around you, slow and steady in their movement. They hadn’t noticed you yet, but once you step out into light they’ll all be on you in a heartbeat.

“Ready?” Jonathan asks, eyes set straight ahead with his hand on your arm.

“Never.”

That was good enough.

“Where are we going?” You ask, arm tugging from Jonathan’s tight grip as he steers you down a different path once the body of a demodog jumps out at you.

You followed in his footsteps, forcing yourself not to look at the growls around you. Jonathan seemed to be leading you to a wall of delivery crates, hopefully assuming that you could lose them in the maze of it.

He assumed right. A few close calls and many expletives later, the winding pathway led you to the other side of this massive building. It was shady, and as far as you could tell, monster free. It didn't make it any less dangerous.

You were both running, hoping to find safe passage on the other side. The floor here was covered with something black and slimy, protruding from inside the building and making your rushed behaviour harder to navigate without accidentally tripping. Your feet were tired from determination. It felt like all you did now was run. 

“Shit!” Jonathan yells out.

You barely caught a glimpse of him over your shoulder as his foot catches on what appears to be some kind of vine, hitting the ground hard and shocking you to a halt.

You turn to help him back up, grabbing his arms. But he slips from your grasp before you even had the chance to hold onto him, the vine wrapped tightly around his ankle and pulling him back to the darkness.

The vines were alive. Of course they were alive.

“Jonathan!” You sprint after him, blindly following his body as it starts to disappear inside the building. Your heart hammers in your chest, filling your throat with bile. If he gets dragged in there, you can’t guarantee he’ll ever get back out.

At the last moment, you fish your dagger from your boot and leap forward, catching the blade on the vine and it screeches in pain at the contact. 

Jonathan groans, rolling over.

“You okay?” You ask, catching your breath as you watch the vine retreat back into the cracked opening of a back door. Note to self: never go inside that building.

“I thought I was gonna disappear again.” He replies softly, brushing the dirt from his jeans. There was a tone of sadness in his voice, one you chose not to question. You had no idea what happened to him before all of this, and you didn’t have the time now.

Instead, you offer a hand, and you pull him to his feet. You inspect the building once again with a frown.

“I think you might be the only person in town who didn’t want to check out Starcourt.” You offer a joke, and he smiles gratefully at your attempt to loosen the tension tying knots in his stomach, gazing up at the height of the ‘amazing’ new mall.

Starcourt Mall. Some fancy corporation came to town last year and started buying land to build the very thing that was meant to put Hawkins on the map. Unfortunately, the only people who were going to profit from that were bored teenagers and wealthy businessmen. You thought they’d have given up on the idea after they saw the dull streets you called home, but clearly you were wrong. They almost did it. Before the apocalypse shut everything down for good.

“Remember when all this town had to worry about was the big developers taking our jobs?” Jonathan comments, looking up at the mall with a look of distaste.

“I barely remember 5 minutes ago.” You sigh, the attempt of humour only reminding you how fucked up all of this really was. You had been drugged for weeks. All because you trusted a complete and utter stranger.

Focus, you remind yourself, motioning to the edge of the wall for you both to move to. Peering around that corner was disheartening to say the least.

Monsters upon monsters littered the place like a plague, coexisting as if they were hunting together. You tried not to think about the blood splattered on the ground, staining the concrete in an aged swatch of crimson brown.

“How do we get past them?” Jonathan asks with a whisper, checking his ankle for bruises. “Don’t know about you, but I really don’t wanna go through the mall.”

Your eyes dart around for another option, constantly casting back at the elevator from hell. That wasn’t even an option with that thing down there.

That’s when you finally take notice of the massive gate blocking your way. Opening it would make way too much noise, but the bars seemed… stable. You nod towards it, sighing.

“How’d you feel about climbing?”

“I like it a whole lot better than dying.”

Soft footsteps granted you access to the gate, making sure to stay hidden behind various discarded crates. It was much taller than you anticipated, regret already seeping in. You weren’t much of a climber.

By the looks of it, neither was Jonathan, sharing the same look of hesitancy.

“It’s this or the mall.” He reminds you and you shudder.

Jonathan goes first, pulling himself up one bar at a time, careful to avoid the stray pieces of metal wiring poking out. Parts of it were worn from monsters presumably trying to claw their way through, but Starcourt Mall had pretty solid security considering everything.

When he makes it to the top, he pauses, looking out.

“What’s wrong?” You prompt, hands resting on the gate.

“I… nothing.” He shakes his head, deciding to continue and he quietly descends down, nodding when he lands on his feet. It was your turn now.

It wasn’t as difficult as you were expecting it to be. Some larger pieces were perfect for footholds, making you question the mall's security efforts after all. And when you make it to the top, you take a quick glance out onto the landscape, still wondering what caught Jonathan’s attention. You saw nothing but the town you’ve hated in ruins, buildings collapsed, smoke from fires long gone.

And some birds in the distance. You pause this time, tilting your head at the sight. You had been stuck in a bunker for weeks imagining how the surface must look; if there were still flowers, if the sun could still shine. But you had to admit birds were the last thing you expected to see. With the blackened sky, you assumed they all would have fled.

And you were right, in a way. There were no birds here.

Distant screeches catch Jonathan’s attention too, searching the sky. No, definitely not birds.

And as they creep closer, you notice the unnatural build of them.

The teeth, especially.

“Y/n…” Jonathan warns, hand grasped onto the fence. “Get down now.”

You rush to loop your leg over, holding onto the top with both hands to start climbing-

You hear a tear, and suddenly you can’t move your other leg.

“Fuck!” You cry, reaching over to tug at your jeans. Frayed pieces of it were caught on some smaller wires, trapping you. “I’m stuck!”

The screeches were much louder now, echoing behind you in mockery. This might just be the stupidest way you could die in an apocalypse.

“Shit, hold on!” Jonathan starts climbing back up, head whipping back to keep an eye on the flying swarm heading towards you. 

When he makes it to the top, he reaches over and starts making work of freeing your leg, any and all tenderness removed in light of the deathly situation.

“Come on, come on…” He mutters with a strained voice and you risk a glance over your shoulder.

Right now, you could see exactly what they looked like. Bats, essentially, with oddly shaped heads that looked like they could mortally wound you with a single bite, tiny sharp claws on the ends of their wings, and a bloodthirsty look in their eye. They were going to tear you apart.

“Go!” You suddenly say, grabbing his arm and pulling it away from your leg. “You need to hide!”

“No.” He shakes his head, still working on the denim mishap.

“What are you-”

“You got me out of that bunker.” He looks at you this time, frowning. “I’m gonna get you out of this mess.”

Even with your doubt, you didn’t force him to leave. Mostly because you were scared to die alone.

But Jonathan had said it once before. You were the unluckiest lucky people in the world.

The first bat swoops down and swipes its claw at your shoulder. The jacket you wore luckily took all the damage, but you yell out all the same.

Your body instinctively jolts at the sudden intrusion and you hear your jean leg rip again. Except this time, it tore straight through, and you were free.

Well, free-falling.

You hit the concrete with a thump, wheezing as the breath is thrown from your lungs. You blink against the sky, trying to roll onto your side. You vaguely remember Jonathan jumping down next to you, yelling something.

The shape of a bat descended towards you and you expected another claw or a bite to only add to the scars you already had.

A loud gunshot was your saving grace. Bat blood splattered everywhere, an unsavoury wet sensation on your face and neck. You could have vomited from the smell alone, daring not to move.

You spit it from your lips, taking in a long breath and twisting your body to the source, sharing a look with Jonathan, his own bloody face only accentuating the surprise in his eyes.

The bats were dispersing, scared off by the sound of a gun. 

The gun that was now pointed directly at you.

“You’re gonna want to come with me if you want to live.” A man grumbles, bottom half of his face covered by a mask.

Jonathan helps you up, and you narrow your eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” You ask, hesitant.

“Your hero.” He replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes and tugging down his mask. “Now we gonna start moving or do you want to be a buffet?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jonathan mumbles, sighing. “Murray?”

Murray, as confirmed by the surprised look on his face, looked between you both with an irritated gaze, lowering his gun.

“You know this guy?” You ask Jonathan, making no notion of moving.

“Kinda.” He sighs, glancing at you. “Long story.”

“Jesus.” Murray drops his shoulders in desperation. “Sure, let’s stand around and talk about how we know each other. Take your time, too. I’m sure these monsters will patiently wait for you to finish before they eat you for dinner!”

You both stare at him in silence.

“No? Great. Follow me.”

“Is he always like this?” You ask, wincing at the exposed part of your leg. You kind of liked these jeans, even if they weren’t actually yours.

“Unfortunately.”

You follow the man you’ve never met into the woods, attempting to wipe the blood from your face. Once again, you were blindly trusting a stranger, but you swore to yourself it wouldn’t be like last time.

You’ll never let anyone fool you again.

“Where is she?”

“You’re supposed to help her.”

“Find her-”

“Hey, man, you good?” Eddie’s hand brushes against Steve’s shoulder and he jolts away from the touch. “Woah, sorry.”

“Huh?” Steve blinks, shaking his head when he realises what just happened. “No, my bad, I…”

He wasn’t sure what the explanation was. Steve didn’t think ‘yeah, I’ve been hearing voices the past couple of days now and they’re giving me such bad migraines I feel like I could drop any second’ was a conversation that would go down well with the others.

“Just a little on edge.” He finally decides, sighing. Eddie only nods, still weary.

“You sure that’s all?” Billy’s voice suddenly creeps him behind him, making his hands ball into fists. Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“What else would it be?” Steve tried to remain calm, turning to the Hargrove boy with a tight smile.

Billy narrows his eyes, not buying the excuse he’s selling.

“Everything okay?”

Up ahead, Nancy noticed the fallen footsteps of the boys behind them. And judging by the fists at Steve’s side and the smug look on Billy’s face, she was glad she had interrupted them.

Steve relaxes himself, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re-”

A loud gunshot splits through the air, resting just the other side of the building, shocking them to their core.

“Was that…” Eddie mumbles, not daring to move as he looks between the faces of the group. All but one face, that is.

Because Steve had shot off towards the blast before any of them could stop him.

What if it’s you? His feet were taking him faster than he had expected, especially with how run down he was feeling. What if it’s you?

Eventually he sees it; something laying there by the gate to the delivery bay. It was too far to tell what it was, but his stomach churned nonetheless.

What if it’s… you?

Before he could run out to inspect it, a strong hand tugs him back against the wall and plants a hand over his mouth. He struggles, attempting to break free until the boy behind him whispers in his ear.

“Quiet.” Billy says, with enough conviction for Steve to still, listening out.

He widens his eyes when he finally hears it. Something was on the other side of the gate, snarling. If Steve squinted his eyes, he would make out the fog of a breath exhaling between the bars.

Billy slowly removes his hand and gives his arm a small tug, pulling him back. Before Steve turns to follow, he glances back at the body by the gate, an exhale of holy relief leaving his lungs. It wasn’t human, and it certainly wasn’t alive. It looked more like one of those weird birds they saw earlier, blasted in half by something as powerful as a shotgun.

The body wasn’t you. And the last time he saw you, you certainly didn’t have a shotgun.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Billy stresses as he drags the boy back around the corner. The others were just in the distance, walking over with concerned expressions.

“Let go of me.” Steve grits his teeth, pushing him away and Billy scoffs.

“Is that it, then? No explanation for putting all of us at risk?!” He says, checking to make sure the others couldn’t hear them. “If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, you probably would have died.”

“Oh, so now you wanna show up?!” Steve retaliates, heart beating erratically. He hoped Nancy would interrupt again before he threw the first punch. “Where were you when I was actually in danger?!”

Billy doesn’t respond, but there’s a storm of anger in his eye Steve hadn’t seen in a while. It reminded him of the old Billy. The one he could hate without judgement.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” Steve spits, feeling his skin get hotter. He hadn’t felt such rage in forever. He didn’t know why this was all coming out now of all times.

Maybe it was the pressure. He was promised that you were inside the building standing tall in front of them, protected by the things he was sure had ripped you apart weeks ago. He should be happy that all his hope, his delusion, had come true. You were alive. You weren’t eaten by monsters, and you certainly hadn’t turned. Instead, he just can’t get a hold of his emotions. He wants you back here so badly that he’s actually terrified to see you again.

What if he doesn’t save you this time? What if it is all a lie and you aren’t alive? What if he messes things up he ruins the only chance you have at survival? What if he isn’t the fearless leader everyone believes he should be?

“She needs you.” Billy eventually says, noting the way Steve’s face had fallen. “We’re going to find her, and we are all gonna leave here together, alright? I get it. You’re scared we won’t make it time, and I can’t promise we will - who the fuck knows what’s in there - but we won’t be able to try if we start losing our shit.”

“What happened?” Nancy’s exasperated voice calls out, the other two in tandem behind her like they were just kids following their mother. 

Billy and Steve merely share a look. It was unexpected, what Billy says next, and Steve was sure he didn’t deserve it.

“Steve found a vantage point.” He states, pointing to the wall opposite them. It had a ladder hidden behind a locked cage. Easily breakable. “We can get to the roof and see what we’re dealing with.”

Nancy’s suspicious eyes flickered between them. Even a child could see that wasn’t the conversation they just had. But she was tired, as were all of them, and she was so desperate to find her friends.

“Good idea.” She nods while Robin finds a rock, offering to break the lock.

It was so much more than Steve deserved. As Billy thins his lips and turns to climb the freed ladder, he can’t believe what just happened. Since when did Billy Hargrove take the high road in any fight?

Since when did Steve Harrington almost throw the first punch?

You hated bunkers.

From a practical standpoint, they were the best place to be in an apocalypse, especially when needing to hide from monsters and kinds alike. From personal experience, however, you would rather risk your life out here with creatures ready to kill than inside a giant metal box with a man you just met.

Unfortunately for you, your preferences weren’t to be taken into account.

“Home, sweet home.” Murray mutters as he shoves open the creaky door, extending his arm with a sarcastic invitation. “Don’t forget to take your shoes off-”

You walk straight past him, boots securely tied to your feet and he rolls his eyes, mumbling a remark you chose not to hear.

Murray’s bunker was small, comfortable for one person and so out in the middle of nowhere that it was certainly safe. He had led you both through the woods to get here, just on the outskirts of Hawkins but still within the military restrictions.

“When did you find this place?” Jonathan frowns, noting the fully functioning kitchen a few steps away.

“Built it years ago. I used it as my base for when I was investigating Hawkins.” Murray replies, taking a brief moment to fling open a cupboard door and pull out a mug. “From here, I get a great view of the lab. Or did. ‘Til someone blew it up.”

No comment, you think as you and Jonathan share a knowing look.

“Why did you bring us here?” You question, laying your eyes on an unsavoury magazine. You grimace. If you could scrub your brain clean, you would. “You’ve got cameras outside, everything looks pretty locked down so isn’t bringing us here breaching your… safety, or whatever?”

“Does she always ask this many questions?” Murray looks at Jonathan, but the boy doesn’t respond, curious to hear his answer. Murray sighs. “Look, I don’t like having guests here but if he is here, then I assume there’s something more than a freak apocalypse happening.”

“Why do you want to know? Why not just leave?” You challenge him again and he scoffs in exasperation.

“Again with the questions.” He mumbles, pulling up his hands in mock surrender. “Morbid curiosity. Happy? Who even are you?”

“Y/n Hopper.”

Something strange flashes across his eyes before he slumps his shoulders, offering a fake smile. “Murray Bauman. Now we have that out the way, what the hell were you guys doing at the mall? Huh? You have a death wish?”

“We, uh…” Jonathan starts, unsure of how much to reveal. When he meets your eyes however you can clearly see the trust in his face. He wouldn’t just let Murray take you both here unless he was certain you’d both be safe.

So you told him. How you both woke up in the bunker, how Dr Martin Brenner was back, and how neither of you knew how you ended up there in the first place. While all of it was the truth, Murray still seemed hesitant. But mostly of you.

“And you just walked around this place without noticing anything strange?”

“I literally was drugged most of the time.”

“Hm.” Murray nods slowly. He looks between you both before grabbing a wet washcloth, chucking it at Jonathan. “Clean up, you both look like a horror movie.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” You ask, and he tilts his head at you as if you were a child asking for extra dessert.

“Oh, I believe you were stuck in some creepy bunker with Brenner. That’s pretty much what he does.” Murray leans against the counter, narrowing his eyes. “I just don’t buy the whole amnesia thing.”

“She’s not lying. I saw what he gave her, she could barely remember who she was.” Jonathan defends you, passing over the washcloth as he wiped the last of the blood from his face.

“And, uh, Brenner just found you somewhere. Is that what you said?”

You swipe at your face, relishing in the cool water against your skin. “That’s what he told me. He could have lied. I don’t know.”

"So, I guess the real question is, what do you have that Brenner wanted?" Murray raises his eyebrow and you bite your tongue. You had to admit, he made a valid point.

"I don't know." You admit and Murray simply tightens his lips.

"Shocker."

"What's your problem with me?" You frown, standing from the couch to follow him to the kitchen area. Jonathan springs up from his seat also, a little afraid of this face-off a mere hour into meeting one another. "You've been an asshole ever since you learned my name."

"Sorry if my attitude isn't to your liking, your majesty." Murray raises both his hands, mocking you as he sips a glass of water.

As he sets it down on the counter as crosses his arms at you with a distasteful stare, your mind clicks into gear. He was giving you the same look you'd seen countless people give your father.

"Ah." You click your tongue, nodding. "You hate my dad."

The mask slips slightly with surprise as you said that, a crease denting his forehead. "How-"

"I am my father's daughter." You smirk sarcastically, casting a glance at Jonathan who honestly still looked terrified of all the potential outcomes of this conversation. That's when you realise you're letting your anger get the better of you; this man might be a fully grown child playing detective but he's also your only ticket home. "Look, whatever you have against my dad, that's not on me. Hopper makes his own decisions and all I- all we want right now is to just go home. I'm not here to brainwash you or whatever you said."

Murray studies you then with a concentrated look, letting you know he made a living out of judging people. After a while, he hums in satisfaction and sets his glass aside, crossing his arms.

“How exactly are you planning on getting home?” He asks, looking between you and a clearly relieved Jonathan resting against the kitchen wall.

“Any chance you have a radio?”

A small sigh leaves the man’s lips before he ushers you both to follow him out of the kitchen and through a small door in the living room, presenting a radio system not so different from the one you found in Brenner’s bunker.

In fact, it was so similar that it was, in Murray’s words, ‘completely busted’.

“Busted, how?” Jonathan frowns, eyes scanning for any obvious destruction to the system.

“As in… not working.” Murray scrunches his face, looking at you. “Am I speaking gibberish?”

“I think he’s asking how it broke.” You offer and Murray clicks his tongue, nodding.

“I can’t get through any channels.” He explains, taking a seat in front of it. “I didn’t even know the apocalypse started until my radio started going funny. There were these… noises, flowing through every single channel. Like voices. But they weren’t human.”

Jonathan’s eyes find yours, gulping. “Shapeshifters?”

“Shape- what now?” Murray grunts in confusion. You ignore him, shaking your head.

“They never communicated with each other before.” You say, suddenly turning back to Murray. “What have you heard?”

“I told you. Noises. Barely human.” He reiterates, groaning when you don’t seem impressed with his answer. “It was all gibberish when it started a month ago.”

“Any recent?”

“Yes.” He gently nudges you away from his radio like a protective parent. “But I’m starving so you’ll both have to listen on your own.”

“You recorded them?”

“I’ve been recording everything.” He taps the shelf above his desk that was littered with tapes, seemingly colour coded with markers. “The red one is the most recent. Don’t break anything or I'll feed you to those bats.”

As soon as he leaves the room, you and Jonathan fly towards the tapes, scrambling to insert the red one into the player.

It was excruciatingly hard to make out at first. In the beginning of the recording, there was an overwhelming replay of static. Jonathan explained that must be where Murray is trying to tune in to whatever other-worldly conversation he had stumbled across. And then you finally heard it.

Two voices. One murmured, warped beyond recognition as if the radio wasn’t strong enough to pick up on its tone. It was certainly not human. The other, however, was definitely human, and it spoke very clearly.

Voice One: *unintelligible* 

Voice Two: They are determined.

Voice One: *unintelligible* 

Voice Two: No.

Voice One: *unintelligible* 

Voice Two: Shall I kill them all?

Voice One: *unintelligible*

Voice Two: He won’t.

Voice Three: *muffled*… Are you coming?

Voice One: *unintelligible* 

Voice Two: understood…. *muffled* I’ll be right there!

The last few seconds set your skin alight with dread, sharing a look of despair with Jonathan. It was a shapeshifter after all.

And it was posing as one of your own.

“We need to warn them.” You panic, scrambling to mess with the radio despite Murray’s warnings.

“We don’t know what channel they’re using or- or if they even have a radio anymore. That thing could have destroyed it!” Jonathan plants his head in his hands, taking heavy breaths. “Murray said the radio hasn’t been able to pinpoint any kind of station for weeks-”

“Then we send out a message to every frequency. That’s possible, right?”

Jonathan looks indecisive.

“You heard her.” You say, frowning with earnestness. “That was Nancy’s voice in the background. That means she’s with the others, and that ‘thing’ is going to kill them all. We don’t know where they are, this has to work.”

“Move over.” Jonathan says, taking the seat and getting to work.

He did as you asked, sending a broadcast out to your friends. You offered your voice as he controlled the panel, hoping with every fibre of your being it reached them. It certainly loosened the pressure on your chest, but you couldn’t pretend you didn’t recognise the shapeshifter’s voice.

It just had to be the one person no one would care enough to check up on.

They stood on the roof for what felt like forever. The view from up here wasn’t what they expected.

The delivery bay below them, the one Billy and Nancy had seen crawling with monsters, was now littered with dozens of bodies. Supernatural bodies.

“Jesus Christ.” Eddie looks like he’s going to vomit, turning away. “What the hell happened to them?”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t human.” Billy says, and Steve won’t disagree with that.

The monster on the other side of the metal gate, the one Steve was almost caught by…

“You’re saying another one of those creatures did this?” Nancy’s mouth is parted, but even she couldn’t fault the evidence. Every carcass below them was torn apart. Last time she checked, a gun couldn’t do that.

Steve scans the area while the others debate what type of monster could have done this. He directs his eyes to a sheltered part of the building, noticing what appeared to be an elevator. It was ripped through like the bodies on the ground.

“It came from in there.” He points out, shuddering.

“Where is it now?” Nancy frowns.

And with a sinking feeling, they realise they already know the answer.

“Great.” Billy nods, clapping his hands together. He turned to them all, oblivious to their dread. “We just wait for it to kill whatever’s inside and we don’t have to get our hands dirty. Win, win.”

Steve scoffs, ignoring him. He was too tired and scared to give a shit about Billy Hargove’s stupidity.

“No. Not win, win!” Nancy suddenly snaps, and Steve’s eyes widen. Even Billy takes a step back, caught off-guard. “What’s inside is Y/n and Jonathan!”

“Shit.” Billy whispers out, running a hand down his face. “That’s… shit.”

The girl takes a deep breath, eyebrows furrowed deeply to indicate just how hard she was thinking. And damn, Steve needed her to think right now. If anything would get them out of this already excruciating mess, it was Nancy Wheeler’s brain.

“Okay, look, what we need is a map of the inside.” Nancy finally says, looking at Steve and completely ignoring the boy next to her. She’d heard enough from him. “It's a mall, they’re gonna have service hallways and stuff like that which is going to be really useful to us if we’re gonna slip by unnoticed.”

“And, uh, where would someone find this map?” Billy asks, and Steve feels somehow vindicated in the way Nancy clenches her jaw. Finally, he wasn’t the only one bothered by Billy’s presence.

“How about that office down there?” Eddie points behind him, still reeling from the massacre below as he purposefully faces the opposite direction. “I spotted it before, the, uh… gross stuff.

“Worth a shot.” Nancy nods.

Steve tried not to think about the death surrounding him as they walked across the delivery bay, weapons raised in case something survived. Or if whatever did this came back.

The thought of you always kept creeping back. If he was alone, he would have already charged into that building with a vengeance. But he wasn’t alone, he had other people to think about. Even if the thought of wasting more time searching for this map was sickening to him, it was the safest option. Considering what happened the last time he took charge, he wasn’t in the position to make any drastic calls.

The office door creaks open, making him cringe as he takes a look back, looking for any disturbances.

“I think we’re good.” Nancy nods, but she still whispers. You never could know in an apocalypse.

Steve gently shuts the door behind everyone as they enter the office space, relieved not to find another body in here, dead or alive. It was a little dusty, shelves lined with different books, a couple construction hats laying about. They were obviously preparing the last little details of the mall before everything went to hell.

“Check the drawers.” Nancy says to no one in particular.

Since Steve was closest to the desk, he started rooting through and, flipping promising pieces of paper around until he could see some blueprints. Bingo. Now he just had to find the right one.

His fingers barely brushed against his task before goosebumps started to trail along his skin, hitching his breath. Oh god, not now, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut.

Whispers. Incoherent, but still lingering. The voices were back again. He should be used to his mind playing tricks on him now; it’s been this way since he lost you. But every time got harder. And they usually got louder.

“You guys hear that?”

Steve’s eyes flash open, spotting Eddie’s confused frown as everyone stops what they were doing, listening. It wasn’t just in his head this time.

And the voices were coming from Billy’s backpack.

“What the…” Steve strides over and almost rips it from the boy’s back.

“Hey, watch it!” Billy protests, raising his hands when Steve sends him a warning glare. “What the hell are you doing?”

Steve ignores him and tears it open, tightening his jaw when the voices are now smothered with blasts of static.

“I know what happened to your radio, Nance.”

The girl trails over with a suspicious frown, mouth opening as Steve presents the lost radio he just plucked from Billy’s backpack.

“Uh…” Billy blinks, barking out a nervous laugh, “I swear to whatever guy is up there watching us that I didn’t know it was in there.”

Eddie and Robin are both silent, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“Are we meant to believe that?” Nancy whispers out, voice catching as she realises she’s just been played. He was trying to sabotage them.

Before Billy could defend himself further, the radio blares back to life, silencing the entire world around him as Steve’s mouth suddenly dried.

“I don't know if you can hear us… I hope you do. If you recognise my voice, then you know we’re alive. We- I will explain everything when I find you guys, but you’re in danger. There are shapeshifters out there trying to sabotage you- one of them is with you right now. It’s leading you to a trap. We think it’s-”

The connection goes silent, and Steve is once again haunted by the absence of your voice.

As it turns out, his gut was right. Something was sabotaging them. One of them is a shapeshifter.

Oh, God.” Nancy breathes while Eddie’s wide eyes dart between them all with fear, backing away. “Steve…”

He finally looks away from the radio clutched tightly in his hand, watching the next words leave her mouth with twisted accomplishment.

“You were right.” She says as she raises her gun and points it directly at Billy’s chest.

“Is that it?” You frown, looking at Jonathan as your hand hovers back over the mic.

“That’s it.” Jonathan nods.

You both sit there with silence as a welcome guest, unable to move from the radio. You weren’t sure how long it had been since you started sending the message, tediously repeating yourself over and over until you were sure your voice had been broadcast to every square inch of Hawkins, but it felt like forever.

And now… now you just had to wait. Wait for a response, maybe. Or wait until you finally made it back to ‘home base’ to find out if your efforts helped them at all.

“Jesus, you guys are still in here?” Murray’s gruff voice came in from behind you both, but you were too tired to react. When he saw your faces, he let out a low whistle. “You look like shit. Any luck with that thing?”

“Our friends are walking around with a shapeshifter plotting to kill them.” You say, almost numbly. The man’s eyes widened.

“Well… that’s, uh…” He struggles to find sympathy. Or maybe he’s just confused. You’re not really sure he’s left this bunker enough to know exactly what kind of things are lurking out there. And he certainly hasn’t interacted with anyone in a very long time. “You should get some sleep.”

“How can we sleep knowing our friends are in danger?” Jonathan says, defeated.

“With a pillow and a nice blanket.” Murray offers, gesturing for you both to stand up. “Come on, I’ve got a lovely sofa bed you can use.”

As soon as the mention of a bed hits your ears, it’s like a wave of exhaustion washes over you, mindlessly nodding.

Murray does the work for you both, telling Jonathan where he can find a spare change of clothes - all while stating that the clothes you both wore were disgusting and would not be touching his perfectly clean sofa.

“Alright, there we go.” Murray displays the converted sofa with a sarcastic smile. “Sweet dreams and all that. Oh… and no funny business this time, alright?”

That last comment was directed at Jonathan, whose cheeks burned at the indication of his last visit to Murray. You could only frown, too tired to question anything.

“Night, kiddos.” Murray gives his last farewell before shutting himself back into his bedroom, leaving you and Jonathan standing in a darkened room with no energy to speak.

“I can take the floor.” Jonathan offers, already grabbing a spare pillow from the pile Murray left on the floor.

“Considering you were tied to a chair for like a week, I’m taking the floor, okay?” You didn’t leave any room for objection, laying a blanket down on the carpeted floor with a sigh. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get any sleep.”

“I did offer to take the floor.” Jonathan defends himself, issuing the smallest smirk on his lips.

You sent him a sarcastic smile, the small joy his joke brought you creasing your eyes. “Ha ha. You know that’s not what I meant.”

Jonathan lowers himself onto the bed, watching you for a moment. You’re leaning against a bookcase, carefully untying your boots. Both shoes are securely off your feet before he finally speaks again.

“How do you do it?”

You part your lips in surprise, blinking at him. “Do what?”

“Be so… calm.” He says, rubbing a hand down his face. “I feel like I’ve been having the same panic attack since you found me in that room.”

“It’s been a long apocalypse.” You state, shrugging. You walk over to the pile of clothes Murray had gifted you, planning to change in the other room once everything was set up. “Plus, I still can’t remember much. I’m still trying to piece everything together.”

“You don’t remember anything after the Upside Down?”

“No.” You lower yourself onto the bed next to him, slumping your shoulders. It was pretty obvious neither of you were going to fall asleep any time soon. And there were still so many questions you both needed answers for. So many things you both need to say aloud, no matter who hears it. “I remember… the motel. Something happened, the gate closed… and I woke up in the bunker, tied to these machines. Like I was in the hospital, or something.”

“So…” Jonathan scrunches his face, attempting to solve what you’ve been trying to figure out for weeks. “Brenner found you somewhere?”

“Apparently.” You shrug. “He said I was passed out in the woods, that he saved me. Obviously, I know he was just lying. But it just… it feels like a whole part of my memory was just erased, you know? I’m remembering everything else, the people I missed, even the crummy sink in the motel bathroom Steve and I stayed in, and yet…”

“You can’t remember anything past the gate closing on you.” Jonathan concludes. You nod, biting your lip.

“Do you remember how you ended up down there?”

As soon as the question left your mouth, you regretted it. You felt him still completely, eyes misting over with some trauma you shouldn’t have invited back into his mind.

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked-”

“No. No, it’s… it’s okay.” He leans forward, resting his head in his hands. “It, um, it happened at Weathertop. Dustin was messing around with the idea of a super-powered radio. Cerebro, he called it. When you and Steve were stuck on the other side, a few of us helped him build it before it got too dangerous. Dustin had said it would be able to reach the Upside Down. To reach you.”

You straighten up, turning your body to him completely. He lets out a sigh, leaning back and staring at nothing, letting the story unfold in front of his eyes.

“It was just a theory. We… we didn’t know it could work. I didn’t think it would.” He sends a small glance your way. “Steve did, though. Told us we had to give it a try. So we did. Me, Nancy, Steve, Robin… we tried our best. It took us hours to make it through Hawkins to reach the radio. There were so many monsters out there. By the time we reached Weathertop, we were all tired. No longer alert. I remember Nancy told Steve to stop. The hill was brutal, and we were no good for anything if we were too tired to fight. But Steve… he needed to get to that radio. So we kept going.”

He clears his throat, nodding to himself. “There were shapeshifters. Lots of them. We weren’t used to them hunting in groups, much less hunting at all. It’s like… like they knew we’d be there. We fought off as many as we could, but Steve- he got cornered by one pretending to be him. There was a knife and-”

Jonathan goes silent. You suddenly let out the breath you had been holding in, feeling the erratic beat of your pulse. You offer a small hand to his shoulder, and he closes his eyes.

“I jumped in before it could kill him. It stabbed me instead.” A small tear threatens his eye, and he wipes it away before it can even begin to fall. “Nancy… I remember the look on her face when those things started dragging me away. I thought I was going to have to die alone. I didn’t know why they were taking me, or where for that matter. I passed out before I ever found out and suddenly you’re there, waking me up in a room I’d never seen before. I don’t even know how long I was down there before you found me.”

“I’m so sorry.” You struggle to get the words out, stunned at his full admission. “I can’t… I don’t even want to imagine…”

Jonathan didn’t have to trust you, but he did. You just didn’t realise he had sacrificed himself for the boy that had bullied him all that time ago.

"Why did you save him?"

"I think I realised he was too important to lose." Jonathan admits, fingers mindlessly pulling at the frayed threads of his jeans. "If he died... he was the one giving us all hope and I... I gave up before it even began."

In the silence that followed, you chose your reply carefully. You assessed each outcome with care, knowing whatever you said could affect him in so many different ways. You had struggled with your self-worth for years before… well, before Steve.

But Jonathan spoke first.

"When Will disappeared, I, uh, I never saw my mom so... broken." He admits quietly, eyes drooping with sadness, "Not even when my dad left. I felt so guilty about it all. I was the one meant to look after him. And every time I had to sit with my mom while she cried herself to sleep, I kept wondering."

He lowers his head, exhaling with defeat. "Wondering if it would be different if I had been the one that disappeared."

You bite your lip, wondering if your story would make things better. But then again, it couldn’t make things worse. 

"My dad lost a part of himself when my sister died." You say, turning to face him. He looks up at you in surprise. "It killed him, really. In fact, he only came back to life when El entered the picture. I always thought if it had been me, instead of Sara, if I was the one who died... maybe my dad would have been happier."

"I get it." You sigh, accepting his silence as a means to continue, "Feeling like your actions don't matter. That your life is meaningless compared to everyone else's just because you had to grow up being quiet. Feeling..."

"Invisible."

"Yeah." You nod with a sad smile, "Invisible."

It was shameful, but part of you felt relieved in a sadistic way; you weren’t the only one who felt like their life was just an endless void of numbness. Maybe if you had paid more attention at school, you would have noticed sooner.

“How did you stop, you know, feeling invisible?”

It took a moment to register Jonathan’s question, frowning. Did you stop feeling invisible? You suppose you did. Someone finally saw you, knew who you were and saw past who you were trying to be. They made you better. Made you want to be better.

“Steve.” You say softly. Jonathan blinks. 

He had figured out the situation between you and Steve a long time ago, back when Steve’s guilt had transferred into endless nights searching for you. At first, he just thought it was a case of survivor’s guilt. It was so much more than that. Jonathan saw it in his face when your name was mentioned, the grief of leaving you behind. He heard it in the few nights Steve actually fell asleep, calling out your name in a nightmare that scared him out of bed, refusing to discuss it when he was asked what happened.

But Jonathan knows he had seen it long before either of you entered the Upside Down. He saw how Steve truly felt about you the day you suddenly disappeared in the lab, taking down a creature twice his size because he thought it had killed you. Unable to stop until you pulled him out of it.

It was the same way he felt about Nancy.

“I can’t believe I forgot him.” You admit with a whisper, wincing at the sound. He’s been risking everything for you, and you couldn’t even recall his name.

“Maybe you subconsciously didn’t want to remember him.” Jonathan says after a while and you frown at him. He only sighs, shifting around to face you with a sympathetic smile. “Maybe whatever happened was too painful to remember.”

You’re silent for a while, eyeing the boy next to you with care.

You and Jonathan weren’t ever friends. Not out of spite, like you and Steve had lived for five years. Your paths never really crossed in high school. The only interaction you think you’ve had is when you babysat Will at one of Dustin’s sleepovers back in Sophmore year. Jonathan had been quiet but kind, much like his younger brother. It was a nice conversation you had with him as well, talking about his photography, and you truly wondered if there was a semblance of a friendship. But it never happened; neither of you bumped into the other in the hallway, not even when you shared some classes. And now you were aware of Hopper’s secret antics, you assume Jonathan kept a safe distance per your father’s wishes.

You would say you were friends now, at least. Hell, you both escaped a psychotic kidnapper and somehow evaded the sharp claws of a terrifying monster, so you could safely say you weren’t strangers anymore.

But he was new in this capacity. And that meant you weren’t sure whether you could trust him.

Then again, you never thought you could trust Steve.

“...I pushed him.” You say into the silence, avoiding Jonathan’s alert gaze on you.

“What?”

“The last time I saw him, a gate had opened and I… I don’t remember why, but I pushed him through it, to safety, and… and it’s really blurry after that.”

“Steve said you got separated.” He shakes his head slowly, trying to pull pieces together that didn’t even exist yet.

“We did. Just… I know it wasn’t by accident.”

“Why would you stay behind? Does it have anything to do with why Brenner took you in the first place?”

“That’s what I need to figure out.” You say, pushing yourself off the bed with a sigh, “But first, we need to find our friends.”

“You think they heard us?”

“I hope so.” You slowly start to frown.

“What is it?”

There was something lingering at the back of your mind, making you… nervous. This shapeshifter has been living among them for over a week now; they must have noticed a change in behaviour. But considering how recent that recording was, you knew that wasn't the case.

“That thing has been with them this entire time. It managed to trick them somehow. I… I'm worried that…”

“You think they won’t figure out who’s the shapeshifter?”

You turn back around to face him, showing how sick you felt just at the thought of it.

“I'm scared they’ll pick the wrong person.”

Billy Hargrove, if they could even call him that anymore, was tied to the chair in Starcourt Mall’s construction office, the blinds behind him illuminating the room with slits of dying sunlight.

As soon as they heard your call, Steve and Eddie had restrained him while Robin removed the shotgun from his grip and turned it to aim at him. Nancy kept her gun holstered when he was restrained, arms crossed while Eddie attempted to make contact on the radio once again.

Steve had dealt with a shapeshifter once before. Only this time, he didn’t know how long this one had been with them.

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Half sister.” Billy corrects, breathing heavily. “And it’s Max. Or Maxine. Whatever the hell you wanna call her.”

“Why’d you move to Hawkins?”

“Seriously?” Billy spits, laughing, but none of it was funny. “It’s me. How many more questions do we have to go through before you realise it’s me!”

Steve shared a look with Nancy. She could only shrug, hiding her trembling hands with fists. Then he looks to Robin, her gaze unwavering from the boy tied in the chair as she keeps the shotgun pointed directly at him. Nothing felt right about this image. Billy tied up, Nancy shaking from fear, Robin holding a gun.

None of these questions were working. Because none of them really knew him.

A realisation flashed across his mind. He didn’t know Billy. But he did know you.

“What was the last thing Y/n said to you?”

Behind him, he senses Eddie pausing at the question. Even Billy looked confused, mouth opening and closing without any sound releasing.

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

“I…” He blinks, scrunching his face. “How is this-”

“What did she say?” Steve reiterates, watching him closely.

Billy lets out a sigh, shoulders relaxing. Steve thought this was it. This is the moment he reveals himself as a monster, knowing he was caught. It wasn’t.

“She told me to leave her behind.” He finally says, too quiet for it not to mean something to him. “She was trapped, back in the lab. I- I tried to break the door down. She told me to go get help. I… I told her not to die.”

The air was heavy when he finished speaking. It felt too real to be wrong. But Steve could only shake his head. No. It had to be him.

“You’re lying.” Steve states, even if he didn’t believe it.

"I'm not lying." Billy spits through his teeth, struggling against the restraints. "I'm not a fucking shapeshifter!"

"Then who is?" Steve prompts, shaking his head. It had to be one of them, and Billy has been acting out of character ever since he returned from the Upside Down. "You told me back at the Radio Shack that you know a lot more than other people do. If you're as observant as you say you are, tell me; who is it? Who’s lying?!"

Billy looks up at him with a pained expression. It held a mixture of disbelief and sorrow, as if he hated how blatantly blind Steve was.

"The one holding the gun."

Steve freezes, casting a glance at Nancy. But she was already looking at him with a fearful expression. Or, rather, she was staring just past him, at the person he had trusted the most with the shotgun.

The mole.

"Robin?"

He whispers, heart racing, but the girl doesn't offer any objections to soothe his fear.

Instead, she smiles, raising the gun higher to aim at his chest.

"We were hoping you'd lead us straight to her." She says, the tone of her voice and the way she stared were entirely alien to her usual behaviour.

"What?" Nancy questions, hands shaking as she tries to subtly pull the gun from her waistband.

"It's too late now." Fake Robin sighs, cocking the gun with a startling click. "You weren't supposed to find out."

Nancy begins to yell as the shapeshifter begins to brace herself for fire, shouting something nonsensical to Steve's ears.

It's all a blur after that. Yelling, movement...

Gunfire.

@sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore . @carolineesnell .

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

request ! with either Peter parker or steve harrington (steve feels more fitting but whatever feels right) basically a reader who is very afraid of confrontation like they will just agree with things just to avoid any arguments or confrontation. like for example let's say he wants to take her out to a fair and they agree to it despite being afraid of the rides or the fireworks. and the boy starts to realise that they just agree even if they don't want to sometimes

hope that made sense ly<333

i too have this problem. gn!reader

it started when you were young. heart racing at the thought of disagreeing or trying to speak your mind, parents never listening to you so you assumed that strangers wouldn’t either.

you’ve eaten food you were knowingly allergic to, worn outfits for family events that made you uncomfortable, and you even said yes to a date with a kid that ate his boogers since second grade.

but somehow one unlucky action turned into you being close with steve harrington, one of the most popular and handsome guys in town. he was actually really sweet when you’ve mostly heard through the grapevine that he was a jerk to people lower on the food chain.

so when he suggested going to the fourth of july fair, you should’ve took the opportunity to say no cause your brain thinks too much about the structure of the rides and the fireworks blasting rattle your ear drums. but instead you dumbly agreed saying, “i love the fair!”

so here’s where you ended up. standing with steve in line for the ferris wheel, stomach twisting into knots and legs starting to shake. you kept your eyes faced ahead, trying to trick yourself into being okay with this. it’s not going well.

“you doing okay?” a soft pressure on your back with a voice over your shoulder. you didn’t bother looking at steve, eyes stayed forward with a closed mouth as you hummed and nodded. you felt like you were about to throw up.

“hey,” steve moved to stand in front of you. his hands holding onto your shoulders as he bent to be in you eye line. “why don’t we get something to drink? we can come back later if you want.” he didn’t wait for any response, just moved the both of you out the line then took your hand to head into the direction of the food tents.

sitting at a picnic bench with a water and shared fries, you slumped into yourself. “i’m sorry about earlier.” picking at the red paint chips.

“it’s fine. it’s just the ferris wheel, nothing crazy about that.” his words muffled as he chewed his food. you sighed then looked at him, “but for me it’s scary.”

you could see the slight change in his demeanor. his back straightened, wiping his face clean and looking only at you. “okay… do you want to explain it?”

you licked your lips, “i- i think about how they build these.” a hand waving about, “like they set them up within a week and then tear them down after and move on. that’s concerning! and- and fireworks, the noise!” shutting your eyes at just the mention.

“wait, if you don’t like the fair, why’d you agree? we could’ve done something else. i’ve been here plenty of times.”

“cause i don’t like being a burden or just confrontation. im use to just doing what other people want.”

steve went quiet and then he moved to sit beside you. your cheeks were puffed as your fist squished into them. “well you don’t have to do that with me,” rubbing a palm over your spine. “i want you to be comfortable so you can enjoy yourself. so if i suggest something that you don’t like, just tell me.”

[alexisaflop]

Wait on Your song - Steve Harrington x Henderson! reader

Chapter 7: The Bathtub

Bit of a longer one? Maybe. You tease Nancy about her blatant crush on Jonathan.

Warnings: use of Y/N, canon typical violence/gore.

MASTERLIST

You find Jonathan and Nancy at the police station. One of Nancy's hands holds ice to his head, fingers idely playing with his hair. Her other hand is clasped in one of Jonathan's. As soon as they see you, they let go of each other. You decide not to mention it.

"Why did you go with Steve?" asked Nancy. She doesn't sound angry, but you feel as though you'd crossed a line.

"To tell him he deserved it, and that he needs better friends," you say, "Especially if he is going to keep dating my best friend," you add, even though you hadn't said that. That moment in the alleyway had just felt so odd, so close, that you needed to give a respectable reason for being there.

You aren't sure whether to say more, when Hopper calls you all away to his office. And Nancy explains her theory.

"So, you're saying blood draws this thing," clarifies Hopper, he doesn't sound convinced.

"She's right," you can see Barb's blood in the water. You don't even realise you've spoken until Hopper turns to you.

"And you would know this how?"

"When I was with Barb, the monster knew she was the one who was injured. I don't think it even intended for me to come with them -"

"So you've been there, where Will is?" Hopper cuts you off.

"I've been somewhere but its not like we know where Will is, right?" Your face reddens, "Sorry Joyce," you add.

"He said it was cold, like home but cold."

You think of the Wheeler's empty house; the festering trees of Mirkwood. Pretty astute description.

"Then, yes. And, I agree with Nancy, I think blood draws it. I think it comes here to hunt. That's probably why it went for the deer over me, it smelt weakness and an easy kill. And I think it liked playing with its human food."

Shouting from the next room draws Hopper away. Joyce takes the opportunity to drag Jonathan from the room and give him a good talking to.

I'm glad my mum doesn't know about all this, you can't help but think. Imagining telling your mum about all of it, makes you feel weak at the knees and you aren't even standing up.

Nancy sits beside you, picking at her fingers. The aura of her guilt is mixed with yours.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save Barb," you say finally, "I couldn't admit it to myself yet, last night I mean, that it was my fault. But I should have got us both out of there alive."

"It's not your fault, Y/N. I've spent the last few days blaming myself. If I had gone home with her, or come with you guys to the bathroom, or made a different change, the monster might not even had found Barb."

You sit in silence for a minute. It felt good to hear her say it. Thinking that she wasn't willing to take responsibility just because she wanted to hang out with some boy had been grating on you. Especially as really you knew it wasn't her fault.

"So what I'm saying is," she continues, "I'm sorry too."

You don't know how to continue, so you take a swing at changing the subject. Her hand now wrapped in yours, you ask in a low voice, "so this King Steve, was he any good?"

She laughs bitterly.

"What about Jonathan, then?" you ask, only half-joking. You'd seen how they held onto each other after the fight as they ran from the cops; how they held hands.

She blushed slightly, "it's different with him … he's different."

She's cut off by Hopper bursting back into the room. It sounds like he found out about Eleven. And based on the slightly wild look on his face, you decide not to mention you already knew about her. He might kill you.

The scene when you arrive at the Wheeler's house is chaos. There are Hawkins Power and Light vans outside and a flurry of workers rushing inside and out; taking the Wheeler's belongings. For a horrible moment you wonder if this is the beginning of that lifeless house in the Upside Down.

"My mother and father are in there. Let me go!" Nancy shouts at Hopper.

"Hey! Listen to me, listen to me. The last thing we need is you mixed up in all this."

"Mike is over there-"

"They haven't found him," Hopper insists, gesturing to the helicopter patrolling the sky.

"We need to find them before they do, you got any idea where they might have gone?"

Nancy and Jonathan both shake their heads. You think of the fight Dustin told you about last night.

"The junkyard," you say confidently, until you falter, realising, "I don't know where it is."

"I know how to ask," Jonathan says. He begins to suggest going home and getting Will's radio.

You pull out your Walkie from your bag.

"Dustin, Dustin do you copy?"

Silence.

"Dustin, come on man, you know what we talked about last night? There's been a whole day of that here," you think of the fight, the bewildered and bloodied face of Steve Harrington pops to the front of your mind, "I just, really need to talk to you."

The silence continues.

"Okay, so I've been to the Wheeler's house. I guess the bad men heard about El, yeah? And now you're hiding. And you guys are good at it too because they're still looking. I want to find you first, little brother."

You glance at Nancy as the silence continues. She shrugs and shakes her head. Hopper is trying to stop himself going ballistic. You had been helping some kids hold a captive child. Impressionable children he can forgive but you're practically an adult.

You ignore his reddening face and carry on.

"Okay, if I was you, I'd want proof that it's really me talking, that I'm alone? So I will swear it to you on something sacred. How about, the Mewvies on Saturday night? You remember the first one? I'd just moved here and was kinda a horrible person, but you were sad and begged me to hang out for a bit. Mews chose the VHS's by knocking them on the floor.

"I just wanted to help you then. And that's what I want now. You guys had a fight at the junkyard right? Are you back there now, how do we get there? Or are you someplace else?"

You sit in silence for a bit. You offer Hopper the Walkie. Before he can take it from your hand Dustin's voice comes through.

"Yes, I copy, I'm here, we're all here."

You heave a sigh of relief.

Hopper insists on you all holding back whilst he collects the kids from the Junkyard. You bite your tongue just because it will give you the opportunity to sit down for a bit. This day kept getting longer and your headache kept getting stronger.

When Hopper gets back from the junkyard, you grab Dustin, "never take that long to answer me again."

You turn to El, "and you!" your voice softens, "I heard what you did with Troy, nice work."

She smiled weakly.

Inside, Mike explains about the gate.

"This gate, is it underground?" asks Hopper.

"Yes," Eleven's voice is quiet.

"Near a large water tank?"

"Yes."

You lay a protective hand on El's shoulder. Hopper continues to stare at her. You know he's just trying to help Will. But you know El has had to deal with enough. And you can tell her doesn't trust her. You can understand why, but she's just a kid, and she needs someone on her side just for once.

"Do you think you could talk to Will?" asks Joyce.

She nods.

So Mike and Joyce set her up at the kitchen table. As she closes her eyes, a rush of static fills the room. The lights flicker and your loaned walkie talkie crackles and pops. A heavy silence descends upon the room.

"I'm sorry," whispers El, she sits perfectly still, as if one of you might pounce, "I can't find him."

You rest a hand on her shoulder, "it's okay. You did your best. Do you need a minute? You've had a long day."

You show her to the bathroom and lean on the wall outside. Everyone is talking about her like she's not a person, like she's some kind of machine. Like all she needs is new batteries. You frown and hope that she gets to live a somewhat normal life someday.

"The bath," she says when she re-emerges, you follow her back into the kitchen, "I can find them in the bath."

You and Nancy share a dumbfounded look, but Hopper seems to understand. It's slightly concerning how he so readily knows about all this.

Dustin phones Mr Clarke, "he is very stubborn after all," you had agreed.

Dustin rolled his eyes, "you're welcome."

The group falls silent as Dustin dials Mr Clarke. It crosses the back of your mind how silly a group you must seem. Three nerdy boys with a girl who has superpowers which are consolidated by a bath. A small town cop, a distraught mother, and three unpopular teenagers.

"I have a science question … Do you know anything about sensory deprivation tanks?" you wince, imagining all the mandatory reporting questions going through Mr Clarke's head.

"Fun," Dustin says simply. He is clearly denied as he starts talking about "curiosity doors."

You raise an eyebrow at Lucas, who just whispers, "I don't know, he's your brother."

But Dustin's stubbornness seems to win out as he starts taking down ingredients and measurements to build this thing.

"Dude, you could at least have said thank you," you reprimand him after he abruptly hangs up.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, looking only slightly remorseful, "You still have that kiddie pool we used to bob for apples in?" He asks turning to Joyce.

And so a plan is born. Building a sensory deprivation tank. At a middle school. Well, it's certainly one way to spend a Saturday night.

You're with Nancy and Mike getting hoses, to be honest, you're not much help. Your leg has got more and more inflamed all day, and the adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. You lean against the wall as Nancy breaks down the door. You check out for a bit as she and Mike have a sibling moment, they promise to stop keeping things from each other.

"Okay, do you like Jonathan now?" Mike's voice is tentative, but there's the tone of intuitive teasing that all younger siblings are capable of.

You can't help it, you dissolve into giggles.

"What? No! Y/N stop it, you're not helping. It's not like that, we're just friends."

Mike doesn't seem to buy it, and to be fair, your giggles probably weren't helping. But you can't help it, the laughter distracts you from your leg that is twinging with every step.

"Well do you like Eleven?" Nancy counters.

"What, ew no gross!"

Great job guys, you think as Mike walks off ahead. You can't help but giggle again. Nancy glares at you.

"I don't know what to say Nance, even your brother knows. And he is clearly clueless."

Nancy smiles, but just says, "How can he know when I don't even know? I like Steve, he can just be difficult sometimes. But he cares so much. I know you don't buy it but he's trying. He thinks I'm special, for real. And Jonathan, he just gets me. I don't need to think about it with him, we just work. I think I need some time after all this is done," she says gesturing vaguely around you both.

"I know, I'm just saying I'm here for you, if you need me."

You vaguely think about how her describing her love for Jonathan sounds a lot like how Steve loves her. How both she and Jonathan are special and different. This is going to get messy in the future. If you get one. Your fingers tighten around the hoses you carry.

- - - -

As Eleven floats, the temperature raises again. There's the same strange humidity as in the Upside Down. You think for a minute how her power seems to make it warm but the Upside Down as a whole is cold.

"Castle Byers," she breathes. Your own breathing falters.

"Will?"

Joyce gasps, "tell him we're coming okay, tell him Mom is coming."

"Hurry," his voice is hoarse through the crackly speaker of the walkie.

Joyce says more things to tell him, but something is wrong. El thrashes in the water, screaming.

"Will!" screams Eleven before sitting up.

Joyce wraps her arms around her, you hold her hand. After a few minutes, you guide her to the changing rooms and help her get dry. Then you sit with her on the bleachers. She's silent the whole time. You're glad to sit down as your leg continues to throb dully. When this is all sorted out, I will get myself fixed you promise yourself silently. Right now, Will is more important.

Guilt stabs at you again. Will had survived nearly a week in that place, and you couldn't keep Barb alive down there for longer than fifteen minutes. It doesn't help that if you had just gone home with Will then he probably wouldn't even be there. You sigh, your head spinning. If you're feeling like this, you can't imagine how Nancy is feeling. She still blames herself for what happens at Steve's. Where is she?

"Okay, Dustin, I'm putting you in charge," your leg groans as you stand up.

"Favouritism," snipes Lucas.

"Look after Eleven, find some food, I'll be back, I'm just going to find Nancy."

You manage to walk out without limping too much. Thankfully the boys are too enraptured by the thought of stealing food from the school cafeteria to notice.

Or so you think, until Dustin runs up to you and says, "later, I want to know what happened to your leg."

"See this is why I put you in charge. Astute observation, Mr Holmes," he smiles smugly, you raise your voice for the rest of the group, "Look after each other."

You receive three mock salutes from the boys, which El looks to Mike to understand.

Out in the hallway, Nancy is crying on Jonathan's shoulder when you find them, "I want to kill it," she says determinedly.

You offer her a hand up, "let's do it."

- - - -

A/N can't believe we've almost finished Season 1!!

I find it so funny that mrs wheeler is on the phone to steves mom/dad at the strt of the ep to see if nancy is there. like we never see steve's parents ever and the call is never referenced by steve later (i dont think). We never find out if they're upset/happy that Steve potentially has a girlfriend even though we know steve and nancy spend a lot of time together. I would love to know how accurate the complete asshole dad that fanon has made is. obviously steve calls him that, but for all we know hes compleetely normal and gets angry at steve for being irresponsible/hanging out with assholes. anyway

[magical-reid]

Between the Lines (Part 1)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 5.4K

Hawkins High’s cafeteria was a battlefield. Jocks and cheerleaders occupied the best real estate, their laughter bouncing off the walls, while the outcasts huddled in their usual places, dodging judgmental stares. You, however, had perfected the art of blending in—head down, nose in a book, quietly existing on the fringes where no one paid much attention.

Or at least, that’s how it used to be, until Eddie Munson had noticed you.

It started small. A few glances from across the room, his dark eyes flicking toward you whenever he was in the middle of an exaggerated monologue for Hellfire Club. Then came the nods in the hallway, casual, like he was acknowledging an old friend instead of someone who barely spoke.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you sat behind him in English, quietly scribbling notes while he ignored assignments in favor of doodling song lyrics in the margins of his notebook. Maybe he saw you watching his campaign speeches in the cafeteria, not judging like the others but listening, even if you never had the courage to join.

Or maybe Eddie Munson was just the kind of person who noticed people that the rest of the world ignored.

“Y/N, right?”

Your brain short-circuited. Eddie was standing in front of you, talking to you.

You had been preparing to leave the library when he appeared like some chaotic apparition, rings glinting as he drummed his fingers on the table. The question was casual, like he wasn’t shattering your entire routine by acknowledging your existence.

“Uh—yeah.” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted, and you mentally kicked yourself.

Eddie grinned like you’d just said something hilarious. “Knew it. I don’t forget a face.”

That wasn’t true. You’d heard him confidently call Dustin “Darwin” once and insist Steve Harrington’s name was actually “Stan.” But you let it slide, because your brain was still stuck on the fact that Eddie Munson was talking to you.

“You’re in Ms. O’Donnell’s class with me,” he continued, rocking on his heels. “You always look like you wanna be anywhere else.”

You did. English was a nightmare when participation counted, and your voice never seemed to work properly when put on the spot. But you hadn’t realized Eddie noticed.

“I, uh—I like the books,” you admitted, gripping the strap of your bag. “Just… not the talking part.”

Eddie’s smile softened. “Yeah, that tracks.” He cocked his head, studying you in a way that made your stomach flip. “So, if you’re into books, what’s stopping you from joining Hellfire?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I see you watching,” Eddie said, smirking as he leaned in conspiratorially. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re always listening when I’m giving my grand, Shakespearean-level speeches in the cafeteria.”

Your face burned. Had you been that obvious?

Eddie’s grin widened at your reaction. “So, you like stories. You like fantasy. That tells me you’d probably love Dungeons & Dragons.” He paused, then added dramatically, “And yet, you never come sit with us. Tragic, really.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, struggling to find words that wouldn’t make you sound ridiculous. You had thought about it. More than once. But joining Hellfire meant attention, meant speaking up, meant being looked at. And that terrified you.

Eddie seemed to sense your hesitation because his voice turned softer, teasing but not unkind. “Tell you what—I won’t force you. But if you ever get tired of being a background character, there’s a seat at the table for you.”

You swallowed hard.

A part of you wanted to say no, to retreat back into the safety of anonymity. But another part—the part that secretly loved fantasy worlds and the idea of being part of something—held onto Eddie’s words a little too tightly.

Because Eddie Munson had noticed you.

And maybe… just maybe… you wanted to be noticed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You thought maybe Eddie would forget.

People talked all the time—offhand invitations, casual offers that didn’t really mean anything. You figured that’s what his words had been in the library. A moment of whimsy, a fleeting thought from someone who didn’t actually expect you to take him up on it.

But Eddie Munson wasn’t most people.

So when Friday rolled around, when Hellfire Club took over the cafeteria for their weekly game, Eddie saw you.

You were sitting in your usual spot, book open but unread, fingers fidgeting with the worn edge of the page. You could hear them—the boisterous laughter, the dramatic voices, the excitement of a world unfolding in dice rolls and storytelling.

And then, his voice.

“Still in the background, huh?”

Your stomach flipped before you even looked up. Eddie was standing in front of you again, hands braced on the table, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You blinked, unsure what to say. You hadn’t expected him to follow up.

“Not even a little curious?” he pressed, tilting his head, his curls falling into his face.

You hesitated. Of course you were curious. But curiosity meant risk—meant walking into a world where you couldn’t just blend in, where you’d have to speak, to engage.

Eddie, as if sensing your internal debate, softened his approach. “Alright, new deal. No commitment, no pressure. Just come watch. Sit at the table, listen in. You don’t have to say a word.”

Your fingers tightened around your book.

It was a trap. A cleverly disguised one, because you knew Eddie wanted you to speak, to participate. But the offer was tempting. No pressure. Just watching.

You exhaled. “Just watching?”

Eddie grinned. “Scout’s honor.”

You seriously doubted Eddie Munson had ever been a Scout, but still…

You nodded.

His eyes lit up like you’d just agreed to marry him. “Hell yeah, okay—come on.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, Eddie grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the Hellfire table. His rings were cold against your skin, his grip firm but not forceful, like he half-expected you to change your mind and run.

You didn’t.

Instead, you let him pull you into the chaos.

Dustin, Mike, Jeff, Gareth—faces you recognized but had never spoken to—glanced up in mild surprise as Eddie dragged you into a seat beside him. “Alright, gentlemen, we have a guest,” he announced, spreading his arms like he’d just unveiled a great prize.

Dustin looked delighted. “You recruited someone?”

“Not recruited,” Eddie corrected, slinging an arm over the back of your chair. You tensed at the proximity, and he must have noticed because his voice dropped into something softer. “Just watching tonight.”

The others accepted this without question, diving back into their game, and you found yourself quietly observing as their campaign unfolded. The excitement, the stakes, the way Eddie controlled the room with his voice alone.

And maybe, just maybe, you started to see what he saw.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just watching from the outside. You were there, included, and Eddie Munson had made sure of it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You hadn’t meant to come back.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the next Friday, when Hellfire Club met again, you found yourself hovering just outside the cafeteria doors, heart hammering, fingers twisting in the fabric of your sweater. You weren’t sure why you were hesitating.

Eddie had invited you. No—more than that. He had wanted you there. And nothing bad had happened last time. No one had forced you to speak. No one had laughed at you.

So why were you so nervous?

You were debating whether to turn around and flee when—

“Well, well, well. Look who’s lurking.”

Your stomach flipped. You knew that voice.

Eddie.

He was leaning in the doorway like he’d been waiting for you, dark eyes filled with mischief, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—too warm for that.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Eddie chuckled. “Y’know, for someone who’s really good at making herself invisible, you are terrible at sneaking.”

You huffed, heat creeping up your neck. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

His grin widened, like he was delighted to hear you defend yourself. “No? What were you doing then?”

You hesitated. “…Thinking about coming in.”

He tilted his head. “And what’s stopping you?”

You bit your lip. Everything. The usual anxieties, the weight of being seen, the fear of looking ridiculous. But saying that out loud felt impossible.

Eddie, as if sensing your internal war, took a step closer. Not enough to be overwhelming—just enough that his voice dropped into something softer, something meant just for you.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, his tone light but real. “It’s just a game. Just us nerds sitting around a table, rolling some dice. No stakes. No pressure.”

You wanted to believe that.

And yet—

“You’ll sit next to me again,” Eddie added, like it wasn’t a question but a promise. “I’ll help you if you want. And if it sucks, I’ll personally walk you out and never bother you about it again.”

Your heart clenched.

It was such an Eddie thing to say. Loud and dramatic and yet… sincere. Because he meant it.

And somehow, that was what made you move.

You swallowed hard, then nodded.

Eddie lit up like you’d just made his entire week. “That’s what I’m talking about. Come on, shy girl, time to throw you into the fire.”

He didn’t grab your wrist this time. Just walked beside you, slow enough that you could change your mind if you wanted.

You didn’t.

The guys greeted you like last time—Dustin practically beaming, Mike offering a nod, the others grinning like they had already accepted you as part of the background.

You liked that.

You sat down next to Eddie, your pulse still racing, fingers tightening around the hem of your sweater. The energy around the table was different tonight—higher stakes, more tension.

“Perfect timing,” Eddie declared as he sat down beside you. “We’re entering the final stretch of tonight’s campaign. And you—” he tapped a ringed finger on the table in front of you “—are going to roll for us.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “One roll. No character sheet, no stats—just luck. Our fearless warrior here—” he gestured to Dustin “—is in a tight spot. He needs backup. So, we’ll leave his fate in the hands of the newcomer.”

Your palms started sweating. Everyone was watching. Waiting.

Eddie saw your hesitation and leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “You got this. Just pick up the die and let fate decide.”

You took a shaky breath. Then, before you could overthink it, you reached out and grabbed the twenty-sided die in front of you. It was cool in your palm, heavier than you expected.

You let it roll.

It bounced across the table, spinning, spinning—

Then landed.

A natural twenty.

The table exploded.

Dustin shot to his feet. “Are you kidding me? That was a critical hit!”

Mike groaned, throwing his hands up. “She’s got beginner’s luck!”

Even Jeff and Gareth were laughing, clapping their hands as Eddie threw his head back, cackling like a maniac. “Oh-ho-ho, I knew it! I knew you had it in you!”

You blinked at the die, then at Eddie. “…That was good, right?”

Eddie grinned so wide it was blinding. “Good? That was legendary.”

And for the first time that night—maybe even the first time ever—you felt it, the feeling like you belonged.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Something was wrong.

You felt it before you understood it—an unspoken shift in the air, like the entire town of Hawkins had been holding its breath. It started small. Missing posters appearing overnight, whispers of kids seeing things that weren’t there, an electricity in the air that made your skin prickle.

Then Chrissy Cunningham died.

And Eddie Munson disappeared.

You heard the rumors before you heard the truth.

Murder. Occult rituals. Hellfire Club being a satanic cult. The kind of garbage Hawkins thrived on, spinning stories to explain away the things it couldn’t understand.

But you knew Eddie.

You knew the boy who noticed people when no one else did, who made space for you at his table without asking for anything in return. The boy who smirked at your shyness but never mocked it, who pulled you into the fire without letting you burn.

And there was no way Eddie Munson was a murderer.

Which was why, when Dustin Henderson pulled you aside between classes, frantic and breathless, you didn’t hesitate.

“You trust Eddie, right?” he asked, gripping your arm, eyes darting around like someone might be listening.

“Of course,” you said, heart pounding. “Where is he?”

Dustin hesitated. Then, after a sharp exhale, he said, “Come with me.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie was hiding in Reefer Rick’s boathouse.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max had already found him, but now it was a waiting game—figuring out what the hell was happening, what had killed Chrissy, and how to keep Eddie from getting thrown in jail for something he didn’t do.

You barely had time to process before you were climbing through a boatyard window, heart in your throat, stepping into the darkened boathouse where Eddie was pacing like a caged animal.

He looked different. Smaller, somehow. His usual bravado was missing, his eyes wide and darting like he was waiting for someone to kick down the door and drag him away.

But the moment he saw you, he froze.

“…Shy girl?”

Your chest ached at how raw his voice sounded. “Hey, Eddie.”

He blinked like he wasn’t sure if you were real. “What—why—?”

You stepped closer before you could second-guess yourself. “Dustin told me what happened. I don’t believe any of it.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath. His shoulders slumped, just slightly, like he’d been bracing for you to look at him differently.

“You should,” he said, voice hollow. “You didn’t see what I saw.”

He told you then.

About Chrissy. About the impossible, horrific way she died. About the thing that had killed her—something wrong, something that shouldn’t exist.

And you believed him.

Because this was Hawkins. And in Hawkins, monsters were real.

You sat down beside him, slow and careful, like approaching a spooked animal. He looked exhausted—shaken down to his bones.

“You’re not alone, Eddie,” you said softly. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Eddie let out a wet, breathy laugh. “Shit. Never thought you’d be the one telling me that.”

You smiled, just a little. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time since you walked in, something in his eyes steadied.

He swallowed hard. “…That a bad thing?”

Your pulse jumped.

You weren’t sure how to answer, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like running away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t leave, maybe you should have. Maybe it would’ve been safer to let the others handle this, to go home and pretend that Eddie Munson wasn’t sitting next to you in the dark, shaking from something that had shattered his entire world.

But you stayed.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the way he looked at you—wide-eyed and uncertain, like he was afraid you might vanish—or because, for once, you weren’t afraid to be seen.

Eddie had spent weeks pulling you out of your shell. Maybe it was your turn.

Outside, the others were whispering, trying to piece together what was happening to Hawkins. But in here, in this dimly lit boathouse where the air smelled like damp wood and old cigarettes, it was just you and Eddie.

He ran a hand through his tangled curls, exhaling sharply. “So, uh. What’s the verdict?”

You frowned. “On what?”

“Me,” he said, glancing at you sideways. His voice was forced light, a poor attempt at humor. “You sticking around because you believe me, or because you think I need a babysitter?”

Your chest ached at the way he said it. Like he was bracing for you to say the wrong thing.

So you answered carefully.

“I’m here because I want to be.”

Eddie went still.

His fingers curled against his knee, the rings glinting in the dim light. You had never seen him like this before—quiet. Uncertain. Eddie Munson filled spaces with his voice, his energy. But now, he just sat there, studying you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

“That’s new,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You swallowed hard. “What is?”

“You,” he said, tilting his head. “Not running. Not hiding.”

You hesitated. “You never let me.”

Eddie’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but for once, he didn’t. He just… watched you.

A strange, fragile thing settled between you. Something delicate, something that hadn’t been there before.

But before either of you could break it—

Thud.

You both jolted.

The noise came from the lake outside, something heavy moving through the water.

Dustin’s voice cut through the quiet. “Shit—guys, something’s out there.”

Eddie tensed beside you. His hand brushed yours—instinctive, unthinking—but it sent a jolt up your spine all the same.

You barely had time to process it before the world turned upside down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first thing you felt was Eddie’s hand gripping yours.

It wasn’t a hesitant touch, wasn’t careful—it was instinct, a desperate hold on to me as something big, something wrong, churned beneath the surface of the lake outside.

The others were scrambling, Dustin pulling at the tarp-covered windows, Max whispering a frantic what the hell was that? But all you could focus on was Eddie.

His fingers were locked around yours, cold from fear and the damp air, his rings pressing into your skin. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was holding onto you like that.

And you weren’t sure you wanted to let go.

Then the water exploded.

Jason Carver’s idiot friend—Patrick—had been out there, chasing after the other jocks. But now he was—lifted—yanked into the air like a puppet on invisible strings. His limbs snapped, his jaw wrenched open in a silent scream, and his eyes—

They caved in.

It was Chrissy all over again.

The second Patrick hit the water, Eddie yanked you back, shoving you behind him like he was the one protecting you. It was a ridiculous thought—what could either of you do against something like that?—but it made your throat tighten all the same.

Dustin swore. Lucas was shouting. And Eddie— Eddie was shaking.

His breathing had gone shallow, his entire body locked up. He looked like he was about to fall apart, like the walls were closing in on him.

And without thinking, without overanalyzing, you reached for him.

“Hey,” you whispered. Your fingers brushed his sleeve, just barely, but his head snapped toward you like you’d pulled him out of a dream.

His eyes found yours. Wild, frantic.

But yours were steady.

“You’re not alone,” you told him, voice firm despite the way your pulse was hammering. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, his breathing evened out. His fingers flexed like he wanted to hold onto you again, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded.

And that was enough.

Dustin’s voice cut through the tension. “We need to go.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist—not as frantic as before, but still firm, like he was making sure you were real—and pulled you toward the door.

And as the six of you ran into the night, you realized something:

This wasn’t just Eddie pulling you out of the shadows anymore.

This time, you were pulling him back, too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t stop running until your lungs burned.

Dustin led the way, weaving through the trees like he’d done this a hundred times before, Max and Lucas close behind. But you barely noticed them—your entire world had shrunk to the feel of Eddie’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip still tight like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers.

He only let go when you reached the edge of the forest, doubling over to catch his breath. His hands found his knees, his wild curls falling into his face, his breath coming out in short, frantic bursts.

You wanted to say something—to do something—but before you could, Dustin spoke.

“We need to get Eddie somewhere safe,” he said, glancing over his shoulder like he expected half of Hawkins to come crashing through the trees. “It’s only a matter of time before the cops start combing the woods.”

Eddie let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Great. Just what I need. Another reason for the whole damn town to be out for my blood.”

Lucas frowned. “We could take him to my house. My parents aren’t home.”

Max shook her head. “Too risky. Carver and his goons probably already checked there.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Steve’s house. His parents are home, but they’re clueless. He’s got a big basement—perfect for laying low.”

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Harrington? Seriously?”

Dustin crossed his arms. “Dude, do you have better options?”

Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it. He had nothing.

You hesitated. You’d been quiet this whole time, still rattled by what had happened at the lake, but you couldn’t ignore the tension rolling off of Eddie in waves. He was still breathing too fast, still shifting like he was barely holding himself together.

And something about it hurt.

“…He shouldn’t be alone,” you said softly.

Eddie’s head snapped toward you.

You felt all four pairs of eyes on you, but you ignored them. Instead, you focused on Eddie, who was watching you like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You swallowed hard, then pushed forward. “I mean—it’s just, you’ve been alone this whole time, right? Running. Hiding. And now you don’t have to.” Your fingers twisted in your sweater. “If we’re laying low, I can stay with you. Just until we figure things out.”

Eddie blinked, mouth slightly open, like his brain was buffering.

Dustin grinned. “That’s actually a great idea.”

Eddie made a strangled noise. “I—what—are you guys just making plans for me now?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Max smirked. “Welcome to the club, Munson.”

Eddie threw his hands up in exasperation, muttering something under his breath, but when his eyes flicked back to you, something in them softened.

You weren’t sure if it was the way you’d said he shouldn’t be alone or the fact that you’d offered to stay, but something shifted between you.

And despite everything—despite the fear, the danger, the unknown—he gave a short, tired nod.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But if Harrington tries to make me use his shampoo, I’m out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Steve Harrington’s basement was nicer than you expected.

It wasn’t dingy or unfinished like Eddie’s trailer—there was carpet, old furniture, and a couch that looked way too expensive to be shoved in a basement. But the best part? It was hidden.

Which meant Eddie could finally breathe.

You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as the others argued upstairs. Something about supplies, about Nancy and Robin meeting up with them later. You weren’t really listening.

Because Eddie was pacing again.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his rings catching the dim light. He’d been quiet ever since you got here, chewing his thumbnail, his movements jittery and restless.

You exhaled. “Eddie.”

He didn’t stop. “This is insane. I’m hiding in Steve Harrington’s basement. This is actually my life right now.”

You hesitated. “It won’t be forever.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You sure about that?”

No. You weren’t sure about anything.

But you hated seeing him like this.

So you did something you never would’ve done weeks ago.

You reached out and grabbed his hand.

Eddie froze.

His skin was warm, the metal of his rings cold against your fingers. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t planned it—just acted on instinct, pulling him back to you the same way he had done for you.

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and startled.

You swallowed hard. “You’re not alone, Eddie.”

His breath hitched.

For a second, neither of you moved. Your fingers were still curled around his, but you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

Then—slowly, carefully—his grip tightened.

Just barely. Just enough to hold on.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God. You really don’t scare easy, huh?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “I do. Just not around you.”

Eddie went still.

Something shifted. The air between you thickened, the weight of your words hanging there, unspoken but understood.

His fingers flexed against yours.

And then—

The basement door swung open.

You jumped, yanking your hand back as Steve clomped down the stairs, arms full of blankets. “Alright, Munson, you’re officially our problem now. Make yourself comfortable.”

Eddie didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching you like he was seeing you for the first time.

And something in your chest ached.

Because you both knew that something had changed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t sleep.

Eddie didn’t, either.

The basement was quiet now—Dustin, Lucas, and Max had left, Steve had finally gone to bed, and the house above you was still. The only light came from a dim lamp in the corner, barely illuminating the space between you and Eddie.

He was sitting on the floor near the couch, leaning back against it, one knee bent, fingers twisting at his rings. You were curled up on the cushions, pretending to read a book you’d found on Steve’s shelf.

You weren’t actually reading it.

Because Eddie was acting weird.

Not loud, not animated, not filling the silence like usual. He was… watching you. Not constantly, not in an obvious way, but in these small, flickering glances, like he was trying to figure something out.

And it was killing you.

Finally, you broke the silence. “You’re staring.”

Eddie startled slightly, caught in the act. “Uh—what? No, I’m not.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat, shifting. “Okay, maybe I was. But only ‘cause I’m still trying to wrap my head around something.”

You hesitated. “What?”

His fingers drummed against his knee. He didn’t answer right away, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud.

Then, finally—soft, careful—

“You stayed.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You could’ve left,” he said, watching you intently now. “Back at the boathouse. When you found out what I’d seen, what was happening—you could’ve run. Hell, most people would’ve. But you didn’t.”

Your throat tightened. “Neither did you.”

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t really have a choice, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent something warm through you, but you ignored it. “That’s not true,” you said, voice softer now. “You could’ve run from us. Stayed hidden. But you didn’t. You let me find you.”

Eddie’s expression flickered. Like that hadn’t occurred to him.

Silence stretched between you. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken.

Then, he exhaled.

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is weird, right? Like—weird weird?”

You frowned. “What is weird?”

He hesitated. Then—“Us.”

Your breath caught.

Eddie must’ve seen something in your face because he backtracked immediately, hands flailing. “Not weird bad! Just—not what I expected? Like, I thought I had you figured out—shy, quiet, probably wanted nothing to do with a guy like me—and then boom, you’re here, riding this whole nightmare out with me, and I’m just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s messing with my head.”

Your heart was pounding.

Because you felt it too.

This thing between you. The way it had shifted, deepened. The way Eddie was looking at you now—not just like you were a surprise, but like he was seeing you differently.

Like he didn’t want you to be just another quiet observer in his life.

Like he wanted more.

You swallowed hard. “Eddie.”

He went very still.

You could feel the air shift again, thick and warm, something dangerous curling between you.

If you said something now, if you acknowledged it—

The line would be crossed.

But before you could open your mouth—

The phone upstairs rang.

Eddie jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

Then, almost immediately, he was on his feet, shaking off whatever had just happened like it hadn’t stolen the breath from both of you. “That’s probably Henderson. We should—uh—we should see what’s up.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But as Eddie jogged up the stairs, leaving you standing there, hands curled into fists—

You knew that this wasn’t just in your head, and you knew that Eddie felt it too. And sooner or later, one of you would have to stop running from it.

Part 2

[denim-mixtapes]

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan. 

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb. 

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least. 

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss. 

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”  

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!” 

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name. 

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it. 

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor. 

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. 

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime. 

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar. 

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down. 

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it. 

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.” 

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?” 

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?” 

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.” 

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.” 

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside. 

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty. 

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?” 

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?” 

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.” 

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.” 

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.” 

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.” 

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls –  so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee. 

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.” 

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.” 

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room. 

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.” 

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.” 

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.” 

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully. 

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–” 

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!” 

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway. 

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks. 

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?” 

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.” 

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.” 

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. 

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?” 

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes. 

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight. 

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are. 

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests. 

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake. 

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him. 

[fictionalthrill]

A Stranger Valentine: Steve Harrington One-Shot

A/N: Greetings! So here it is! After a very long hiatus, I'm finally back with a little one-shot for Steve Harrington. It is my first in a while and I hope it won't be my last. I'm a little nervous about it, but I might as well just stop overthinking and go for it. And oddly enough, this just so happens to be my blog's 7th anniversary! I hope you like it!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Description: Steve puts himself out there on Valentine's Day. (3292 words)

WARNINGS: FLUFF!

Love interest: Reader

         It was a nice, breezy, and all together, regular day in Hawkins. A somewhat busy Monday for some businesses, including the Family Video. Customers had come and gone. The shelves ripped apart; most rentals gone by the evening. Surprisingly, things had died down for a bit, giving Steve and Robin a breath. The bell at the door rang as a couple of customers exited, giving way to Dustin.      

         “Hey, Robin!” He greeted. 

         “Hey, nerd.”

         “I don’t take that as insult, no matter how many times you call me it,” Dustin said.

         Steve then appeared from the back room. “Okay Robin, make a note, we are out of When Harry Met Sally, Flashdance, Splash, Footloose, Sixteen Candles, and Back to the Future. I just went over some inventory and those are the ones most asked for and the ones we are out of for now.” He glanced over the counter. “Sup, Henderson?”

         “Do you have The NeverEnding Story?”

         “On a school night?” Steve said as he stood behind the counter. He reached for the bin of returned movies while he looked at his young friend.

         “Yeah, Susie and I are gonna watch it together on Valentine’s Day while we talk on the phone.”

         “You are guys are so weird,” Robin said.

         “Those are your Valentine’s Day plans?” Steve asked.

         “Well, there really isn’t much to do at a distance. Plus, it doesn’t help that Valentine’s Day is on a Wednesday this year.”

         “Right. Also, Valentine’s Day is two days away, why are you asking about the movie today?”

         “The NeverEnding Story is a beloved film. It could just as easily be on your little list of out-of-stock movies.”

         “Doubtful,” Robin said.

         Out of nowhere, a VHS box fell to the ground. The sound earned the attention of the trio by the counter. Then, a hand was raised from behind one of the shelves.

         “Sorry, that was my bad.” Someone’s voice rang. Their head poked up as well. 

         “You’re good,” Robin responded.

         Steve failed to tear his eyes away. He watched as the girl continued to scan the films, while she enjoyed the music that played on her Walkman. Steve was pulled out of his trance by Dustin who snapped his fingers in his face.

         “Hellooooo!?”

         “What? What?”

         Dustin looked between the shelves and Steve. “You really shouldn’t stare, Steve. It’s rude.”

         “I often tell him,” Robin said as she flipped through the pages of a magazine she usually hid behind the counter.

         “I wasn’t staring,” Steve said.

         “Oh, you were just ogling at Y/N,” Dustin said. 

         Steve’s head snapped towards Dustin. “You know her?”

         “Uh, yeah, most people do.”

         “Huh? I could have sworn she just moved here.”

         “No, she moved back,” Robin added.

         “What you know them too?” 

         “Duh, dingus.”

         “How do you both know her, and I don’t?”

         “Probably because you were too busy being King Steve.”

         “Ugh!”

         “Yup! Y/N was in your year,” Dustin said.

         “How do you know anything about her?” 

         “She babysat Mike and I a couple of times.”

         “And you know her how, Robin?”

         “She tutored me in algebra.”

         Suddenly, Y/N made her way over to the counter with a couple of films in hand, cutting the trio’s conversation short. 

         “Okay, I think that’s enough browsing for the day,” she said as she removed her headphones. 

         “Hey, Y/N!” Dustin smiled.

         “Dustin Henderson? Look at you! You’ve gotten taller!”

         “And you’ve stayed the same.”          “Well, I think I hit my growth spurt too early and ran out quickly.”

         “It happens.”

         “Hi, Robin!” She glanced at Steve. “Hi, Steve.”

         “Hey, Y/N!”

         “Hi,” Steve said shyly. 

         Robin moved to the computer on the counter while Y/N handed the movies to her.

         “How long will you be renting these for?”

         “Um, you can put me down for two nights. Seems like you guys have been really busy, today.”

         “Yeah, it’s been oddly hectic for Valentine’s Day week.”

         “Oh, that’s right! Wednesday… is that why I couldn’t find a copy of Sixteen Candles?”

         “Oh?” Robin looked at Steve. “No, Sixteen Candles?”

         Steve shot Robin a disappointed look, realizing she never listened to him earlier. “Yeah, sorry. We’re all out of that one…” Steve told Y/N.

         “No, worries. I just like to rewatch it every now and again.”

         “Sorry,” Steve said.

         “It’s okay.”

         “Okay, you are set to go,” Robin said as she slid the movies to Y/N.

         “Thanks. Well, I’ll see you guys around. Bye!” She locked eyes with Steve before she headed towards the door.

         “I don’t think I’ve seen you this off your game since our Scoops Ahoy days, dingus.”

         “Yeah, Steve, you were just there. Staring. Again!”

         “What did you guys expect me to do with you two here?”

         “Uh, act normal,” Robin said.

         “I did act normal. She wasn’t really interested.”

         “Maybe cause you were avoiding them.”

         “I wasn’t avoiding them. They clearly aren’t interested.”

         “I believe you just haven’t been trying hard enough,” Dustin said.

         “I second that,” Robin said.

         “When’s the last time you went on a date?”

         “Ha!” Robin exclaimed. 

         “What? It hasn’t been that long.”

         “It’s been a while. Actually, I don’t think you’ve dated anyone in the time that I’ve known you.”

         “Come on! It has not been long.”

         “Long enough.”

         “Whether that’s the case or not, maybe you should just try. Why don’t you ask them out?” Dustin said.

         “Because he doesn’t know how. He’s done nothing but stare at her each time she’s been in here.”

         “I’m right here, Robin. Besides, I helped her the second time she came in.”

         “You pointed to where the comedies were and practically ran away from her.”

         “Fine, so I’m a little off my game. So what?”

         “Maybe you just need to not think about it as much,” Dustin suggested.

         “What do you mean?”

         “Just ask her out. Let the words come out and don’t think about it too much or else you’ll psych yourself out.”

         “Can’t believe I’m getting advice from Henderson.”

         “Like that’ll work,” Robin commented.

         “You’re not really helping,” Dustin said.

         “Okay, how’s this for advice? Stop living in the past. You’re not the same Steve from high school, which means people don’t act the way they used to around you. The real world is different, and you are in it. So why don’t you just grow a pair and just ask her out! What’s the worst that can happen, that she says no? You’ve been rejected before, and you’ve lived. You’ll be just fine no matter the outcome.”

         “Uh… okay, thanks.”

---

         On Valentine’s Day, Family Video saw a lot of traffic from the moment it was opened. Girls came around in their little cliques and grabbed snacks to go with their choice of films like The Blue Lagoon, Endless Love, An Officer and a Gentleman, Flashdance, and more. These were also popular among the guys that strung along their girlfriends or the dates they had for the day.

         Steve had finished shelving some of the returns before he made his way to the counter. Things had died for a bit, so he took the opportunity to stock some movies before more customers showed up. This would leave Robin with the inventory in the back. When he went to check on her, he found her lying back on a chair, a magazine covering her face.

         “Of course,” he said.

         The bell at the door rang, and Steve eyed the monitors on the desk in front of Robin. The footage showed Y/N, as she made her way to the counter. Steve felt his heart rate increase. He took a deep breath and exited the back room, immediately coming face to face with Y/N.

       �� “Hey,” he greeted.

         “Hi!” Y/N said as she fished some movies from her messenger bag. “I’ve come to return these.” She placed the films on the counter.

         “Alrighty.” Steve reached for the films while he worked on the computer. He noticed two of the three titles: Cinderella and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Steve felt this was his time to make small talk. “Had yourself a Disney night?”

         “Hmm?”

         “A Disney night… Cinderella and Snow White?” He smiled nervously. 

         “Oh! Kinda. I had to babysit two little girls and as you can imagine they love princesses.” Y/N beamed.

         “Right. And if you baby sit boys, what do you usually go for?”

         “Easy. Star Wars. Or E.T. Dustin can testify to that.”

         “Classic choices right there.” He saw the last title: Grease. “I’m guessing Grease is more of a personal choice.”

         Y/N chuckled. “Yeah, you’re not wrong. I like to have one for myself for when the kids fall asleep.”

         “Understandable. Uh, that’ll be four-twenty-five.”

         As Y/N searched through her wallet for her money, Steve watched her for a moment. He took in her soft features and notice how delicate she looked. She pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to him. Steve charged the films and took out three quarters to give back.

         “No movies for tonight?”

         “Didn’t really have any in mind. Weirdly enough I got no calls to baby sit tonight. And I didn’t make plans so, right now   I don’t know what the rest of the day holds.”

         Robin’s words replayed in Steve’s mind. Grow a pair and just ask her. He thought. Now or never, Harrington.

         “Listen, since you don’t have any plans for tonight, would you…” he cleared his throat and continued. “Would you like to go see a movie? With me? Tonight?”

         “Oh… like on a date?” she asked.

         “Uh, yeah—Only if you want…”

         Y/N smiled at him. “What did you have in mind to go see?”

         Steve swallowed. “There’s this new movie coming out… Pretty in Pink…”

         “I’d love to.”

         “Really?”

         “Yeah. You had me at movie and now I’m even more excited knowing it’s to see Pretty in Pink.”

         Steve chuckled. “Great. That’s great. There’s a showing at eight. Can I pick you up at seven-thirty?”

         “That sounds perfect.”

         “Awesome, so I’ll see you tonight.”

         “I’ll see you tonight, Steve.” With that Y/N exited the Family Video. 

         Once she was out of sight, Steve couldn’t help but fist bump the air. It had actually worked. He asked and she said yes. Steve turned around and jumped when he noticed Robin just stood there.

         “Jesus!”

         She had a smug look on her face. “Told you so, Harrington.”

         “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

---

         Funnily enough, Steve had forgotten to ask Y/N where she lived. Luckily, Robin helped him figure it out. He arrived just as he had told her; seven thirty on the dot. He popped a breath mint in his mouth as he walked up to the door. He combed his fingers through his hair, adjusted the jacket he had on, and rang the doorbell.

         A minute passed before the door swung open to reveal Y/N standing opposite of him. Steve eyed her for a second before he swallowed so hard the breath mint went straight to his stomach. He could have sworn he heard Dustin telling him to stop ogling at the girl. 

         He snapped out of his daze. “Hey.”

         “Hi. You alright?” She asked.

         “Me? Yeah. I’m good.”

         She smiled. 

         “You look great, by the way. Uh, beautiful actually.” Steve noticed her cheeks grew warm. 

         “Thank you.”

         “Are you ready to go? I’m not rushing you, though.”

         “I’m ready.”

         “Alrighty, let’s go.”

         Steve moved aside as she stepped out and locked the door behind her. They walked together to his car, and Steve picked up his steps to beat her to the passenger side. He opened the door and closed it after she climbed in. Steve then marched over to the driver’s side. As soon as he got in, he started his car, and drove on to the movie theater. The ride started off a bit quiet with both parties rather nervous about the date, not that they’d confess anything to one another. Suddenly, Steve turned on the radio and the catchy beat of Daryl Hall and John Oats’ You Make My Dreams Come True, came through the speakers. Steve caught on to Y/N tapping her hands on her lap in tune to the song, and so he left it on that station. After that, the ride didn’t feel as long. Before they knew it, the song finished when they arrived. 

         Steve made sure to get the door for Y/N and together they strolled over to the ticket booth. Being a gentleman, he bought their tickets, and the pair made their way inside. Steve eyed the snacks counter and turned to Y/N at his side. 

         “Would you like any snacks?”

         “Uh, only you do.”

         “I could definitely go for some popcorn. We could share?”

         “Okay.”

         “If you want you can get us some seats while I get the snacks.”

         “Are you sure? I don’t mind going with you.”

         “Yeah. Movie will start here in a bit so were gonna see plenty of people filing in and before you know it, the good seats will be gone.”

         “Okay. I’ll see you inside.”

         “Yeah.”

         A few minutes later Y/N waved Steve over the minute she spotted him coming into the theater. Steve was hugging a bucket of popcorn while also holding a beverage on each hand. When he reached the seat next to her, Y/N stopped rubbing her hands on her upper arms and helped Steve with the drinks. She placed each one on the cup holders and Steve sat next to her. The lights dimmed and the screen slowly went on. Steve leaned a little closer to Y/N.

         “Are you okay?”

         “Yeah. It’s just a little colder than I expected, and I totally forgot my cardigan at home.”

         “Oh…”

         “Yeah, but it’s okay.”

         “Here, hold this.” Steve handed her the popcorn and proceeded to remove his jacket. He then extended it to her. “Take it.”

         “What? No, Steve. I couldn’t.”

         “You can. Take it, please.”

         “Steve…”

         “Please.”

         Y/N took the boy’s jacket. Steve wouldn’t say it out loud, but he loved how she looked in it, even in the dimmed theater. She warmed up immediately. 

         “Thank you,” she whispered. 

         “You’re welcome. Popcorn?” He whispered back. 

         “Yes, please. Thanks.”

         Steve handed his date the popcorn and kept a small handful. The film started and the pair got comfortable in their seats. At one point during the movie, their hands bumped into one another when reaching for the popcorn.

         “Sorry,” Y/N whispered.

         “It’s okay. Some good popcorn.”

         Steve shook his head as he watched the movie, the words echoing in his head. Some good popcorn? Idiot. 

         Mid way through the film Y/N slightly leaned her shoulder into Steve’s armrest. Steve took as deep breath and enjoyed the closeness. They would remain like that until the end.

---

         As the pair exited the theater along with the crowd, Y/N gushed to Steve about how much she enjoyed the movie.

         “I thought it was pretty sweet. Thanks for bringing me.”

         “You’re welcome.”

         As they strolled on over to the car, Y/N got a little closer to Steve. 

         “Why did you bring me?”

         “What?”

         “Why did you bring me to see this movie tonight? On Valentine’s Day?”

         Steve stopped in place. “Oh, I- uh, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

         She stopped as well and gazed up at him. “What?”

         He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, that I… that I… like you.”

         “That’s good. I like you too.” She grinned.

         “You do?”

         “I thought it was pretty obvious.” 

         Steve chuckled and nodded. He noticed a man at the street corner selling roses. Without saying a word, he started jogging towards the man. Y/N turned, and her eyes followed his figure.

         “Steve?”

         “One sec.”

         She watched as Steve got a rose from the man and jogged right back to her.

         Steve extended the rose towards her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

         She accepted it.

         He continued. “I didn’t make a big deal of it because it’s only our first date and I didn’t want to freak you out.”

         “I love it.”

         They continued on back towards Steve’s car, not that far apart from one another. When they reached the car, Steve being a gentleman once again, opened the door for her to get in. 

         On their way back, there was a soft love song playing on the radio, which they both enjoyed in silence. According to the host, it had been requested by some lovesick caller. They pulled up slowly to Y/N’s home, and Steve turned off the engine. As they sauntered to her door, Steve realized he didn’t want the night to end. Sure, he had been a bundle of nerves the whole time, but even then, he enjoyed her company and thought her shyness was just adorable. When they reached the door Steve stayed on the second step, while she stood at the top. They were at eye level this way.

         “Steve?” She said shyly. 

         “Yeah?”

         “How come you didn’t ask me sooner?”

         Steve took a deep breath. It was as if the date had only just begun again. “Honestly? I couldn’t muster the courage to ask you out.”

         “What changed?”

         “Robin gave me a harsh, but much needed pep talk.”

         “And how did you decide on a movie?”

         “It seemed like you love ‘em. I tried to hold Sixteen Candles for you cause you asked for it the other day. But then, I saw this movie had the same chick in it. So, I took a shot.”

         “Molly Ringwald.”

         “Huh?”

         “The actress you’re talking about. It’s Molly Ringwald.”

         “Right, yeah. That one.”

         She smiled. “Well, I’m glad our first date was on Valentine’s Day. It will stand out from any future one’s.”

         “Future one’s? You sayin’ you would go on a date with me again?” His heart was beating through his ears.

         She played with the rose she held in her hand. “Only if you want to. I wasn’t sure if you’d ask again.”

         “I do. I really, really do.”

         “Then it’s a date.”

         “Totally.”

         The two stood under the moonlight for another minute, as if waiting for something else to happen. However, nothing did.

         “Well, thanks again, Steve. I had a really great time.”

         “Me too.”

         “Goodnight, Steve.”

         “Goodnight.”

         Y/N smiled at the boy before her, one more time. She then turned to the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

         “Bye.”

         Steve waved softly at her and watched the door close. He stood there for a brief moment, kicking himself for not doing more to not bring the night to close so soon. 

         Suddenly, the door opened, and Y/N stepped in front of Steve in two quick steps. She placed a delicate hand on Steve’s right cheek, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his. 

         Steve was stunned. His hands slightly hovered around her, before they came down to settle on her hips. He pulled her in a little tighter, relaxing into the kiss. He felt a warmth between them, as he savored her soft lips. He could still taste the movie theater popcorn.

         After a moment, Y/N broke the kiss and took a step back. Steve’s eyes remained closed, and his hands lingered on her hips. He finally opened his eyes and gazed into hers.

         “Wow.”

         A giggle bubbled in her throat. She took another step back, but Steve couldn’t resist pulling her in by her hips and kissing her one more time. Steve broke the kiss on this occasion and saw as he had left her stunned this time around. As he gazed back at her, he watched as she began to take slow steps backwards into her home.

         “Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve.”

She then closed the door and lied her back against it, with a hand hovering over her lips. Steve couldn’t see this. Which meant she didn’t see him when he raised his fists in triumph. 

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Don't be afraid to let me know what you think! If you are interested in another Steve Harrington One Shot, I wrote one a while back. Here is the link:

[robinbuckleyluvr]

⊹˚˖⁺ dating robin buckley headcanons #2

masterlist | requests

Pairings: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

Summary: headcanons on how i think robin would be as a gf: asking out edition

Warnings: none

Notes: decided to do a part two on one of my old works while i wait for this fandom to revive fully

⸻⊱༺

robin would be awfully nervous before asking you out.

she would ramble on and on to steve... (who is fed tf up at this point)

for the sake of the post, by now its assumed you and her are aware of the romantic feelings you have for one another, just... neither of you have made any moves forward.

robin would come up with a plan to ask you out, planned down to the time of the day

therefore, when every day at 12:00 pm she approaches you as you're doing your job at family video & then randomly brings up something silly, you begin to get suspicious

12:00 pm on the dot for days straight.

robin would get her courage up, but at the moment of 'impact', she would freak out and burst out whatever she could think of.

"Hey! Hi! Nice... restocking you got there!"

steve would call her out for it as he drives her home, earning nothing from robin other than a few eye rolls here and there.

robin would go over her plan with steve over and over, to the point where steve can finish her sentences perfectly

"Seriously, Robin, all you gotta do is go for it man!"

"Wow! Really, Steve? I hadn't realized all I needed to do was go for it."

and finally, after 3 weeks of awkward 12:00 pm interactions and uncomfortable car rides, she 'went for it'

she approached you at 12:00 pm for a final time, her voice quiet and shy making sure no customers were around

she would begin by rambling about you, and how fun she found it to be around you as they worked, and even outside of work

she would then apologize for rambling, and then would begin to ramble again as she tried to explain why she was doing so

finally, she would pop the big question

"I guess, all I'm trying to say is, I like you. Yay! Right? And I hope you still feel that way for me too! If not then thats... cool. Kind of sad. Cool with me! I think. But either way, if you do feel that way, then maybe you would consider going out with... me?"

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Space Oddity, Part 1

A/N: In my ongoing quest to write more self indulgent reader inserts, I present to you: Weird Reader.

Sorry guys, but in school I played with the girls who pretended to be Warrior Cats, and ate lunch with guys who unironically did the Naruto run. The only thing separating me from this reader in this story is the fact that I mask in public and unmask at home.

[Chapter Two]

Tag List (please notify me if you want to be added!): @melodymunson , @ali-r3n , @amandahobblepot, @twihard28 , @hiimjulie @mothmans-left-buttcheek @writhingg @frombeyondthegravez @theold-ultraviolence

“You want me to play D&D with you guys?”

You watched with suspicious eyes as Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson nodded frantically, stirring the sweet, syrupy dessert of fruit cocktail in your lunch tray compartment. Staring at you was like staring at a taxidermy raccoon: you were dead eyed, but still positioned as though you could jump out and give someone rabies.

If he had been asked at gunpoint, Mike would have admitted that you were a last resort choice.

“Yeah…” Mike said cautiously, trying not to stare directly into your eyes.

Dustin smiled, leaning forward.

“You like D&D, right?” He tried, hopeful.

Everyone they had asked in Hawkins High had so far said no to subbing in for Lucas Sinclair, and Mike had balked at the idea of even thinking of asking you when they got rejected for the fifth time.

You were even worse than the freaks of Hawkins High. The collective student body had come together as one to declare that you were a weird, mean bitch.

“I like what I’ve heard of it…” you mumbled, “I never played it before…”

Dustin’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really?” He asked, his geometric pattern button up nearly dipping into his open can of chocolate pudding, “Never ever? So you’d need to be taught?”

Before you could venture an answer, Mike pulled him back.

“Could you-… Could you just excuse us please? Thank you.”

You nodded slowly while Mike dragged Dustin away to a corner of the bustling lunchroom. While they conversed in hushed whispers, you sat there alone, the students sharing your space giving you a wide berth at the head of the lunch table.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Mike hissed at Dustin, “You’re going to ask The Bitch to play, and she’s never even played D&D before?!”

Mike knew the stories. Robin had once asked to borrow a pencil from your jubilee of pens you kept in the pocket of your shortalls. Reluctantly you agreed, and then you had a meltdown when she took the flat contractor’s pencil with the He-Man sticker on it.

Steve had told any of The Party who would listen about his encounter: even Eleven could perfectly recite the story about the weird girl who had flat tired Steve in the hall every day at 9am when he walked by Mrs. Click’s class, ruining the backs of his brown suede moccasins so often that his mom stopped replacing them after a while. His description of the perp matched you exactly.

Even Mike on his first day of school had been subject to your oddities. A casual lunchtime stroll found him tripping over a trap, made of plastic milk crates and dead branches you’d constructed by the football field. The encounter ended with him being subjected to your twenty minute screaming lecture on why it was rude of him to wreck the “houses” you’d made for the skinks that darted around the concrete walkways.

Mike Wheeler hated you because of reputation, but Dustin knew better than to fall victim to heresy. He had seen the drawings of dragons, daleks, dinosaurs, wolves and mermaids on xerox paper you had left behind once in the lunchroom.

When he found you to give them back (you didn’t say thank you), he’d been gifted with a drawing a day later in his locker: a very detailed Spock giving the Vulcan salute, “Live Long and Prosper” written underneath in bubble letters above your loopy cursive signature. He still kept it taped to his Geometry folder.

“Dude, yes! Chill out!” Dustin hissed back, looking at you fondly from a distance, “You remember what Eddie said? ‘Find the little lost sheepies that need us’. Look at her, man. Doesn’t that scream little lost sheep to you?”

They turned to look at you simultaneously. After looking both ways to check the coast was clear, you commandeered Dustin’s abandoned chocolate pudding. Spooning the syrupy peaches, pears, pineapple, and single half of maraschino cherry of your fruit cocktail inside, you mixed the chocolate and fruit together.

A slick, probing tongue lathed up the leftover pudding, spoon licked clean before you tossed it vaguely into an indignant girl’s creamed corn. Her mouth opened and shut like a trap. Obviously she was too afraid to yell at you while you were armed with chocolate.

With great relish you began eating your concoction with your fingers.

Mike grimaced while Dustin just laughed.

“She’s perfect.” Dustin gushed, “And you should see her drawings, they’re badass!”

“Just because she’s a gross weirdo who’s good at drawing doesn’t mean she knows jackshit about tabletop games!” Mike growled, nearly gagging when he saw you mop up the leftover pudding in the can with your bread roll, “You bring a beginner into Hellfire Club, Eddie’s gonna blow a goddamn gasket! He’s already on the warpath because of Lucas’ championship game tonight, can you imagine what he’ll do when we bring in The Bitch?!”

“Mike, relax. Eddie’s not going to know she’s a novice. Everyone still flips through the handbook, they won’t notice if she does it. We’ll give her a crash course—I’ll let her borrow the Player’s Handbook— she can come in looking like she at least knows the basics. And if Eddie does get pissed we can just… y’know… ease him into the idea that a succulent babe wants to play with him.”

Dustin made the shape of a curved figure with his hands, while Mike looked ready to punch him in the groin.

“You think he’s going to fold for a fat girl?” Mike snarled.

“… Shut up Mike,” Dustin said, immediately protective of you, “He’s going to fold for a cute girl. Look at her! Soft arms, round face, thick thighs… Eddie’s gonna lose his goddamn mind, man! That’s like his ideal type.”

They continued to argue back and forth, finally coming to a grudging resolution when Dustin dragged Mike back by the shirt to your lunch table.

“If this goes to shit, I know where you live.” Mike hissed quietly.

“Shhhh!” Dustin slapped Mike’s arm before looking back at you with a dopey grin.

You were staring down both of them, eyes flicking from Dustin to Mike. The empty pudding cup can was sitting exactly where it had been once full before, but the pop top was gone, and you were pretending like you hadn’t just gone to town on an unholy concoction.

“I made a decision.” You said suddenly.

The two freshmen looked at one another, before leaning in closer. Mike looked skeptical, but Dustin’s grin was nearly splitting his face in half.

“I’ll play with you guys.” You said after a few seconds.

Dustin couldn’t help but fist pump into the air, nearly tipping over backwards on his chair while Mike just grimaced like he was about to puke. An imperfect smile with chocolate teeth flashed at the boys, and you were just about to speak when Mike stopped the party.

“Okay, listen… if you’re going to play, you’re going to have to put in the work, it’s not like playing Monopoly.” He said, staring you down, “This is serious shit.”

You closed your mouth, head tilting to the side.

“Oh… I thought it was like, making your own characters and pretending to be them and stuff.” You said.

“It is, but it’s a lot more nuanced than that. Our Advanced D&D campaigns are different. We play very combat heavy sessions, we use actual strategy in battle. It’s not a goddamn tea party.”

“And Eddie takes the rules very seriously…” Dustin chimed in, “So we’ll have to familiarize you with the basics.”

“Eddie!?”

Both boys jumped back as you banged your hands on the table, getting up close and nearly crawling on top over to them. The students sitting next to you collectively jumped, the metal legs of their chairs scraping and making a horrid screech against the linoleum flooring.

“You mean… you’re talking about Eddie The Freak, right?” You hissed under your breath.

“Eddie Munson.” Dustin corrected, frowning when you called him a freak, “He’s the dungeon master of our club… of Hellfire Club.”

Your eyes widened, and your chest began to rise and fall rapidly.

“You’re right though. That is the very same freak.” Mike cut in, lowering his pitch hoping that feeding into the negativity would scare you away, “He’s a dick to newcomers. You might get the boot if he finds out we brought you in without having any background knowledge of D&D.”

His words made you shrink back, looking at your lunch tray and the little mess of chocolate you’d unknowingly splattered on your clothes. Dustin could have killed Mike, while the latter just looked smug.

And then… you began to giggle.

“Okay…” you smiled.

“Okay?!” Mike and Dustin repeated.

Mike managed to speak up while Dustin was still picking his smiling jaw up off the floor.

“You’re sure you still want to play?” Mike asked, panicking as he pulled out all the stops to get you to quit, “Eddie is not a patient guy with new players, he’s going to rip you to pieces and sacrifice you to the devil!”

You nodded quickly, breathlessly hyperventilating.

“Yeah…! I… If Eddie Munson is running the game… I really wanna play.”

Dustin gave a high pitched giggle of his own and shook Mike’s shoulder, absolutely loving the way your face broke out into a goofy grin. You didn’t even flinch at Mike’s attempts to scare you.

“You got a thing for him or something?” Mike ventured cautiously.

“Yes.”

You answered so unabashedly, with no hesitation, that for a minute it actually endeared you to Mike. Who knew that The Bitch of Hawkins High was actually a human being with wants and needs?

“Wait… are you serious?” Mike asked.

“Uh huh…”

You giggled, biting your lower lip and covering your burning face.

“I think… I think he’s really hot…”

If they had been drinking Tab, they would have spit the liquid out all over you.

“You think Eddie’s hot?” Dustin wheezed.

“Yeah… um… I’ve had this like, monster crush on Eddie since I was in fifth grade. He did like, this talent show, and played the guitar real good, and he’s all loud— also he’s funny and crazy, and I think he’s got a real charming smile…”

The cadence in your already deep contralto was lilting into a mezzo soprano the more you talked about their sadistic dungeon master, and you were rocking side to side in your plastic chair while Dustin and Mike just watched you make a complete ass of yourself.

This probably would have turned into two hours of blabbing, had not Mike refocused you and Dustin and begun to actually lay out the basics of TSR’s Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.

No time to lose, back to business. If you were going to play with Eddie you had a lot of catching up to do.

They had a spare set of dice, and Mike helped you roll for stats as Dustin began to write out a crude character sheet for you based on your imaginative ideas.

“We can probably make you a character very quickly.” Mike said, flipping through his own Mead Composition notebook as he checked past characters that had died valiantly in battle, “I have one you can use. Barbarians are stupid easy for first timers since you’re just hitting shit with a sword-...”

“I want a character based on my story I’m writing!” You exclaimed, and then you subjected Mike to your brief (lie) synopsis of one of many witchy characters who was cursed by a dark goddess.

It took a lot of adjusting and words that held no meaning to you, like “Domain of Trickery” and “Cleric of Shar”. The two freshmen helped you settle on a character that would be deemed useful for Hellfire’s campaign, and made sure to force feed you every rule and spell that Gygax and Arneson had conceived for your chosen class.

True to his word, Dustin let you borrow the Player’s Handbook he carried with him at all times when the bell to conclude lunch rang out. You took it with promises that you’d give it back when you met them outside of the drama room later after school, already burying your nose in the pages when you walked off to your class.

The boys saw a different side of you that possibly no one else in the school ever had: a familiar side, a human side. A side that was brutally honest and sometimes a little mean, but just as vulnerable and relatable as anyone else.

A consensus had been reached during their shared English class: you were definitely weird, but actually pretty smart and imaginative. Possibilities of keeping you on as a permanent member were being discussed when Dustin and Mike found you hiding behind the lockers just outside the drama room around three pm.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

You shook your head, clutching your fat trapper keeper to your chest and handing Dustin back his Player’s Handbook.

“Eddie’s in there…” you muttered, chewing on the spine of your trapper keeper covered in duct tape

“Yeah, he usually gets there with Jeff, Gareth and Frank really early, to set up the map and the dice towers.” Mike nodded.

From the rectangular slat of a window, one could see Gareth and Frank meticulously setting up Jenga pieces and miniatures on top of a slab of butcher paper marked in sharpie, janky cindrilical tubes painted to look like castle towers were set up at each place at the table. The dice towers— fashioned from Pringles cans, cardboard, glue and paint— served as placeholders for each member.

Eddie and Jeff were deep in conversation, plugging in lamps and electric candelabras left over from the drama club’s last production of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Inside the mood was almost holy, reverent (or like Eddie liked to call it: a softcore porn on Valentine’s day mood), and the boys couldn’t help the eagerness as they went to the door.

You, however, stayed firmly planted behind the lockers.

“What are you doing?!” Mike hissed, “Come on! We’re gonna be late because of you!”

“I don’t wanna go in…!” You snapped back, suddenly shy.

Mike looked at Dustin, ready to destroy him, while Dustin tried to talk you down.

“Hey, hey! Come on, it’s okay. Don’t worry! You have a good character, and if you need help you can just sit with me and Mike-…”

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” You protested.

“I swear to you on my mother that Eddie is going to love you.” Dustin said, trying to calm you down, “You’re great. You actually came with a character to play, and he’s going to be so happy that a girl is showing interest in his hobbies.”

You were about to turn tail and leave when you felt an iron grip around the meat of your bicep, pulling you forward with an unnatural strength born entirely of Nerd Rage.

“Oh hell no!” Mike said, pulling you kicking and protesting towards the door, “You’re not doing this to me right now god dammit! You’re going to get your ass in there, and you’re going to play! I didn’t sit through lunch listening to your weird edgy character backstory just so you could pussy out at the last minute! Now get your ass. In. NOW!”

With a harsh shove, you flew into the drama room – tripping on your own two feet trying to catch yourself – and spilling the contents of your trapper keeper all over the ground. Strong hands caught you before you face planted into the floor, holding you steady.

“Easy, easy!” Called out a familiar voice, “Goddamn... What the hell was that for, Mike?! You could’ve broken her nos-…”

Eddie Munson’s voice trailed off, and the boys watched as their fearless leader, their metalhead bard, began to stare open mouthed slack jawed at you.

“You told us to find a lost sheep.” Mike snarled, “So here she is.”

Dividers by @strangergraphics-archive

[abysstrap-ran]

❖ A Rose by Any Other Name Ⅰ

(Peter Ballard x Reader)

Tags: Fluff, Slice Of Life Length: 10.5k Series: Part Ⅰ of Forsworn

A/N: It got too big I had to split it into three parts...

Chapter Ⅰ / Chapter Ⅱ / As Time Ticks Down

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

When the world grows cruel and its thorns too sharp, Peter sought the one human affliction he thought he’d long since quashed at the hands of his captors— Comfort, and sanctuary.

If you had to choose a word to describe your time here, “monotonous”, you suppose, would be a fitting description. 

Despite knowing that it was technically what you'd signed up for, you hadn't quite known just how much it could potentially drive you up the wall months down the road. With your methodical approaches and propensity for the role, you'd signed on as the lab’s resident Archivist. 

It was routine work, mostly. And you were pretty good at what you did, too, if you had to say so yourself. They had been looking for someone to deal with their paperwork at the time, and while the astoundingly generous paycheck certainly raised a few eyebrows, not many people had actually signed on, probably due to it being a live-in position.

“So much for work-life balance.” You lamented as you signed your name onto the contract that would soon seal your fate.

You needed the job, so it was a pretty alright trade-off for the check. Despite having been employed by a research facility of all places, you weren't versed in the field of science, so most of the technical jargon that was usually being thrown around, both verbally and literary, all but flew over your head. Which was unfortunate, but you didn't really need to know everything anyway. Your job was simply to serve as their record-keeper, nothing more. 

It all sounded simple enough, until you were led into the room you were to be working in on your first day. They'd called it a file room, and you had been expecting others just like you to be present. Except… the room was empty, save for you and the lady who had brought you here.

Curious, you'd questioned the orderly that had been tasked with showing you around the place, only for her to admit with a sheepish look that you were the only in-house Archivist they had, as far as she knew. Which meant that you technically had the room to yourself while you worked. And as you stared slack-jawed at the copious amount of files that seemed to have been all but shoved into the room, you realized then, with mild horror, that you'd be here for a long while if you were to be the only one working through everything.

“Don't worry. It's not as bad as it looks, I'm sure.” She chuckled nervously, patting your shoulder in a comforting gesture before bidding you goodbye and leaving you to it.

‘With all due respect, ma'am. This is just as bad as it looks.’ You inwardly groaned at the overflowing shelves, but made sure to flash her a smile, thanking her kindly for her time while bidding her goodbye. 

Looks like you were in for a hell of a time here.

Thankfully, the other staff seemed pretty happy with leaving you to your own devices in the file room, which worked well enough for you. It was mundane and repetitive, sure, but it was soothing in a way that you couldn't quite explain. It kept your mind calm and your thoughts empty as you mechanically sorted through the files and reports. 

Quick and efficient, you'd set up an entire labelling system for easy archiving, even going so far as to future-proof it with additional subcategories before slowly working on getting their pre-existing digital records up to speed. And by the lords, you'd be surprised at just how much paperwork and backlogged documents, reports, and files Hawkins’ National Laboratory could generate, despite it being a private research center. Not to mention the new ones being produced every day…but that was a problem for future you.

While it did help speed things along for the most part, all systems came with their own shares of pros and cons. The con that came with the entire package was that, due to the sheer amount of backlogged work that needed to be handled, it had inevitably led to long sleepless nights while you toiled at it.

Coffee, you'd soon come to realize, was a lifesaver on such nights. And boy, were you glad that there seemed to be an endless supply of it in the pantry of the common break room, regardless of the time of day.

And the pro being that you were the only one who best knew how the newly-found filing system worked, so you were saved from having to deal with whatever else was going on in the lab. Namely, the children you'd seen occasionally being bundled into the Infirmary. Not all of them were willing patients of the nurse on duty, given the cries you'd heard in passing every once in a while.

You didn't question it at first, but it was starting to become a frequent occurrence in your first few weeks here. The constant influx of patients to the Infirmary, located a couple of rooms down, had led you to wonder on occasion whether the research facility you'd been hired to work in researched illnesses or something of a similar vein. You merely assumed they did. Why else would there be this many children in such an enclosed government-operated facility? 

However, the files you had gone through didn't mention anything about it, so you weren't too sure about that assumption.

Even so, not everyone had the honor of working with the children, especially in the rainbow room and beyond, given how strict Dr. Brenner was with whom the children under his care came into contact with. That, and the entire area was heavily guarded, so you didn't want to be anywhere close unless you absolutely had to. The armed guards didn't exactly do a good job at helping settle the uneasiness you felt at the security there constantly being dialed up to a ten.

You'd seen the kids, of course. You were a member of the staff, after all, so you had passed one or two of them on occasion. Especially when they were on their way in or out of the Infirmary, considering how the file room was conveniently located at the end of the same corridor.

You hadn't interacted much with them, however, save from maybe a smile in passing or two, but most of what you'd heard of them were from stories told by a fellow orderly whom you’d quickly taken a liking to, despite all his inherent peculiarities— Peter, who had taken to occasionally spending his short breaks in the file room after you'd found him in a corner of the break room shared by all members of the staff a few weeks into the start of your tenure here as the resident archivist.

He had been slumped over in a corner of the break room with his knees held close to his chest, curling inwardly into himself when you first saw him. You'd chanced upon him on the way to get your second pick-me-up of the day. 

Walking into the room that served as both the resting area and a common room, you made a beeline to the pantry, pouring yourself a much-needed cup of coffee to keep you going through the day. After taking a big sip of the rejuvenating goodness, you had happily turned on your heel, ready to exit the room as quickly as you’d come, only to stop short when your eyes landed on the wall opposite where you stood. 

A tall, lanky-looking blond was seated on the floor, leaning against the wall, hunched over in a poor attempt to make himself as small as he could despite his gangly limbs. His head was down, buried between his arms, but you could tell that he was the orderly that you’d often seen tagging along with the children. He seemed close to some of them, even. 

You wondered what he was doing all alone in the corner of the room. And as you glanced around the otherwise occupied room, you wondered why no one had approached the man by the wall. 

Catching the eye of another passing staff member, you inclined your head questioningly towards the guy by the wall, only to get a shrug in response. He’d promptly taken his leave then, picking up his pace as his figure disappeared through the door. 

Huh, that guy sure was in a hurry to be somewhere. 

Oddly enough, it seemed like everyone in the room was happy to pretend that the blond wasn't there. Surely it wouldn't hurt to check up on him, right? 

Figuring why the hell not, you made your approach, crouching next to him once you got within range.

“Hey, you alright there?” You called out.

You reached out to gently touch him on the shoulder when you saw that he didn't respond, only for him to jerk backwards so violently with his arms raised before him that it nearly knocked the steaming cup out of your hand. 

“Whoa— Hey!” You'd exclaimed as you tried to balance your streaming cup.

Okay, that was… not the reaction you were expecting. 

“Easy… I'm just checking up on you.” You held your free hand, palms up, towards him in a placating manner. 

That seemed to do the trick, as the tension seemed to seep from his frame. 

It took a moment before he slowly lowered his arms, ocean blue eyes narrowing through the gaps of the shadows that fell onto his face, and another moment before he registered the silhouette of you crouching awkwardly before him. It’d registered in his brain then, as he took in your form decked out in the same white attire as him, that you were probably just another orderly in the compound. 

He briefly recognized you as one of the handful of newer faces he’d seen around, but never cared to know— not that he stuck around to befriend his captors, anyway. Most of them had been here long enough that they didn't even want anything to do with him anyway, lest that sent Dr. Brenner breathing down their throats. You were a new hire then, he supposed.

What he didn’t know, however, was whether Dr. Brenner had sent you here to keep tabs on him, or if you were someone under his thumb knowingly or unknowingly, period. The break room might not have been under camera surveillance, but there were always people moving through this room in particular. Although with how willing you were to approach him… You were either new, stupid, or, better yet, both. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. He let his customary smile slide back onto his face as he addressed you.

“Hello, did you need something?” He asked amicably, giving you a smile so convincing that you’d almost bought it, had it not been for the telltale furrow in his brow.

You recognized the way he had been squinting his eyes earlier, almost as if the lights were too painful to bear. And the way he seemed almost as if he'd wanted nothing more than to meld and become one with the wall, if that were even possible. Anything to get away from the constant stimulation that pressed into his being from every angle.

Lowering your voice in consideration, you asked. “You don't look too well. Let me guess, migraine?” 

His smile tightened at the edges for a fleeting moment before it morphed into a faint grimace. Pressing his lips together, he grits out two simple words that almost sounded like a habitual response before moving to get up. “It’ll pass.”

He brought a hand to his temple, brushing the side of his hair backward as if the induced pressure would help relieve the ache, while you looked around at the bright lights that adorned the room. The clinically sterile palette on everything as far as the eye could see probably only served to make things worse for him. Why was he even here, in this room, if it’d caused him such suffering?

“I can't imagine all these lights doing you any favors.” You pointed out when he squinted at you again.

No, it didn't. But he didn't say that out loud.

“I could take you to the Infirmary? It’s not too far, and I’m sure they have painkillers on hand.”

“No.” He'd disagreed almost as soon as you voiced the suggestion, a frown marring his face. 

If he’d gone to the medical room, it didn’t matter what his ailment was. It could be a measly headache like the one he was currently suffering through, or a more contagious illness like influenza, and the nurse on duty would no doubt inform the good old doctor. It would only result in more tests being done, and he'd honestly had enough of being frequently poked and needled at in the past that he would gladly just avoid the place as a whole. Except when he had to bring the children in, of course. That was part of his job, so it was unavoidable, much to his chagrin.

He looked up at you in slight disgruntlement. The dull drone of conversation in the room was starting to get on his frankly frayed nerves, and having to deal with an active conversation was certainly not doing him any favors. Were you just here to disturb his peace by talking his ears off, or did you come here with a purpose in mind? 

No matter, he’d just make himself scarce. Problem solved.

Maybe he'd hide out in his own room in the staff wing. Surveillance be damned— they could watch him suffer. Or maybe they would even enjoy it, knowing some of those sick bastards.

His fingers itched, tempted to tap into his abilities to swat you away like one would an annoying fly. Except, he didn't quite have the luxury of his powers anymore. And it'd be rude to physically brush you off, too, when you were obviously showing concern over his well-being. 

Attempting to reach out for it felt like reaching into the abyss, and pushing past that, as he'd learnt, would only bless him with a head-splitting migraine in return for his efforts. So much for that, he supposed.

Funnily, your intentions seemed genuine enough, if the concern written all over your face hadn’t already given you away. It soon clicked that you weren’t just someone here to strike up a conversation with the only person who didn’t seem to be occupied with someone else. He'd pegged you as an oddity, instead settling on as simple a question as any. 

“Do you need something?” he queried.

You paused, not actually having given it any further thought. Since he refused to get checked over by the nurse, and was having trouble with light and sound sensitivity… The file room you were usually situated in seemed like an adequate solution. Despite being furnished with the exact same palette, the lights in the room were dimmer due to the lack of upkeep— they were due for a replacement soon, but that was beside the point. Plus, it was definitely much quieter than the hubbub here.

“No, but I think I may be able to help you.”

Oh? He raised an eyebrow at that, watching as you stood back up.

“Follow me. I know a place where it’d be easier on you.” You said as you inclined your head towards the door.

Easier? On him? Him, who has lived here for the better half of his life. In this place that was nothing but a glorified prison?

He would have scoffed in your face at how incredulous it sounded, if it weren’t for the fact that he had been sworn to silence. Not willingly, of course. Never willingly, for there was no free will in this place — only the fleeting illusion of it that Dr. Brenner deigned to give on an exceptionally good day, where he felt generous enough to give him some time off outside as a reward for good behavior.

Seeing that he was making no move to get up and didn't seem interested in providing you with a response either, you reached down to grab one of the hands resting on his knees to pull him up, only for him to visibly stiffen at the contact. 

‘Okay… not much of a people person, then.’ You surmised.

You’d released him as if you'd just been scalded when you saw how clearly uncomfortable he’d been, opting to just walk ahead and lead the way instead.

“Come on. You don't want that migraine to get worse, do you?” You prompted again.

Peter grunted in affirmation, slowly rising to his feet. He braces a hand against the wall to steady himself before dutifully following after you.

While your destination wasn’t far, it was still quite a walk away, considering the sprawling labyrinth that seemed to make up the place. The walk started out silent, for the most part. Your footsteps resounded in the corridor, and while you could hear him behind you, he had seemed a little unsteady after getting up. Hence, you couldn't help turning around to check on him every once in a while— every couple of steps, really.

Of course, the orderly himself had noticed your little looks. It was almost humorous to watch how you would pause every few seconds to turn back as if worried that you'd lose him, as tall as he was, somewhere along a straight path once you'd gotten a little further along.

This time, he met your eyes when you turned.

With a slight shake of his head, he let out a small laugh before wincing at the throb of protest in his head. “I’m not going anywhere, mind.”

Where else would he go, anyway?

Soon, you eventually came to a stop before the file room that essentially served as your office. Your eyes flicked up to the lights overhead as you pushed the door open, holding it open for him. 

“It should be better here, but I could dim the lights further if you'd like.” You stepped aside, gesturing for him to head on in.

“Huh. I never knew this place had a room like this.” He remarked, the lie passing off as naturally as a casual statement.

Peter did know that the room existed. In fact, he'd been here for so long that he practically knew the labyrinth that was Hawkins National Laboratory as well as the back of his own hand. What he hadn't known till today was that the room currently seemed to have a regular occupant— You. He was sure it had been unmanned before, serving as nothing more than a dusty storeroom for file storage. And it wasn't like the room had much to offer anyway. It was furnished with basic amenities like all the other rooms, but there was nothing of much value unless you considered sheaves of paper a point of interest.

Stepping inside, he could already feel the pressure behind his eyes easing up a little as he entered the dimly lit room. The considerable reduction of stimuli helped, and everything was much less glaring than where he’d previously been. But even when hindered by a head-splitting headache, he was nothing if not observant. 

The first thing he'd done upon entering was to do a quick visual sweep of the room, taking note of every nook and cranny. There was only one point of entrance, with no visible escape routes. There was an air vent, but it was merely an opening and was not viable for anything other than to serve its proposed function. One door, no window, an old clock on the wall. The lights overhead buzzed softly, but minutely enough that it could be written off as white noise.

The place was as sparsely furnished as it came, the only notable point of interest being the copious number of shelves that lined the room and the boxes upon boxes of files that sat upon the table alongside a computer. Finally, his eyes darted up towards the corners of the ceiling.

Alas, there it was — a camera, its black lens glinting menacingly in the light. A wrinkle formed between his brows when he'd spotted it, only to loosen up when he realized that it wasn’t powered on to begin with. It was unaccompanied by the usual red dot of light that blinked menacingly at him everywhere but the break room.

No one was watching this room. 

It was only then that the tension bled out of his shoulders. Shuffling over to a relatively uncluttered spot on the floor, shadowed by the shelving units, Peter sat down, his back resting against the wall, adopting a similar position to the one you’d found him in.

Placing your coffee down atop the table, you turned around, blinking at the odd sight that greeted you. A slightly puzzled expression crossed your face when you noticed him on the ground. You weren’t quite sure how and why he’d ended up seating himself on the floor when there was a table and a couple of vacant chairs just lying around. Surely the cushioned seats were much more comfortable than the ground?

“There’s a perfectly good table here, you know…” You pointed out, gesturing to him, that it was fine for him to join you at the table if he’d wanted to.

“I know.” Came the muffled reply. He’d buried his head in his arms again.

“And… perfectly good chairs that came with it?” You hinted, hoping that he’d catch your drift.

Peter raised his head once more, looking up at you before averting his eyes after a short pause. “I much prefer the floor, thank you.”

Easier to hide from the cameras in case the camera installed here gets activated. 

Whoever was looking in on the other end would have to look closer. And with all the clutter here, they would have to look twice as hard, and know what they were looking for.

Glancing back at him, you shrugged. He had his own reasons, you supposed, and you weren’t going to fight him over something as mundane as seating himself on a chair. Settling back down at the seat you’d claimed as your own by the table, you picked out a couple of files you were previously working on from the closest stack next to you and went back to data-logging.

Silence eventually fell over the room as you worked, with the exception of the click-clacking of keys, and the occasional rustling of a flip of a page. A few hours passed, and your impromptu companion had been so silent ever since he’d entered that you’d almost forgotten he was there. It wasn’t till you glanced up again that you caught sight of his silhouette from the corner of your eye.

You hadn’t heard a peep from him since you’d turned to your work. Had he just been there in the same position the whole time? 

Your fingers paused. Peeking over the top of your screen, you looked over to see what he was up to, only to find him watching the clock on the opposite wall in quiet contemplation, his hands still folded atop his knees. 

He’d noticed your gaze, of course. It had drawn him out of his thoughts, his eyes flickering to meet yours when he felt the weight of your gaze on him.

Oh. You froze. He'd caught you looking. 

You coughed, instinctively glossing over it with a simple but harmless question. “How's your head?” You asked. 

He made a noncommittal sound in response, leaving you a little at a loss. Was that an affirmative or a negative?

“Are you… Feeling better now?” You tried again, noticing how he now seemed slightly more comfortable being in his own skin.

That earned you a small hum of agreement. Progress, you suppose. 

You could feel the way he was sizing you up, as if trying to gauge your intentions. There was still a slight furrow to his brow, you'd noticed, so his migraine wasn't entirely gone, but you could tell that it seemed to be plaguing him a little less acutely than it did before.

Awkward silence lapsed as you both studied each other, trying to get a read on one another. However, the prolonged eye contact was also starting to get a little unnerving, so you were the first to look away, shifting your eyes back onto the file lying beside your hand.

Just as your eyes ghosted past the first sentence on the document, he broke the silence.

“Why did you help me?” He questioned warily.

His mouth opened as if he had something more to add, but he closed it shortly after, deciding to bite back the words that had been on his tongue. He knew full well that there was nothing for you to gain from helping someone like him.

“Do you need a reason to help someone? Besides, everyone seemed perfectly content to ignore you.” 

He regarded you for a moment before acquiescing. “No. You're right.”

He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he got up, you could tell from his expression that he definitely had something else to say, which made you press out of curiosity. “Did you do something for them to avoid you like that?”

A small huff of laughter left him as he replied, a tinge of bitterness lacing his words.

“Let’s just say I'm not usually the best person people want to be associating themselves with.” 

He could see the confusion on your face as you attempted to process that, knowing that he'd probably just left your question with more questions to be answered. However, he'd simply opted to brush past it. The less you knew, the better. Especially when he didn't know you per se. You were still very much a stranger to him— albeit a nice, helpful one.

He regarded you properly this time, his lips lifting into a small smile. “In any case, thank you for having me here, but I have a shift to attend to shortly, so I’d better go.”

Rightening himself and smoothing out the rumples in his attire, he moved towards the door and pulled it open, only to stop short just before he crossed the threshold, his hand resting against the doorframe.

Who were you, anyway?

He turned his head then, contemplating whether he should ask you directly about it. He was just about to voice the question when something glinting faintly in the light caught his attention: The metal clip attached to the ID card holder that all personnel here were required to wear when on duty.

His gaze slid to the card you’d left out on the table, registering the name and title that had been printed onto it. So that was what you were— an archivist, not a nurse. Seems like you weren't an orderly like him then, which would explain your “office”.

“You’re always welcome here if you ever need a quiet place—” You trailed off, realizing that you didn’t actually know his name despite having sighted him on the compound on more than one occasion.

Thankfully, he'd caught on.

“Peter. Peter Ballard.” He’d introduced himself before looking towards you expectantly, as if waiting for you to do the same.

Smiling, you introduced yourself to him.

“You’re always welcome here, Peter.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He nodded and bid you goodbye before taking his leave.

The door swung shut behind him, and that had been the end of your first encounter with Peter, but it wasn't long until you came into contact with him again. 

This time, he had been the one to approach you, knocking on your door approximately a week later, shortly after you’d reached your workplace yourself. Setting your files down, you moved to see who your early morning visitor was, only to be met with a familiar face. He seemed to be in much better spirits this time, to his credit.

“Peter.” You'd greeted him, surprised to see him standing behind the door, his hands clasped behind him.

He flashed you a disarming smile in return, slightly amused by the way you were blinking owlishly at his appearance. “Hello. You look surprised to see me.”

As he looked over your shoulder at the table, he wondered. Had you just clocked in for the day? Judging by the still steaming cup resting on the table, he assumed that that was the case.

“I wasn't expecting you here… this early.” You glanced back at the clock.

Sure enough, it was nine in the goddamn morning. Weren't breaks for the orderlies usually fixed at noon? Not that you would know, either way.

Peter’s eyes flicked up to check on the camera— no red light. It was off, just like the last time he'd been here.

“I am welcome here, aren't I? Anytime?” His eyes turned back to you, and he tilted his head questioningly as he emphasized the last word.

Yes, you remembered then; you did tell him that. Point taken.

“Of course. Feel free.”

Ushering him inside, you watched as he finally decided to make use of the chairs in the room. He’d taken to one of the empty seats by the table, away from the mess of files that cluttered the surface. No muss, no fuss.

You could see the difference in how he carried himself when he was no longer plagued by discomfort. He looked well put together today, standing tall with his head held high and an ever-present smile on his face.

“The day's barely started, Peter. What brings you here this early?” You questioned.

He raised a hand, holding two paper bags in a self-explanatory manner.

You paused. “Surely it can't be your break now, right?” 

“It is.” He replied, tipping one towards you in offering. “I got you one too, in case you didn’t feel like letting me in.”

Huh, so he was on break. But still, this early? Did he work the night shift? You gave him an odd look, but accepted the bag anyway. After all, what were you to say if the man himself said so? He certainly knew his own schedule much better than you did. And, again, you were a considerably new employee, so what did you really know? 

Plus… he’d brought you a bribe. A bribe. For entry? You had to actively bite back the laugh that had threatened to escape you at the thought.

You peered into the bag, wondering what he’d gotten you from the break room. Looks like sandwiches were on the breakfast menu today. 

“Thanks for breakfast, but I'm still not saving you if someone comes after you for skipping out on work.” You mumbled, setting the gift down before retreating back to the back shelf you'd been perusing before Peter had interrupted you.

He chuckled from his seat, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I'm a good boy.”

“Given your spotless track record, maybe they’ll let you off with a slap to the wrist?” You joked, eliciting an unsuspecting chuckle from him.

Now, wouldn’t that be a dream? Had he skipped out on work, his punishment would no doubt be far more severe than that, but of course, you didn't know that. 

He had about an hour or two to kill before his next shift, and while he was perfectly content with staring into probable space and enjoying the quietude while demolishing his sandwich… He let his gaze wander, settling upon the many files that occupied the surface of the table. Perhaps he should bring something to work on with him the next time he comes around, he mused. 

It was peaceful enough here that he wouldn't be disturbed. Not to mention that the file room was a much better choice than trying to do it in the break room.

He glanced in the direction of the shelves you'd disappeared behind and back at the files in front of him. 

You weren't here to stop him per se, but surely these weren't confidential or anything, right? If anything, he could just brush it off as mere curiosity if you came back and caught him red-handed. Even so, he'd seen his share of confidential files after his elevated status, and they always had a seal of some kind on them. 

Crumpling the paper bag after he’d finished with his food, Peter reached over the table and picked up a random file from the pile before him. He checked it front and back. There were no official seals on it, but he could tell that it was a pretty old file from how there were traces of foxing present on the cover.

He flipped it open then, starting to skim through the contents. The first thing he noticed was that the documents in the file were all timestamped and were mostly just what seemed like plain old research. While it was no concern of his, he wouldn't refuse the chance to find out more about what they were doing here, especially since he had been held here against his will for the sake of it. As he slowly got deeper into it, he wondered if this was what all the scientists were up to on a daily basis. At a glance, he’d spotted case reports, some snippets of news from the outside world, followed by some write-ups and notes from others.

He almost pitied them a little, if anything. All this research sounded terribly dull. He looked up again at the vast number of files the room held, a sardonic smile playing at the corner of his mouth. If this were to be their daily life, then it was no wonder why the scientists took such pleasure in carrying out experiments. The more the merrier. He’d grimly thought back to the times they’d pushed the other subjects too far. It’d been painful to experience, let alone watch as a bystander. And the orderlies would be left behind to pick up the pieces, as always. 

He didn’t care much for the other subjects, not quite, and not outwardly so. But even if he did, he couldn’t show it or risk facing the ire of his captor. But seeing the things that had been done upon him unto them made him wonder— to what end would these people go to achieve their purpose? A purpose that he still didn’t yet know, even after all these years.

Whilst in the middle of his thoughts, he’d unwittingly found his eyes darting back up to the camera that sat at the corner of the ceiling. It felt almost as if it were mocking him, with the way he felt the instinctive need to check on its activity every once in a while despite its dormant state.

In any case, it was awfully odd for a file room not to be under surveillance. He wondered if it was because they no longer had any real need for the documents stored here. Or was this place where outdated information was stored? He knew that the lab had been operational for a long time now, so it was a plausible reason. But if no one was watching this place behind the lens, then maybe… 

“I doubt you’d find anything interesting in those files. They’re mostly old documents.” An approaching voice snapped him out of his thoughts, causing him to look up.

You’d re-entered his field of vision with a new stack, catching him nose deep in one of the files you'd previously been working on.

“Thought I’d do a little light reading.” He shrugged. But you were right, this was dreadfully dull.

Setting down your new stack of files on the next closest unoccupied spot on the table, you seated yourself down opposite him.

“So, was the break room too packed for your liking or something?” You asked.

“Mm-hmm.” He hummed in response, perusing the contents of the last few pages with a renewed interest. 

It was not exactly a delight to read, but Peter wasn't one to do anything in halves. His eyes continued scanning through the pages of the random file he'd casually picked up. Deciphering the newfound knowledge, he'd concluded then that these were likely articles of research from a department far removed from the entire experimentation that revolved around his existence.

“Not much of a conversationalist, aren't you?”

He made another noise of assent, but seemed otherwise uninterested in your line of questioning as he flipped through the pages. 

Seeing that you weren’t about to get any workable answers from him, you shrugged, picking up a file from your own newly scavenged pile. You flicked through them, placing tabs as you went to pre-sort the bulk of data you'd just withdrawn from the shelves.

It took a while before he'd come to the end of the document in his hands. Snapping the file shut, he peered up at you from the other side of the table, watching as you slowly sifted through the papers. 

“And what are you up to today?”

You gestured to the table, where all your files were currently laid out. “I’ve got to get this mess cleared before the end of the week, or the higher-ups won’t be happy. What about you?”

“Children supervision duty.” He replied, reaching for another file. Hopefully, the next one will prove to be a more interesting read. He doubted it, though, given that the first recorded document that greeted him appeared to be yet another case research study.

You watched as he delved into another file without much ado. Meanwhile, your mind ticked away, as if trying to piece the pieces of an incomplete puzzle together.

Huh. From what you knew of children, they tended to be rowdy little gremlins. Maybe that's why Peter valued his peace during break times? Although you were pretty sure that the children in the lab were anything but a nuisance, given how oddly-behaved they were whenever you chanced upon them in passing.

Familiar silence fell over the two of you as time shuttled on until the time came for Peter to leave.

Shooting a glance at the clock, Peter set the file back down onto the pile and stood up from his chair— his time was up. 

“Well, I'll leave you to it then.” Bidding you goodbye, he was about to head to the door when you promptly stopped him.

“Wait.” You called out, grabbing his arm to stop him before he left.

Peter tensed at the contact, unable to help the instinctive reflex. Thankfully, you were observant enough that you'd immediately released him after realizing your mistake. 

Peter, as you’d quickly come to realize, seemed to be incredibly jumpy around physical contact. You chalked it up to him not liking surprises, but you weren’t too sure about that one, either, as with everything about him. With a muttered apology, you’d drawn up to his side, inclining your head at the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

Quickly catching himself, he asked curiously, then, more of an off-handed remark than anything else. “Where are you going?” It wasn't time for the afternoon break for the general staff yet, which he assumed was the category you fell under.

He watched as you lifted the empty cup that you’d already drained sometime during his time in the file room.

“Well, I’m headed to the break room for a refill. You?” 

There was a pause before he replied. “Class.” He'd simply stated before walking out the door with you at his heels.

Soon, you broke away from him halfway down the path once you’d gotten to the corridor that housed the break room. “Feel free to come by again!” You bid him goodbye and waved him off with a smile before disappearing round the corner.

He’d continued onward then, to the testing room he was assigned to for his shift. A thought flickered to life in his mind then, in a somewhat wistful note as he entered the room. And upon sighting the children lined up against the wall, he banished the thought, letting his mask of neutrality slip back into place as the voice he dreaded most slithered into his ears once more.

“Peter, if you would be so kind.”

—Perhaps he'd finally found No Man’s Land, a place where he could escape their constant gazes.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

Of course, he'd capitalized on that chance the next opportunity he got. You saw him again the next day, much sooner than you had expected. 

The blond orderly had been walking towards the file room while you’d been coming up from the opposite end of the corridor, having just picked up a new batch of files to be sorted into the digital archive after popping to the break room for fresh cups of coffee. 

Safe to say, your hands were full, and your schedule, even more so. You were slated for double shifts today, unfortunately. But you suppose it worked in your favor since you still had a backlog of files to digitize.

Peter perked up with a greeting as you approached, eyeing your haul. “Busy day?” 

You noticed that he'd come here today with a file in hand, looking slightly weary himself. Was that work? Guess you weren't the only one with an overflowing workload these days, then.

“You don't look too hot yourself. Mind fetching the door? You'll have to card it, though.” You asked, jutting your chin at your occupied hands before looking pointedly at the door.

He nodded, graciously carding both of you through with his security pass. He held the door, and while you both stepped inside, the lights flickered on as the door swung shut.

The room was the same as ever, although the copious amount of files that had been on the table yesterday seemed to be in a more organized and less haphazard state now, sitting in neat little stacks instead of the pile it had been when he'd left. You'd clearly taken the time to sort them after he’d left.

The camera, he'd noticed, was still out of service.

Setting your stuff down before the computer, you held up one of the cups you'd brought in, towards him in offering. “Coffee?”

Peter accepted it with a smile and a word of thanks. He then took a sip of the hot beverage, only to nearly spit it back out, a hissed curse coiling under his breath.

That shit was nasty.

“Ugh.” His face scrunched up in mild disgust.

What the hell did you put in it? Or rather, what did you not put in it?

He swore his tongue had just shriveled up from how strong it was, and he instantly regretted ever taking you up on the offer. It tasted foul. And he didn't quite know whether he or his tongue was more offended at how acrid the brew was.

As it so happened, he'd made two discoveries the hard way— he hated black coffee, but it clearly pandered well enough to your taste buds, considering the big mouthful you'd taken, humming pleasantly as you went. He filed that information away with a grimace. 

Peter was no stranger to coffee, but straight from the pot? He pulled a face at it, immediately pulling away as if he’d wanted nothing more than to put some much-needed distance between himself and the inevitable assault on his taste buds.

“They say that only psychopaths take their coffee black.” He’d grumbled, almost childishly offended by how bitter the beverage tasted on his tongue.

You snickered at the way he wrinkled his nose, patting his arm to signal him to make some space for you. He’d initially stiffened at the action, but the tension soon seeped out of his shoulders when he saw that you were just pouring things into the cup he held. A packet of cream and sugar; no harm done.

“Try it again.” You’d prompted him after giving it a stir, watching as he reluctantly took a small, cautionary sip from the offending cup.

“Better?”

You could almost hear the sigh of relief in his voice that came with his reply. “Much better, thank you.”

Now that the coffee problem had been resolved, you pulled a chair across the spot he’d taken up by the table, nursing your coffee as you started to make small talk to pass the time. Peter wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself, so he mostly just sat there, listening and nodding along. You shared about your work here in the lab, among other mundane things, and he'd told you a little more about his work as an orderly. Mostly chaperoning, he'd claimed.

It was a while after that he seemed to remember that he'd brought a manila file in with him to work on, so he had to take a step back from the conversation to get it done before his break was over.

“It’s not much. Just a report that I have to turn in to the orderly who’s taking up the next shift after me.” He’d informed you as he flipped the file open.

It was titled an incident report, which definitely raised your eyebrows.

Orderlies had to write reports? Incident reports? Didn’t this guy work with children?

You glanced between him and the blank report, but your confusion had to have shown on your face, because he’d chuckled before setting his pen to paper. “A few of the kids got into a fight earlier. We managed to pull them apart, but the damage was done. Hence.” He gestured to the report.

“An incident report just because of a fight? Isn't that a bit of overkill?” 

“Yes and no.” He replied, watching as your brow furrowed at his cryptic answer.

The children were a danger to themselves and those around them, especially for the uninitiated. But he couldn’t exactly tell you that, either. So he settled for the next best answer. “They can be a handful. Two of them got sent directly to the nurse after that.”

They were sent to the Infirmary? Sounds like it was a pretty nasty fight.

You frowned at the thought. “Are they okay?”

Peter’s hand paused in its movements. 

Two kids getting into fisticuffs over a toy was honestly the least of their worries, because fights that broke out between the subjects tended to go beyond mere physicality and straight into the metaphysical. He supposed that was the result of it being all they ever knew. 

After all, why throw punches when you could more effectively fling someone into a wall?

“They've seen worse. Trust me, they'll live.”  He sighed.

You watched him as he worked, penning letters onto the paper. True to his word, he'd made quick work of the report he’d brought. 

Seems like it wasn't too complicated, just as he'd said. And you'd both settled back into the steady flow of conversation that had started up prior until it was time for both of you to go back to your respective duties. 

“Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” He said as he stood up and gathered his items.

“Don't mention it. See you next time, Peter.” You bid him goodbye, watching as he left and made his way to his next shift.

But as Peter approached the vicinity of the rainbow room, his footsteps started to slow. Realization was starting to dawn on him that the file room and its welcoming keeper were actually starting to grow on him. 

When was the last time he'd spoken at length to someone who wasn't a scientist or a child about mundane matters, or even held a proper conversation that wasn't merely an exchange of pleasantries in passing?

He turned the question over and over in his head, only to come up empty even as he reached the correct corridor. He didn't know. 

Shaking his head to clear the thought, he handed the report in to the orderly who was slated to take the next watch after his, before entering the room, hoping that it would be an uneventful shift, given the earlier incident. 

It hadn't been severe enough to alert the lab’s handlers, but they had been watching it play out through the camera.

But as with all things, conflict tended to escalate over time. And if it did escalate…

Peter was instantly snapped out of his thoughts when one of the younger subjects approached him. His attention snapped to the smaller figure, whose hand was outstretched as if they'd wanted to tug at his pant leg to grab his attention, but he'd beat them to the chase.

Their gazes met for a split second before the child instinctively averted their gaze, lowering their outstretched arm.

“Chess?” They asked in a small voice.

Tentative, hesitant, and all too innocently in a way that should be criminal for someone who was nothing more than a lab rat. The child, no more than five, held up a carved white chess piece in their other hand that was the size of their palm. 

He paused, looking down at the child with a slight tilt of his head, acknowledging them with a smile and a small “Hm?”

Why was this child approaching him instead of choosing to play with the other children? The others would probably serve as a more fitting opponent, compared to him.

Glancing around, he noticed that all the other children were all in their own little groups. No one was at the chess table, and perhaps that was why the child had chosen to approach an orderly on duty instead; even if they weren't exactly reputed to be the most approachable.

The child’s gaze flickered nervously between him and the other orderly on duty on the opposite end of the room, wavering and unsure. Their gaze lingered on the other adult in the room, and Peter could read the wariness in their eyes, further cemented by the way they were shifting foot to foot.

His shift partner was relatively new, compared to him, who has been here for years now. So he supposed it made sense that he appeared much more approachable to them as a familiar face.

He could literally see them second-guessing themselves with each passing second, wondering if it would be better to approach the other orderly instead or to join the other kids in their activity of choice.

Bending down to reach their eye level,  he kindly pointed to the nearby chess table located at the back of the room.

“Alright. You go on ahead, I'll be right behind you.” He agreed, directing them with a small nod of encouragement.

The child quickly nodded before darting away with a last furtive glance, as if they'd found the other orderly on duty too intimidating to remain in the presence of. With how burly the other guy was built, he could understand why the kid had chosen to go up to him instead.

Seeing the small retreating figure, Peter turned to nod at the other orderly on duty to inform him that he'd be temporarily leaving his post on his side of the room.

He could feel the lens boring into the back of his head and hear the faint whirr of it focusing as he moved through the room to the table where the chessboard was laid out. The intricately carved pieces glinted under the bright white light of the room as he settled into the chair opposite the child, who eagerly took to moving their first piece.

The thought registered at the back of his mind— They were watching his every move, as always.

The rainbow room was frankly the last place he wanted to be at any given time. There were eyes everywhere here, both within and outside the room. Always wary, always watching. 

These saplings were the most important factor of the research being done in this establishment, at the end of the day, held in high regard and kept under the highest security at all times.

But chess? He could do with a game of chess if it helped take his mind off the constant surveillance. 

He glanced at the array of black pieces standing on the board before him. 

Smiling pleasantly, he ate a pawn.

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

You met him again a few days later near the end of your shift. Or at least what constituted the normal hours of a single shift, anyway; you didn’t really work according to regular hours like some of the other staff on the premises.

Third time's the charm, right? 

You were returning from the break room, balancing two coffees and a salad in your hands as you shouldered the door to the file room open. However, you hadn't expected to have a visitor already waiting inside.

A familiar voice greeted you from within, making you jump. “Careful, you’re going to get an addiction.”

You yelped, nearly dropping the items you were holding as you registered the presence of another person in the room — Peter. 

He was seated at his usual spot by the table, a file lying open in front of him.

“Peter! What are you doing here?” You exclaimed, fully stepping into the room.

He watched as your eyes goggled, resting his chin against his hand. “Don't look so surprised, you basically gave me an open invitation to this place.”

By the third visit, you could tell that Peter was starting to warm up to you as you approached him and pressed a warm cup into his hand. He took it with thanks, but you could tell that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it as he held it in his hand. 

He instantly recognized the beverage contained within. 

“Coffee in the evening?” He questioned, but it came out as more of a statement than anything.

You laughed. “Time is but a construct. Coffee, on the other hand, is a nice warm hug in a cup.” 

He gave you a quizzical look that was equal parts exasperation and confusion before eventually settling on a small shake of his head. Given the number of times he’d been here, he’d never failed to see you without a cup of it at least. That, and there was always the lingering smell of it in the room.

Peter seemed less guarded around you now, and it felt as if he truly did feel comfortable being in this place. His walls were clearly starting to slide down when his lips curled into a faint grimace as he registered the fact that you’d just given him a cup of the damn thing, again. The veneer he wore faded almost instantly when he brought it up to his nose for a sniff.

Could he smell black coffee? Or did coffee just all smell the same anyway? 

You watched the way he regarded the beverage almost warily, your lips curled in amusement. In his hesitation was a clear dilemma you could almost see play out before you. And with what happened the last time, you couldn’t really blame him either. 

“I’m not a psychopath, but there’s cream and sugar in that one.” You’d supplemented, before gesturing to it in a way that said ‘it doesn’t bite.’

Deciding to take the plunge, he took a sip and let out a pleased hum in response. It wasn’t bitter, and his tongue didn’t threaten to revolt this time. As he returned his attention to his file, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d truly found comfort in spending his time in the file room, or if he’d just disliked being around crowds.

It was then that you noticed the bandage wrapped around his other wrist when the fabric of his sleeve shifted upward. 

“Did something go wrong during your shift? What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, it's nothing.” He’d hastily covered it with his hand then, drawing it away from your view while casually waving it off. “One of the kids accidentally got me during class. It's not quite a sprain, but we got it bandaged just in case.”

“They’re still learning to control their p—” He’d caught himself before he could finish the sentence, quickly correcting himself. “Strength, yes. They’re growing stronger by the day…”

He’d play it off as a mere work injury. That wasn’t entirely a lie either. Definitely not because of superpowered kids that you were surprisingly clueless about, and the fact that they were terrible at taking instructions, to no one’s surprise.

“Strength?” You echoed. 

A kid caused him to sprain his wrist?

You snickered at the thought that hit you. “What, were you teaching them arm-wrestling or something?”

He shook his head, scoffing at how ridiculous that sounded. Even after being held in captivity for this long, he still knew how something like that would look on the outside. “Of course not. That would be bullying.” And the scientists would have his head for insinuating such a thing.

“Then, what do they teach in those classes?” 

He had gone silent then.

Pressing his lips together, he'd merely smiled, but you could tell that this smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There was a tightness around them when he’d answered. “Enrichment classes.”

“Oh, don’t look so worried. You know how it usually goes. The younger they are, the more uninhibited they get.” 

He seemed awfully cagey about the entire thing and was clearly reluctant to delve into the topic, so you dropped it. Silence lapsed between you two then, awkward, but comfortable enough to sit in. And unfortunately, one that you eventually broke. 

“Sometimes… I wonder what goes on beyond this wing.”  You wondered out loud, tapping a finger on one of the files on the table.

Peter had looked towards you in mild surprise at your admission.

“Why? Are you not free to roam the building?” 

You shook your head then, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “No, my security clearance is only limited to this side of the wing.”

He remembered the last time he'd been here. Hadn't he caught you returning in the direction of the labs with new documents in hand? 

“But you’ve been to the other areas of the lab to pick up files, haven’t you? Weren't you down at the labs a few days ago?”

“Only if I get carded in by someone with access, so that's usually whoever’s in charge of handing me new files to process.”

Peter blinked. That explains why you were pretty much always here, none the wiser about most of the things that went on behind the doors. He’d thought that you were given the same clearance as him. But if you were only limited to the wing, then the most notable places you had on your radar were probably just the file room you were always in, and the Infirmary, a couple of doors down. 

“What made you think that way?”

You hesitated then. 

Should you really be telling him this? 

Swallowing your uncertainty, you came clean. “Those files I work on… I’ve seen some vaguely questionable things.”

Scratching your cheek, you continued. “And even though I’m not much of a science buff myself, I can tell that there’s something clearly going on in here.”

“I don't think there's a way to logically explain children screaming bloody murder as they're being taken down to the Infirmary to be sedated.”

You recalled the one time you'd heard a shout resonating through the otherwise quiet hallway. Concerned, you'd peeked outside only to see orderlies bringing a child that looked no older than seven in, screaming and kicking as they were forcibly hauled into the room. 

Those men had been orderlies, you noted. 

You may not have been close to orderlies in general, but you did know one. Peter. You wondered if this was what he did on a daily basis, and the thought of that settled uneasily in the back of your mind.

He made a small sound of contemplation at your explanation.

So you were blind, but not entirely naive. Usually, he would have left people to their own devices, but you were someone who was starting to grow on him. Loath as he was to admit it, he enjoyed your company and would not like to see that disappear should you continue poking holes in the walls that thinly surrounded you.

You noticed how unfazed he seemed at the news. Or, maybe, he already knew. You watched as a slight crease formed in his brow, before his face settled back into its usual countenance.

Bringing a hand up to his mouth in contemplation, he wondered, then. How long would it be till you found out about what truly went on in this place? Beyond the rainbow room where the children played in? The reason why the children in the lab had come to be, and the very real reason behind his existence here?

A moment passed as he stared unnervingly at you, seeming to see you, but not quite. It was almost as if he was looking at you, but past you at the same time, his attention fixated on something far away. Except you two were the only ones in the room.

An uneasy silence lapsed before he set his hand back down on the table, resting it against the file. His fingers moved to smooth over the dog-eared corner of the page.

“Word of advice? You really shouldn’t go looking for monsters under the bed.” He warned.

You thought he was joking until you met his eyes and realized that he was serious. He was looking right at you, and it was the first time you'd ever seen him with such a somber expression. And his blue eyes were icy, colder than anything you'd seen.

Perhaps, he had his own inner demons. And you were starting to think that maybe he didn't want you to know about the truth either.

Catching you staring at him as if someone spooked, he broke eye contact, rubbing his neck as he clarified what he said earlier. “What I mean is that you might not like what you find. And I don’t think you really want to know, either.”

And considering your active zone restrictions, he assumed they didn't want you knowing too much about the true state of things here either. God knows what would happen if you’d found out about the skeletons in their closets.

You shook your head before standing up and moving past him. “All right, you should get going. My shift is over, so I'll have to lock up.”

He watched you as you tidied the files on the table and cleared away the papers that had been left out, hesitating. Eventually, he seemed to gather himself enough to bid you goodbye.

Before Peter had turned and left, he’d left you with parting words so cryptic that you were sitting, again, with more questions unanswered than when he’d first entered the room. 

“The darkness teems with untold terrors, but maybe you being here in the light is a blessing in disguise.”

Until then, he supposed ignorance was bliss.