#jennifers body fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

the satanic rites of eddie munson (chapter 4)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Cheerleader!Female Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Read on AO3

Summary:

Eddie was just trying to have a normal Thursday when some band from out of town decides he’d make an excellent virgin sacrifice for their get-famous-quick plan.

Except he’s not a virgin, and the ritual unleashes something much more sinister that lives in him now, hungry for flesh and possessive of you, the pretty cheerleader he’s always been drawn to.

Which means anyone that touches you? Needs to die.

Inspired by the movie Jennifer's Body.

Additional tags: explicit sexual content (no seriously this is filthy 18+), mentions of character death, allusions to SA, stripping, dominant Eddie, dirty talk, pet names, slight degradation, praise kink, overstimulation, begging, mutual masturbation, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, possessive behavior, mild blood/blood kink. If I’ve missed anything, please let me know.

The guy in the middle starts to read from the tome spread across his hands. His voice shakes, as do his hands, while he butchers what Eddie assumes is Latin. The wind picks up, leaves swirling around their feet and making the fire behind them dance erratically, embers floating up through the low branches.

“Uh, guys,” Eddie says, strugglings against the ropes. “Can’t we talk about this? I really don’t think I’m the kind of sacrifice that you want.”

“Shut the fuck up, man, you’re throwing off Mike’s spell casting. He’s got dyslexia, he needs to concentrate,” the leader snaps.

“Thanks, man,” Mike chimes before resuming his chanting. The ground rumbles beneath him, the leaves shaking with the moving earth and Eddie starts to think that maybe these guys aren’t just weirdos that are full of shit.

The leader flashes Eddie a menacing smile.

“Show time.”

It only took a few hours for Jason’s body to be discovered.

The party had been in full swing when a sheriff’s deputy swung by to bust it and send everyone home. In the scramble, several people tried to run off into the woods and one unlucky bastard tripped over the mangled remains.

You’d fallen asleep in Eddie’s bed by the time he finished in the bathroom. He let you sleep for a couple hours, his body pressed to yours and his arm wound tight around your waist as he listened to your quiet breathing. Around 2 a.m. you’d stirred awake, all soft smiles and cute little sleepy noises until you’d caught a glimpse of the alarm clock on Eddie’s nightstand and jumped from the bed in a panic.

As Eddie drove you and your mom’s bike home, a trio of police cars with their sirens on blew past the van, heading in the opposite direction. You’d twisted in your seat to watch them fly by, missing the way Eddie’s knuckles went white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Hope everything’s okay,” you’d said distractedly.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Eddie had replied.

Saturday morning, the morning news runs the breaking story of another animal attack. Hawkins High School golden boy, Jason Carver, found mangled in the woods near Benny’s Burgers, near unrecognizable due to his wounds. Disemboweled, his heart ripped from his chest. The town is shocked, heart broken, paranoid.

School gets canceled for the week following the loss while town officials and school board members scramble to make decisions about what to do.

As the week drags on, Eddie begins to anticipate the hunger returning, bracing himself for the aching pit to swallow him whole.

But it doesn’t.

In fact, Eddie feels the best he ever has in his life. His vision is sharper, his hearing more clear, his muscles coiled with a strength he definitely didn’t have before. He’d accidentally crushed a glass of water in his hand, the shards slicing into his palm and leaving blood spattered on the kitchen floor. The wound had healed before he even finished cleaning everything up.

In place of physical hunger is a different craving all together. It’s been over a week since that night in his trailer where he made you cum on his lap. He sees your rapturous expression every time he closes his goddamn eyes. If he doesn’t see you soon, touch you soon, he’s going to go insane.

The Monday following the discovery of their son’s body, the Carvers and the Pearsons stand beside Principal Higgins at an impromptu assembly, dabbing their tear filled eyes with tissues as they insist that the school continue the time honored tradition of the homecoming game and dance despite their loss.

“It’s what our sons would have wanted. They gave their all to this school, and would have been dancing and playing alongside you had their lives not been so tragically cut short,” Mr. Carver says into the microphone, an arm around Mrs. Carver as she sniffles demurely into a tissue.

Principal Higgins leads a tentative round of applause. Eddie rolls his eyes, searching the lower bleachers for a glimpse of you. You’re down in the front row with the rest of the cheerleaders, an arm around Chrissy Cunningham’s waist.

Principal Higgins lets Officer Pearson close out the assembly with a rousing speech about keeping the town safe with increased patrols around the wooded areas, promising that no other Hawkins High student will befall the same fate as his son.

“And if anyone sees something, remember to say something,” he finishes. The families take their leave and Principal Higgins dismisses everyone, the gym erupting with the sounds of a couple hundred voices trying to be heard above each other.

Eddie hides beneath the bleachers, eyes scanning the crowd of students passing by him. He catches sight of you and leans out of the shadows, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you against him with a hand over your mouth to stifle your surprise.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear. As you relax against him, he removes his hand and turns you so that you’re facing him. “Miss me?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you tease. Eddie’s grin is sharp as his hands grip your ass, lifting you up and urging your legs around his waist as he presses you against the back wall of the gym.

“That’s not very nice,” he whispers against your neck. “Do I have to remind you why you should?”

He presses his hips against yours, the pressure working the seam of your jeans right over your clit. You bite your lip to hold back your groan, the sharp tang of copper blooming on your tongue.

“Shit,” you hiss, touching a finger to your lip. Eddie eyes the red spot on the digit held between you. He works a hand free to grasp your wrist, bringing the finger to his mouth and sucking gently.

He locks eyes with you as he moans gently at the taste exploding across his tongue. Your eyes are wide as he draws back before he leans forward to kiss you, licking greedily at your split lip. You kiss him back eagerly, writhing against him as he swallows your sounds.

It’s not until the gym doors slam shut behind the last student do you remember where you are, the spell broken as you wiggle in Eddie’s grasp to be set down. His hands remain planted on your hips and he can’t help the pout that he gives you as you straighten your shirt.

“Sorry I haven’t been able to see you,” you say, hands toying with a pin on his denim vest. “With everything happening, the girls are really freaked out. And Chrissy is obviously upset about Jason.”

“Damn you for being such a good friend.” He slides a hand behind your neck to pull you close again for another kiss, another hint of blood against his tongue.

“I can’t believe they’re still going to have the dance,” you continue when Eddie pulls away. “I thought for sure they’d cancel it.” When Eddie doesn’t say anything, you fidget with the zipper on his jacket before murmuring, “So…”

“So…?” Eddie asks.

“Are you…going to go? To homecoming?”

Eddie smiles tightly. “I can’t. Don’t got the grades to be eligible for tickets.”

Your shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“We could go out instead?” He offers, running his hands up and down your arms.

“I can’t. I’m on the homecoming court, so I have to go.”

Eddie groans, tipping his forehead to yours. “We’ll figure something out,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

—————

Since they’ve announced homecoming is still scheduled, you’ve been slammed with last minute preparations. You’re forced to spend your hours after school prepping decor and banners for spirit week, which starts next week. You miss your small moments with Eddie in his van as he drives you home from school and you talk about anything and everything for the short trip.

“We still going dress shopping after school today?” Carrie asks at lunch, flipping through a Sears catalog. “Do you know what color you’re getting?”

Shit, you think. You forgot about promising to go dress shopping today.

Your eyes find Eddie beyond her shoulder, his eyes already on you. “Black,” you tell her. She makes a face.

“Really? Isn’t Kyle wearing green? Shouldn’t you match?” She asks. That breaks your staring contest with Eddie.

“What?”

“Kyle’s your partner for court. Didn’t Sally tell you?” She pops the gum in her mouth. “He’s stoked about it.”

You groan. “I don’t want to be paired with Kyle. Can’t I be paired with Frankie?” You ask desperately.

Kyle Miller has asked you out countless times. Each time is more aggressive, with the last one being at a house party over the summer where he cornered you alone in a basement. Chrissy was actually the one to get him to back off that time, having come down at just the right moment to scare him off. To everyone else, he comes off as yet another popular jock, disarmingly handsome with a megawatt smile that he knows how to use to his advantage. But all you see is the times he just hasn’t taken no for an answer.

“I don’t see why you won’t just give Kyle a chance. You two would make such a cute couple,” Carrie says.

“He’s not my type,” you reply, eyes flitting once more to Eddie. He’s got one of his freshmen in a playful headlock, a broad smile on his face that makes your heart race.

“Oh, come on! You haven’t been out with anyone since John in sophomore year.”

You shrug. Pulling the magazine from her hands, you flip through the pages, pointing out ones you like for a change in subject.

________

Later that night, you throw your shopping bags on your bed, collapsing beside them. Carrie had managed to drag you to every store in the mall in search of the perfect dress. She found something wrong with every single one she tried on until finally deciding the first dress that she tried on at the first store, hours ago , would be her best choice.

Where your friend’s dress was a bright pink satin and tulle number, you went with a form fitting black dress that reminded you of Audrey Hepburn’s iconic Breakfast at Tiffany’s outfit. Leaning heavily into that inspiration, you’d also purchased a pair of elbow length black satin gloves.

You leverage yourself up from the bed with a groan and begin to put your purchases away. Your parents are away for the night, having gone to visit your mom’s sister for the weekend, leaving the house quiet.

Which is why you scream bloody murder when there’s a knock on your window.

You can just make out Eddie’s mischievous grin beyond the dark glass as you stomp over and throw the window open, smacking him on the shoulder as he climbs over the windowsill. “You asshole!”

He grabs your wrist tightly, tugging you close as he wraps his arm around your waist. You tilt your head up as he leans down to press a rough kiss to your lips. The hunger he comes at you with is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. You wrap your own arms around his shoulders, fingers diving into his wild hair to hold him to you.

He groans against your mouth, giving you the opportunity to slide your tongue against his. That arm around your waist slides lower, his hand gripping your ass roughly before he lands a hard smack to one cheek that makes you gasp.

“Hey, baby,” he says, voice low and eyes dark. He looks over your shoulder. “You find yourself a dress?”

The abrupt change leaves you winded. When you recover you finally reply, “Yeah, you wanna see it?” You grab the plastic wrapped dress from the bed, intent on heading to the bathroom with it to change.

“Where ya goin’?” Eddie asks, taking a seat on your bed and reclining back on his elbows like he belongs there.

“I was…gonna change?”

His grin is salacious. “You could do that right here.”

_________

Eddie is practically vibrating with the need to touch you. You’re standing there in your room, looking like a deer caught in the headlights with your eyes all wide in surprise at his suggestion that you change into your dress in front of him.

He can hear your heart rate speed up, see the rush of blood to your cheeks. He licks his lips.

“Take your clothes off,” he commands.

You hang the dress on the hook on the back of your door before tentatively curling your fingers into the hem of your shirt. Eddie gives you an encouraging nod as you slowly lift the fabric over your head.

He’s pleased to note that the flush in your cheeks trails down your chest. “Tell me, does that pretty little dress work with that?”

“Work with…what?”

“That bra.” You shake your head. “Then lose it, too.”

You swallow nervously before reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and drop to the floor. Eddie sits up at attention, adjusting his jeans to relieve the pressure building at his crotch.

Christ, you’re so pretty. You look good enough to eat.

“Now the pants,” he directs. Your fingers slip nervously on the button of your pants. “Come here.”

You take a tentative step closer. When he can reach out, he slips a finger into your waistband and tugs sharply, pulling you closer on unsteady feet. He keeps his eyes focused on your face as he undoes your fly.

“Go ahead, baby,” he whispers. “Take ‘em off.”

“Eddie—“

“Shh, sweetheart. Just do as you’re told,” he interrupts. Your breathing is ragged as you shimmy your jeans over your hips, letting them pool around your feet. “That’s it, good girl.”

_________

Your mouth goes dry at Eddie’s words, a shiver running up your spine as his fingertips trail lightly over your thighs. His eyes are still locked on yours, which somehow makes you feel more vulnerable than if they were roving your naked body.

“Should I…put the dress on?” You whisper.

Eddie smirks. “No, princess. I’ve got bigger plans.” He wraps an arm around your waist and faster than you can realize what’s happening, you find yourself on your back, blinking up at the ceiling in surprise.

“My, my,” Eddie continues, body looming over yours, “You look like a feast, baby.”

The wording he’s chosen throws you off. His body blocks out some of the light from above you, casting his features in shadows that make him seem…dangerous. Eyes darker than they should be, teeth sharper.

Like a predator.

His head dips down, tongue tracing the dip in your collarbone and your racing thoughts come to a screeching halt as you gasp out his name. He licks a path to your neck, teeth scraping against the thin skin that protects your pulse.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he murmurs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Touch me,” you breathe out. You can feel his smile against your neck.

“I am touching you,” he says, kisses trailing lower until he’s trailing his mouth over your breasts. You arch your back, seeking more.

His lips circle one of your pebbled nipples, drawing it into his mouth with a rough pull that makes you moan. A hand is immediately gripping your other breast in balance to the attention of his tongue on your sensitive flesh.

“Eddie!”

“That’s right, baby,” he says before switching sides. Your hips writhe beneath him, seeking friction you can’t find. You let out a pitiful whine. “Hush.”

You bite your lip painfully hard to comply with his command. His hand leaves your breast, sliding down until his fingers are rubbing over the slick fabric of your panties.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, that all for me?” He asks.

“Don’t see anyone else here,” you tease. Eddie lands a gentle smack to your sensitive pussy in retaliation.

“Damn right there’s not anyone else here,” he snaps, not unkindly. “Because this is all mine, isn’t it sweetheart? This soaking wet cunt is dripping just for me.”

“Oh, god,” you cry out as Eddie’s fingers slip past the elastic around your waist, diving into your wet heat. “Eddie, please!”

Your hips chase his hand as his fingers curl against you in their retreat, the slick sound of his hand exploring your pussy filling the room. His lips press to yours to swallow your desperate noises as he rubs your clit in tight circles.

A ripping noise breaks through your consciousness, and your eyes pop open. You tear your mouth from Eddie’s and lift your head to see the mangled remains of your panties clutched in his fist.

“Whoops. Sorry,” he says, looking anything but apologetic. His lips continue to drag down, down, down until he’s lying flat on his belly between your thighs.

Eddie uses a hand on your thigh to push your legs apart, shouldering his way closer until you can feel his breath against your heated skin. You squirm against his hold, the attention he’s giving you almost too much.

“Anyone ever kissed you here before, baby?” Eddie asks.

“N-no,” you stutter. You’re not a virgin, haven’t been since sophomore year when you had a lackluster experience with your then-boyfriend that lasted approximately three pumps and ended in plenty of disappointment. While you don’t have any first hand experience with what Eddie’s offering, you’ve read about it. The women’s magazines and erotic books you sneak from your mom’s stash discuss it in great detail.

“That’s a shame,” he says, pressing a kiss to one thigh, then the other, all while keeping his eyes fixed to yours. Your breathing kicks up, chest heaving with the anticipation of his mouth connecting where you’re most desperate for him. “A pussy like this deserves to be worshiped.”

Your head drops back with a groan as he licks through your folds, moaning at the taste. His tongue circles your clit before dipping to your leaking entrance, greedily gathering the essence of you. The sounds that come from Eddie are animalistic, deep growls and low rumbles that if you were in the right state of mind and not rocketing towards an orgasm you would find them terrifying.

His hands tighten around your legs to pin you in place as your hips work in tandem with his mouth. Those dark eyes peek up at you, but you can barely keep your own open long enough to watch. You dig your hands into his hair in ecstasy, holding him to you as his relentless pace continues.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you cry out. That grip on your hips gets damn near painful, the bite of his nails into your skin aching. “Please, please, please!”

“Please what, princess?” He rumbles, mouth never leaving your dripping core.

“Please, fuck me,” you beg, hardly recognizing your own desperate voice.

“No, baby, you’re gonna come in my mouth like a good fucking girl,” he growls, doubling down on his efforts. Your back arches from the bed as you press your hips to his skilled mouth. “That’s it, come on pretty girl, come for me.”

With a scream, you do as you’re told, your release washing over you like a tidal wave that never stops. His tongue keeps up its pace against your clit, sending additional little shocks that make you see stars.

“Oh my god,” you cry, practically sobbing as he doesn’t let up. “Eddie!”

You can feel the feral grin he hides against your flesh. His tongue slows until he’s giving you one last lick and sitting up, looking all too pleased with himself.

“Wanna see you,” you slur. You’re a boneless puddle in the middle of your mattress, squirming around on the wet spot you’ve left behind on the sheets. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he replies, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them low enough that he can pull his cock out. You can’t look away from him as he leisurely strokes his thick length, a pearl of precum pooling at the tip. You reach a hand out to try to touch him, but he bats it away. “Just watch, princess.”

You pout, but do as you’re told, eyeing him hungrily. Your eyes alternate between watching his face screwed up in pleasure and watching his hand as it flies roughly up and down his cock, your mouth watering at the sight. You squirm, bringing a hand between your legs to rub at your oversensitive clit.

“Greedy fucking girl,” he groans, but he does nothing to stop you. “Already came once but desperate for more.”

You nod, unable to form the words to respond. Your motions are sloppy, hips bucking beneath your hand as he leans forward, bringing your bodies closer but not touching, making you whine.

“Quiet, baby, I’ll take what’s mine when the time is right,” he grunts, his pace stuttering as he nears his release. “Until then, be my good girl and say my fucking name.”

“Eddie!” You cry, your second orgasm breaking across your nerves. He growls and you swear his eyes go pitch black as he comes, his spend landing on your tummy in hot splashes. He works his cock until it starts to soften and he flops beside you on the bed, dragging your sweat damp body back against his.

When you’ve finally caught your breath, you wiggle around to face him. His eyes are back to that sweet soft brown that you love so much, like coffee with a splash of milk. He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You didn’t even see my dress,” you say with a pout.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see it at the dance.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You said you couldn’t get tickets.”

He smirks at you. “Who said anything about buying a ticket?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #no use of y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #stranger things fic #demon eddie munson #cheerleader reader #inspired by jennifer’s body

153 notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

a warm body

Stranger Things x Horror Movie Collection

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

13.7K words

warnings - sexual allusions lol!, descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), bimbo reader bimbo reader <3, jennifer’s body au

summary - You drag Robin to The Hideout in hopes of fulfilling your fantasy of hooking up with a boy in a band. Hijinks ensue and suddenly you’re a succubus that only your bestest friend can satiate.

“Hey, we’ve gotta go to The Hideout tonight.”

“Ew,” Robin gags, “Enough of Munson, okay? I’m sick of going to their gigs.”

“It’ll be fun,” you pout and lean your head against the locker next to Robin’s, “besides, there’s a new band showing up today. Heard it straight from Gareth in the lunch line - Bombed Grave, or some shit. Should be good.”

“Oh my God,” Robin shakes her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, “You need to get over this fantasy of being a groupie, it’ll get you killed.”

“It will not get me killed, it’s just a one-time thing, you know?” you fiddle with one of the rings Robin had gifted you a couple of years back, “Some stupid boy in a stupid band and me, just once. It’d be fun. And then it’s over.”

You shrug like it’s simple - like you’re talking about a piercing.

“Well, as long as I’m here - no stupid boy from a shitty band is getting anywhere near you,” Robin grins sardonically.

“Hey,” you stick out your bottom lip, elbowing Robin in the side, “I’m a big girl now, I can take care of myself, Rob,” then just to tease, you throw out, “Mom.”

“Don’t call me ‘Mom’,” she groans.

“Then don’t act like I need a savior,” you look away, immediately finding the gaggle of math club members staring at you.

Robin watches as you wave and giggle and they nervously return the gesture.

Robin hates to call you an airhead, but sometimes you didn’t think things through. Going to The Hideout every Tuesday in an effort to sleep with a band member, she suspected, was one of them.

“Fine, okay,” Robin doesn’t know why she puts up a fight anymore, she always gives in. Perhaps it’s just the illusion of debate - the back-and-forth - that she likes, “I’ll go. And I won’t be your little savior.”

“Okay, then!” you perk up, reaching into the collar of your cheer uniform and pulling out your half of a BFF magnet necklace.

It was your part of a heart-shaped strawberry charm. You held it out proudly and Robin, despite how much she’d pretend to hate it, couldn’t help but pull out her own half. She connects your pieces and watches you light up at the way they click.

“I’ll drive you home to drop off your shit and change,” you pause, narrowing your lashes, “And I need to borrow a shirt,” she raises a brow and you just shrug, “People dig the short cheer skirt, but the uniform top makes it a little too real.”

“Gross,” Robin shuts her locker as the minute bell shrills.

“Uber,” you bump her shoulder with yours, “‘kay, I gotta go. See ya!”

“See you later!” she sighs once you’ve left.

What shirt could she possibly lend you that you didn’t already steal?

Every cute shirt - or article of clothing period - she owned was most likely already stashed in your closet. Not that Robin necessarily minded, it isn’t like she wore those clothes very often (or at all) anyway.

Robin has no fucking clue how you and her stayed friends after elementary school. She was adopted by the Hawkins’ middle school band and you became one of their beloved cheerleaders. Your rise to popularity was swift and unmatched by even King Steve himself and even now, you haven’t fallen from your pedestal.

She assumes it’s because you, unlike most other popular kids, are actually really nice. Chrissy Cunningham is your cheer co-captain and if it weren’t for Robin, you two would be the most iconic duo since Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs.

Now, as you’re both seniors, Robin remains a band geek, and you queen of Hawkins High (if not all of Hawkins itself), and you two are still tied at the hip.

Seriously, how Robin is your little friend after X amount of years, is an absolute cold case to her, but she’s not about to give it up.

So, Robin just bites her tongue and goes to her Spanish 3-4.

“No, no, no, no,” you pause your cycling through clothes and Robin looks up from her peeling black nail polish, your head is tilted and you pull out whatever has caught your eye, “When’d you get this?”

Robin’s cheeks flush and she huffs, reaching out to rip the offending sweater from your hands, “Oh my God, just put it down!”

“No!” you whine, clutching the pink fabric to your chest, “It’s adorable. I like it.”

You hold the sweater up. Robin usually buys her clothes in bigger sizes than what she actually is, that’s why you like borrowing her clothes - it’s rare to find something of hers that won’t fit you too.

It was something you’d have to work with - just a plain pink sweater with red hearts. And it’s not like it’d go with your cheer skirt.

You throw the garment over one shoulder and move to where Robin stored the skirts she doesn’t wear anymore.

“See, this always happens,” Robin rolls her eyes, all in good fun, and leans back on her elbows, “‘Just a shirt,’” she mocks, “You’re a little thief.”

“Whatever,” you chuckle and pull out a short, black skirt, “As if you were gonna wear these.”

“It’s the principal of the matter,” Robin stands, sighing loudly and draping her arms around your shoulders.

“Okay, turn so I can change,” when she doesn’t move, you shrug, “Fine. Don’t.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Robin has ever seen you change, but it never fails to make her squawk and cover her eyes before giving up. You’d be lying if you said that her watching you change never sent a spark through you.

“What’s even your plan?” Robin tilts her head, trying her absolute damndest to keep her eyes above your collarbones, “Hook up with who? The guitarist or the singer? And then what? Just go after a painter?”

“I dunno,” you grin, “Maybe I’ll keep chasing bands. Maybe it isn’t a regular guy I want, but Eddie Munson, and now I’m just trying to fill the void,” Robin wretches dramatically, “Okay, okay. I’m kidding.”

Eddie’s nice. You don’t have a reason to dislike him, you just didn’t think he was your type beyond a quick fantasy. Not that you spend all day thinking about how he isn’t your type, mainly because if you do that then you have to confront what - or rather, who - is your type.

“What about after, though? Are you still gonna drag me around so you can screw with guys who don’t deserve you?”

“Haven’t thought much about it,” you move to look yourself over in Robin’s full body mirror, “Best friend approval?”

Robin hums as if thinking, eyes narrowing and lips pressing thinly before she ultimately nods, “Best friend approves.”

“Yay,” you cheer under your breath, grabbing your purse from her vanity and skipping over to her bedroom door, “Ready?”

She looks around as if there’s anything of importance that she could possibly be leaving behind. Everything she needs is already at the door, ready to flutter out and right into the arms of some guitarist. Or vocalist. Anyone but the drummer.

“Maybe the drummer,” you announce to Robin, parking in front of The Hideout.

“How low will you go?” she gasps, scandalized, then giggles when you shoot her a glare, “I’m just saying, bunny, it isn’t that big a deal if you go with the drummer instead of the guitarist. I bet 99% of people won’t even know who you’re talking about if you tell them who you’re with. Just saying.”

“You know what I think?”

The both of you climb out of your car and Robin tilts her head, watching as you wait to hear your doors lock.

“Hm?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to get out there.”

Robin scoffs and you bounce up to the door, lugging it open for Robin to enter the dingy, dim, dank bar.

You see Eddie immediately and Robin hates to say how jealous it makes her when you squeal and throw yourself on him with a giggly, “hi, Eds!”

“Hey, bubble-brain,” his eyes flick to Robin, “Someone’s outta their element.”

“Huh?” you rear back and nod, “Oh! Yeah.”

Robin tries smiling at Eddie, but it comes out strained, her hands packed in her pockets and clenching tightly. Her rings indent her skin and she can feel her teeth digging into the thin stretch of skin inside her cheek.

“Hey,” you reach into her coat pocket and take her hand, “if you really don’t wanna be here, we can go.”

She considers it.

Honestly? Honestly - she’d rather be back at her house, with you. Eating ice cream with bad romcoms stuffed full of cliches she makes fun of but always cries to at the end. With you, though. It’s only worth it if it’s with you.

“I’m fine,” she looks over at the bar, then past your shoulder, “You go look for your boy toy,” her brows shoot up at Eddie, “Munson, wanna help a girl out?”

“I’d be honored,” he bows and you peck Robin’s cheek appreciatively before bounding further into the bar. Eddie is observant - it’s one of the things Robin hates most about him - and he pulls out a fake ID while staring right at her.

The bartender knows Eddie - hell, everyone in town knows Eddie - and she knows that he’s only twenty. But hey, then again, he’s twenty and it isn’t like she’s being pressed to card the people they serve anyway. Because nobody even gives a fuck.

“What’s your damage, dingus?” Robin can hear how tired she sounds but there’s no room for her to try and pretend she’s anything else, “Staring’s rude.”

Eddie orders before looking down at Robin, “I think you should get it over with and just take her home.”

“You’re crazy!” she swats his shoulder, “Also, shut up.”

Eddie finding out Robin is a lesbian was a massive accident. She didn’t know he was behind her and Steve during Ferris Bueller and kept whispering about how hot Ally Sheedy was. It was way after hours at Starcourt, how was she supposed to know anyone else was there?

But he kept her secret.

“I’m just saying,” Eddie hands over a glass ripe with condensation, “You’re gonna watch her flirt her cute little sweater off with some douche, and then you’re gonna whine and ask me to drive you home. ‘Cuz if you go with her, she’s gonna drop you off and you’ll have to walk through the door alone knowing the one you love is about to get her shit rocked.”

Robin stares down at the cocktail. If she was a little smarter, she would’ve asked what it was before taking it. It’s clear, if a little auburn. Just a tad.

She doesn’t even know what to say, “It’s my sweater. She’s ‘borrowing’ it.”

Eddie coos, pouts, and pats her head, “Poor thing. You’re so fucked.”

Robin takes a cautious sip of the cocktail and her face immediately screws up, she gags and holds the glass away as Eddie laughs, “Dude, what the hell is this?”

“Moscow mule,” he clinks his glass to hers, “Vodka. Ginger. Lime. Enjoy and don’t drink it too fast.”

“Won’t be an issue!” she huffs, watching his stupid vest’s stupid Dio back design disappear into the crowd, “Atthay assholeyay.”

She takes another sip, somehow more careful than last time, and that’s when she sees you. You’re talking up the lead singer of the other band and he’s eating it up because who wouldn’t?

You’re sweet and, yeah, simple, but you’re more than that. You’re not just a best friend, you’re her one. Her person. The Nancy to her Margaret. The burger to her fries. The Shaggy to her Scooby. You two are Wham! You stay up until midnight just to call and wish her a happy birthday. She holds back your hair and helps you out of your heels when you go overboard at your popular friends’ lame parties. You feed each other soup when the other is sick.

You try really hard. All the time. Doesn’t matter what it is. School, cheer, dressing, befriending, shopping, whatever it may be - you try like someone will die if you fail. It’s intense and admirable to her at the same time.

And right now, you’re trying really hard to get the singer to like you. Robin would bet her entire college fund that it’s working, too.

So she stays out of your way and pretends that seeing that stupid guy’s hands pet over her sweater on your body doesn’t make her silently languish.

This time, her drag of Moscow mule is longer. Stronger. And she thinks that somewhere in the back of her head, or perhaps the back of the bar, Eddie is laughing.

“They’re not good,” Robin mutters as soon as you’re back at her side.

You wrap an arm around hers, yanking her shoulder into your chest, “Yeah…” you sigh, “but he’ll do. Not like he’s gonna be my boyfriend after this or anything, so no need to pretend.”

Robin has hated every single one of your boyfriends.

“You, uh,” she swallows the marble in her throat, “you giving him a ride?”

You giggle and she groans, “Jeez, Rob, talk about forward.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she tosses her head back and when you just keep laughing, it’s almost like things are how they should be.

Then your cheek presses to hers and you nod, “You need a ride home?”

“No,” she clenches her eyes shut, “Munson said he’d give me one.”

“Aw, he’s such a sweetheart,” you pull away, one hand wrapping around hers, “Call me if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Robin watches you reapply her favorite gloss that you own, “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Impossible,” you search the crowd and wave over your beau for the night, “Seriously, though. I’m a ring away. Maybe just gimme an hour or two before you have an emergency.”

“Sure,” Robin knows she’s being curt, but it’s not like she can help it. She can, but she shouldn’t. If she talks in longer sentences then everything will come loose and all her secrets will be like a rippling wound.

Eddie hangs an arm over Robin’s shoulders and laughs in her ear, “Hmm, did I get it word for word? Or did I get it word for word? I need to be reminded.”

“Shut up and get me another, Munson,” Robin shoves her glass into his chest.

To her, boys were ugly, red, agitated zits (except maybe Steve, who was a smaller, healing zit). To you, they were momentary fun when Hawkins felt a little dry. If she wasn’t so desperately wishing she could be the boy you give a ride, then maybe she’d be happy for you.

You wait for your car’s heater to thaw at Hawkins’ chilled night air before pulling away from the bar, “Your place or mine?”

“Actually,” the singer, Robbie he’d told you, lays a hand on your thigh. Toothy grin and pink lips on display, “there’s this cute little place in the woods. Think you’d like it.”

Robin didn’t like drinking. It gave her a headache and made her stink. Made her have to sneak back into her room just to avoid her parents finding out. Made her mind somehow less aware of her words.

So she laid in bed - face down in sunset sheets and stripped to her shirt and underwear - with one hand on the bedside table phone. Her fingers were wound tight around the receiver in a wavering display of determination. She wants to call you.

Make sure you got home safe. Make sure that idiot didn’t hurt you. Make sure you’d sleep well.

But you’re probably busy, so she also wants to leave it be.

Her fingers don’t move though, and when the sheets grow too hot with her breath being shot back in her face, she angles her head to the side. Her hair falls into her eyes and over her cheeks; she can’t be bothered to fix any of it, so it remains.

Fuck it.

You said to call, right? You want her to be able to call, right? Yeah, of course, you do. Robin knows you well, and she knows you don’t say things you don’t mean.

So she picks up the receiver and her fingers fly about the numbers in muscle memory. Turning onto her back, Robin blinks up at the ceiling as the phone rings.

A few streets down, your bedroom window is still open from when you forgot to close it before school. Inside your bedroom is an egg-shell white nightstand on the side of your bed not pressed to a wall. On the nightstand is a bubblegum pink phone gifted to you by your parents. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Robin blows a stray hair from where it’d tangled into her lashes.

Four times.

The line beeps and your family’s voicemail message plays.

She slams the receiver down and picks it back up. You usually don’t let the phone ring more than twice - even if you don’t want to take a call; you have the balls to either pick up and say so or simply pick up the phone and immediately hang up. So she dials your number again and sighs.

A handful of blocks away, there’s a forest that hides Lover’s Lake. A few miles from Lover’s Lake is Skull Rock. Against the side of Skull Rock is a young girl - you, in a torn pink sweater that wasn’t even yours - bound and screaming through a gag. You watch, wide-eyed and seconds away from pissing yourself, as Robbie unsheathes a knife, his drummer readies a printed prayer to Satan.

In your bedroom, a pretty pink phone sends its unlucky caller right back to voicemail.

Robin groans, scratching at her stomach, and lets the receiver tumble back into place.

She debates calling again. You probably aren’t even home.

You probably aren’t even home.

The thought makes her turn back onto her stomach and groan louder into her pillow.

The night is dark and cold. Robin hates the cold. It reminds her of the dead - of how her Aunt Shauna looked so pale and plastic in her casket. Young Robin made the mistake of touching Aunt Shauna’s hand and now teenage Robin has to deal with the consequences.

It’s agony.

She awakes with a shiver and looks to where her peachy curtains are dancing gently in the wind from an open window. Of which, she was sure she shut.

Robin rises from bed and yawns, one hand on the window frame and the other rubbing at her drool-crusted cheek. Just as she goes to shut the window, she sees it - right on the ledge of the frame are two big bloody handprints.

That’s when she wakes up a little more - realizes that her bedroom door was open when it’s normally shut. She hears it then, too, the rustling in her kitchen downstairs.

Someone’s inside.

Robin scurries to her closet and pulls out the bat full of nails that Steve insisted she keep for him. Her bare feet touch cold wood and her legs shake as she makes her way to the kitchen. The lighting there is limited to the bulb inside the fridge.

There’s more rustling. Things unwrapping and ripping open. Tupperware lids thrown across the tile and the sounds of something - an animal - eating straight out of the containers.

She wants to run, but her parents are upstairs and even if they don’t get along at the best of times, she’s not going to let them be attacked by… by…

There’s a sharp gasp of pain and her resolve is wavering.

Then the thing comes up, and it casts a human shadow on the wall opposite the fridge. A feminine silhouette dances across the ugly pistachio paint.

A croak. A cough. A call.

“Rob…in?”

It’s broken and pained and inhuman, but it’s your voice. Undoubtedly.

Robin’s bat clatters to the ground, just narrowly missing her feet and she runs into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” she clasps her hands over her mouth, eyes wide at the sight of you.

You’re fully leaning against the counter, arms limp at your side and head slid against the side of the fridge. You look like hell.

You swallow, sputter, and blink at her miserably, “Robin.”

“What…” her eyes roam - sweater torn open down the middle and stomach gaping with blood and prickled flesh, shoes missing, socks ripped and stained with dirt and blood, skirt weathered to threads at the end and thighs slashed. She can’t look you in the eye, “What the fuck happened to you?”

She flies forward, hands cradling your face. She can feel her heart in her stomach and throat simultaneously.

You’re so out of it, your eyes don’t even seem to be seeing her. They stare straight through, like she’s not even there.

You smile and that’s when she sees the blood staining your teeth, it spills out between your split lips and you giggle when she gasps.

“Oh my God,” she backs away, head on a swivel to find the paper towels, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God- “

You wrap your arms around her waist, chin leaning on her shoulder and temple pressing to her cheek, “Robin…”

“Yeah,” Robin extends her arm, fingertips just brushing the paper towels, “I’m Robin - and I’m gonna get you cleaned up. Then we’re going straight to the hospital,” she stops, “Or should we go to the hospital now? We should go to the hospital now.”

“Uh-uh,” you tut, squeezing her tighter, your tone drops a little lower - how it does when you flirt, “Are you scared?”

“Scared of you?” Robin tries worming from your grasp but you’re holding too tightly, “I’m not- I could never. But we need to go, right now. You’re really hurt and I can feel you bleeding on me and you’re- “

“Good,” you coo and stumble back. There’s a rumble, you belch, and then your jaw drops open - black mucus-tar amalgamation spills out. It spots and bubbles and Robin throws herself backward - spine cracking against the doorway. Her hands clamp over her mouth to muffle the scream that rips her throat sore.

Her eyes squeeze shut and she slides down to her ass, hands covering her ears. There are tears and her chest burns and she can’t breathe. The air is too thick and she squeezes into herself, as if it’d make her physically disappear.

She starts rocking. It’s all she can do.

This is a nightmare. A nightmare. A horrible fucking dream.

When she opens her eyes, everything is the same. The fridge door is tossed wide, there’s blood smeared on her counters and floor, and the thick muck you tossed up is spreading across her floor.

But you’re missing.

Bloody footprints lead from the fridge to the where kitchen meets hallway - then vanish. Her bat is gone, too.

“What the fuck?” her eyes bubble with tears and she collapses onto her side, legs pulled tight to her chest, “What the fuck?”

The room smells like death. It’s cold. So very freezing cold.

“Hey,” you look tired, books hugged tight to your chest as you approach Robin and Dustin at her locker.

“Hey,” Robin stares. Eyes almost cartoonishly popping from her skull.

She knows what happened was real. She spent hours cleaning and scrubbing and showering. Unless that was all part of the dream.

Jesus, Hawkins was fucked up if that was passing as a mere nightmare now.

Dustin nudges her with his elbow and shakes his head, then turns to you, “Are you… feeling alright?”

“God, no,” you frown and droop into the locker beside Robin’s, “I’m breaking out and I pulled out so much hair in the shower this morning. I thought I was about to go completely bald.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Dustin leans down to see your face when your head hangs, “You really don’t look good.”

“I’m fine, Dusty,” you pat the boy’s shoulder before turning to Robin, “I think I have to cancel tonight, though,” you pout and if it were a normal day, she’d just want to make that dismal expression go away, “Gonna stay in and hope whatever this is passes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Robin looks into her locker and pulls out a random textbook, she slams the door shut and clicks the lock back into place, “No worries, just…” you looked like something from a horror movie last night, “What happened last night? After you left.”

Dustin figures this conversation isn’t for him and wanders off when he spots Eddie in the crowd - wishing you well as he goes.

You shrug and scoot closer, “Normal stuff. I mean, nothing even happened with that guy,” you shouldn’t be lying, but it isn’t like she’d believe the truth, would she? “He figured I was a virgin and when I corrected him, he - like - demanded that I bring him home.”

But you didn’t correct him. Didn’t have the time. Didn’t get the chance.

Now you’re hoping that Robin figures last night was all just a nightmare - and from the look in her eyes, you know she’s teetering on that edge.

She wants to ask, you know that. You know her. If she wasn’t so terrified of speaking last night into reality, then she would. But asking would make it real. Outside of the gates and monsters and girls with telekinesis, Hawkins was normal and there was a certain level of abnormality that a person could take before they snapped.

And you and Robin both knew that this was just outside her limit. So she doesn’t ask and you don’t tell.

Instead, you yawn and shake your head to keep yourself awake, “Anyway, I gotta go to Mr. Peters’ math. See ya later?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, though. Her lip balm tints her lips a soft red and you like the way it looks. She accepts the kiss you press to her cheek, “See you later.”

In the meantime, you catch Sully Vacks outside of your shared first period. You drag him away from the door by the sleeve of his varsity jacket.

He looks at you weirdly and you already know it’s more about your lack of makeup than the fact you’re a living zombie wanting to take him somewhere private. Well, private-ish.

Sully isn’t a nice person. He dated your fellow cheerleader, Stacey Bennett, for a while and you knew firsthand about the explicit polaroid pictures he’d taken of her without her permission. And you knew secondhand how he shared them with the football team.

You can justify this to yourself. To what remains of your conscience.

“Do you have any plans later?” you tilt your head and gently run a finger over his bicep, “If not, I was thinking maybe we could… hang out?”

You put on the show of what boys like and you watch, half there and half out of control, as he dumbly falls into your line.

But you remember how much he hurt Stacey, and you can imagine she isn’t the first (or last) girl he’s hurt. So you decide that you can justify this meal to yourself.

Like a cheat day - he practically doesn’t even count.

“So,” Sully’s brows draw tight as he looks up at Skull Rock, “you bring all the boys here?” then he looks at you, “Or am I special?”

You simper and loop your arms around his neck, “Which do you prefer?”

“I like to think I’m special,” he leans down, nose nudging yours.

You nod slowly, “You’re very special, Sully.”

He practically collapses into your kiss and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t amusing how desperate he was. Your hands settle over his chest, then sink lower, lower, lower until your fingers are grazing under his shirt.

“Is this okay?” you whisper against his lips, watching your work through your lashes.

Sully’s breath stutters before he nods, “More than okay.”

Your nails scrape his stomach, just enough to be there without hurting, “Good.”

Prey should be at ease before they die and prey should die quickly - it’s inhumane otherwise.

And the news spreads as Robin gets out of the double doors after the final school bell rings.

“Did you hear what happened?” Steve is glaring right at Robin, “No, I am not letting you walk home. Get in the damn car.”

“Steve,” Robin sighs, “how’d you even know I needed a ride? You stalking me now?”

He gives her a pointed look and she relents, throwing open the passenger door of his BMW and climbing in.

“I didn’t know you needed a ride but I wanted to make sure,” his brows furrow as he continues to wait outside the school, “Also heard your little girlfriend wasn’t feeling well.”

“She’s not- “ Robin smiles at the thought though and the retort dies under her tongue, “Also, what happened?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“Obviously not, dingus.”

“That varsity kid - Vacks? He…” Steve sounds winded, he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes wide, “His torso was torn open. Literally. Apparently, it looked like something was eating him.”

“Oh my God,” Robin’s hands fly over her mouth, slowly lowering for her to ask, “Do they know what did it?”

“‘What’?” Steve shakes his head, “No. That’s the weirdest part. It wasn’t like a wild animal did because it wasn’t those wounds that killed him,” Robin tilts her head. Steve looks out at the double doors and honks when some of his kids pile out, “Something snapped his neck. He died fuckin’ instantly.”

He puts up a finger to preemptively shush Robin as Dustin leans into the driver-side window.

“What?”

Steve nudges his head toward the backseats, “Get in.”

“No way,” Mike folds his arms, “We have to get Will and go to Hellfire tonight, we can’t just skip it.”

“Eddie will literally kill us,” Lucas tacks on.

“I can name something else that will literally, actually kill you,” Robin pipes up, earning a glare from Steve.

Mike and Lucas come closer to the car and Steve can practically see their hearts in their throats.

“It doesn’t look good,” Steve sets both hands on the wheel, “We don’t know what did it, but… Sully Vacks was more or less turned into a Thanksgiving dinner.”

“‘Don’t know what did it,’” Lucas shakes his head, “Yes, we do! Obviously, we do!”

Steve spots Max in the throng of people exiting Hawkins High, “No. Hopper said it didn’t look like anything we’ve seen, but I don’t want to rule it out entirely,” he drags a hand down his face and briefly wonders when his gray hairs will grow in, “Ask Mad Max if she needs a ride, will you?”

“There won’t be enough room,” Mike points out.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Steve grumbles, “Someone sits on a lap. I don’t care, you’re not staying late and I’m making sure you little shits get home.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” Lucas backs away, jogging over to where his girlfriend is sitting on the curb, fiddling with her walkman.

“How the hell did you even hear about this?” Dustin stands straight.

Steve rolls his eyes, “I may or may not have gotten a call that I legally can’t admit to,” his gaze darts between the boys to Robin, “From someone that may or may not have been Hopper.”

“Is El with him?” Mike asks, and Steve hates to see the way his face deconstructs in worry.

“Yeah, she’s with him,” Steve waves them off, “Go get Will and come right back. Do you hear me?” when they walk away with no confirmation, he shouts out the window, “I’ll hunt you all down, I’m not kidding!”

“You’re a regular Mama Bear, Steve,” Robin throws her head back against the rest, mind flooding with thoughts of you. More specifically, if your sudden change has anything to do with the possibility of the Upside Down being open again.

“These kids have seen too much,” Steve grips the steering wheel as Lucas approaches his car, “If possible, I want them as out of this whole thing as possible. If it’s even a thing,” his shoulders are tense and his mouth is distastefully dry, “Hopefully it’s just some psycho.”

But he doubts it.

Lucas leans down, one eye closed when the sun hits it dead on, “Max says Eddie can give her a ride. I’ll hitch with them, too, so your car’s not crowded.”

“Alright,” Steve nods, “Radio in when you’re home. Tell Max, too. I want to know you two are safe.”

“Yes, Mom,” Lucas rolls his eyes, waving off Robin as he walks away.

Will, Dustin, and Mike come upon the BMW. Will shakes his head vehemently, his hand brushes the back of his neck and he continues shaking his head.

Robin takes note of how at ease Will’s body is. As if everything, aside from this new paranoia, was totally fine.

Maybe this isn’t the work of the Upside Down. Which would usually be good - great, even - but it would raise more questions than it answered.

Who slaughtered Sully? Why would they do it? Why were you so suddenly ill? And what the fuck kind of dream did Robin have last night?

The Upside Down was officially ruled out as an option to the spectacle of violence when neither Eleven nor Will felt that it was open. Things were… safe.

You’re just glad Robin excused you from the meeting, on account of you being “sick”, before you could even hear about it. You don’t know how long and how hard you can lie, but you don’t plan on testing it out.

You give it a couple days before you return to Robin’s side at school.

And a good sum of weeks before forcing the whole thing out of your head.

Books hugged to your chest and preppy little cheer uniform on in eager wait for the pep rally and game later, you bounce up to Robin and slap a hand on her shoulder, “Boo!”

She gasps and jumps and glares when she realizes it’s only you, “You’re evil.”

“You’re just easy to scare,” you move and lean against the locker next to hers, “So…”

“So…?” she shuffles a couple books around, then flips down the cover to a mirror plastered on her locker door, peering into the glass.

“Prom is coming up,” you lean in close, grinning as she flounders for lipstick.

“Yeah, in two weeks,” she shrugs, “I know your schedule of tryouts for people to be your date is usually packed, but I am not so lucky.”

You roll your eyes and pull a garnet red lipstick from your bag, handing it to her over her shoulder, “I can only go with the people the general population would approve of, so that sucks.”

It was true, you couldn’t bring a girl to prom in the way Robin couldn’t. Unless it was as friends. But everyone knew that if you brought someone to prom as a friend, then you couldn’t dance the way you would want to dance with your date.

Except Robin, but that was more cowardice to confess than anything else.

“We could just go together?” you watch her apply your lipstick and you can hardly find it in yourself to tear your eyes away.

“Nah,” she sighs and caps the tube, “I don’t wanna screw up your chances of being prom queen.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” you accept the lipstick she holds out and replace it in your bag, “You wouldn’t mess up my chances. And it’s not like prom queen is that big a deal to me, you of all people should know that.”

“But this is our senior prom, if you didn’t win then I know you’d be bummed,” Robin shuts her locker and leans back against it. Her face dangles in front of yours like a carrot on a stick, “I might just make Steve bring me.”

“Ew,” your head thunks back on the metal, “I have no idea who I’m going with. All the boys here suck.”

“Are you just realizing?”

You shove her shoulder and huff while she laughs, “As true as that is, I can’t have my judgment mocked.”

“Oh, of course,” she shakes her head, “I’m so sorry, your highness.”

“I forgive you.”

Robin mocks a curtsy and swings her bag over her shoulder.

Things between you and Robin are different. You feel like she knows and she feels like you should know.

Over the same night, with two perspectives, you two are bound into different corners of the same room.

You want to tell her. You want help, you’re tired of fighting whatever it is inside you that tells you to feed. But you don’t want to drag anybody else into this - both for their safety, and yours. If you assume wrong, and there’s no way to help this curse, then you’re already dead.

Robin wants to tell you about her terrifying dream. Or at least, she’s decided it was a dream. She feels like you have a right to know, but you don’t. And also, what a peculiar thing it would be - to tell you about it. You weren’t even acting like yourself, it’d be childish to hold it against you. It is childish to hold it against you.

But there’s a pit in her gut no matter how badly she tries to shake it off.

“Wanna watch a movie together later?” but you’re so sweet and she adores you so much.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” Robin looks up at the ceiling as if it would tell her what’s in stock at Family Video, “Anything specific?”

You hum as you think and she’s always found that adorable about you, “Something cute. I don’t wanna think too hard after what happened.”

“I got you,” she promises, “I’ll get a great movie. No thinking required.”

“Awesome,” you stop outside Mr. Peters’ room, “Alright, I’ll see you at lunch, right?”

“Definitely,” she punches your shoulder, “as long as you remember where the band table is.”

“I remember, I remember,” you swat her hand away and set a hand on the doorknob, “See ya!”

Robin nods dumbly, grinning lovestruck as she waves, “See you later.”

Fifth hour is a mixed bundle.

On one hand, your lab partner is Robin! That’s exciting. On the other, your teacher is Mr. Gordon Vacks. Sully’s father. That’s exhausting.

You wonder, though, if he’d be pressing people to bring justice if he knew what his son was doing with explicit polaroids he took and showed without permission.

Would he even care?

Probably not.

You discovered at a young age that most fathers don’t care what their sons do as long as they can brag to their friends how smart or strong or funny he is.

It might be unfair to lump Mr. Vacks in with such a crowd, but you have yet to be proven wrong (aside from Wayne Munson, he was more of a father than most biological dads in your opinion).

Another study day is laid upon the students. Another day for Mr. Vacks to spend grilling teenagers about if they saw anything, what they heard, where they were, and whatnot without having to worry about actually lecturing.

There’s a sick, twisted glee trapped between the rungs of your ribs every time he mentions his son. It’s bizarre and you don’t like it, but there’s something undeniable about it.

Your hand pressed to your mouth just to hide your growing smile, you act like you’re reading from the study guide while he speaks with Trinity Liú about Sully’s death. She last saw him with Jason Carver.

Good.

A paper pricks the side of your arm and you jump slightly, calming when you see Robin trying not to laugh at you.

You roll your eyes and take the paper.

ouyay okayyay?

“Pig Latin, really?” you whisper and she shrugs, trying not to giggle while you translate.

You pass the paper back.

fine. just worried i guess

As if.

Sully was a bastard.

But did he deserve to die?

Duh. He was awful. He was only going to hurt more people.

Well yeah, but did he deserve to actually die?

Did he?

You’re not so sure anymore. It makes you sick.

Robin passes the paper back.

ouyay ooklay icksay

Huffing, your reply is quick.

write like a normal person

She concedes and crosses out her previous statement. Replacing it.

you look sick

Are you sick because of your cracking mind? Or is it because you’re growing hungry?

You tilt your head and shrug.

i’m fine

Liar.

Though, now that you think about it. It’s been a good month of peace since Sully had to die, and now - you hate to admit it - you do feel weaker. You got a paper cut after feeding last month and it healed instantly.

You look down at your hands now, where you cut yourself removing a staple in homeroom, and it’s still a fine line of puckered, dying skin.

“You can tell me anything,” she whispers.

Not this. Robin doesn’t want to know this - she doesn’t have to know this.

Your eyes flip across the room. Past Robin. Past Trinity. Onto Andy - one of Jason’s best friends. He hasn’t done anything to you other than be annoying, but you know he bullies your friends.

Well, Eddie’s friends that are your friends by association. And the freshmen, who you insist are your friends.

Robin leans forward, brows knit tightly and lips pursed, “What’s wrong? Seriously, you’re being weird.”

“I’m fine, Rob,” she doesn’t look convinced. Not at all, and you don’t blame her. Your hand finds hers under the table and you squeeze, “Really. I’m okay.”

She doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of hers.

Robin hates this feeling. She hates distrusting you. She hates feeling like you’re lying - because that’s not you.

You're her best friend. You’re more. You’re her one. Her person.

“I’m here for you,” it's the last ditch.

You nod, “Thanks, but really. ‘m okay.”

And it falls through.

She hates distrusting you.

When the bell rings, you’re quicker than her to pack up. You rush after Andy and she can’t surmise why. You have never liked Andy, never so much as muttered about how he was even cute. Robin wishes she could just look inside your head and see what’s wrong.

Why’re you acting like this?

Or is she being paranoid?

She hates this.

Robin chooses to stay on the sidelines when she sees you pouring the sugar over Andy. She won’t tie you down when you two aren’t even dating, but there’s no chance she’s going to sit there and listen to you hook up a date.

Eventually, you’re back at her side, “Sorry. Had to make plans for tomorrow.”

“You can…” she sighs, “you can go tonight, if you want.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Duh.”

It doesn’t fix what’s between you two - whether you’re hiding something or she’s paranoid - but it makes her beam. Pride and joy and love.

Movie nights are simple and easy.

This movie night is different.

You look awful - dried, bumpy skin and heavy bags under your bloodshot eyes. She doesn’t say anything, though.

“Okay,” Robin stands in front of your TV, holding up three videos, “We have: Sixteen Candles, Footloose, and Flashdance.”

“Uhm,” you wet your dried, cracked lips that persisted no matter how much balm you applied, blinking hazily, “Sixteen Candles.”

“Sucker for Ringwald,” she ‘tsk’s but pops the movie in all the same.

“Says the one who liked Vickie McNulty, that girl’s a carbon copy of Molly Ringwald. Have you seen Pretty in Pink yet? They’re the exact same.”

“Yeah, and I liked her. Past tense,” Robin emphasizes, returning to her rightful place beside you on the couch. She tosses an arm over the back and you drag yourself into the open space of her side.

Robin is warm while you shiver. Your skin is cold - like death. Like Aunt Shauna. She tries not to let it show and brings a family favorite throw blanket over the two of you.

Your eyes are already beginning to flutter shut and Robin can’t help but grin. There’s an adorable quality about you - no matter how tired or sick you look, there’s something in the air around you. Sunshine and bubblegum and a BFF necklace in the shape of a strawberry heart hidden beneath your shirt collar.

Robin checks the clock. The game isn’t for another two hours, she can let you sleep awhile.

But then you’re pawing at her shoulders, lips pouting and eyes pleading. The tactics you usually bulldoze through are now lathering thick over her like cement.

“What, uh,” she blanches, hands coming to entwine with yours, “what’re you doing?”

“Hm?” you simper, for real this time, “Playing.”

“Playing?” she quirks a brow.

You nod, leaning up to kiss her cheek again, but this time it’s different. No more friends and no more giggles. This is want.

Need.

You feel foggy, though. Like your actions aren’t yours and when you realize what’s coming, you also realize that they aren’t.

And when Robin’s caged beneath you on the couch, you’re entirely out of control.

The hunger is just a little too strong.

It’s need that makes you lean down - lips pressing to hers.

It’s want that makes her reciprocate.

Her hands are on your sides and you feel something burn at your skin. It's sparkling. Sensual and smooth. Robin keens into your lips and you feel a little better than before.

But Robin’s brows furrow and she pulls back.

She wants this, but it feels odd.

You don’t feel like you and this isn’t how she wants this to go down. But she also doesn’t want to outright reject you. So she settles for the middle.

A cowardly, stupid middle.

“Maybe not now,” she whispers, eyes avoiding yours.

You jump off of her and nod. You press your lips to gather the lasting taste of Robin’s watermelon chapstick, and you notice your lips are pillowy instead of rough. Your skin feels fuller. Firmer.

You think Robin notices by the way she stares at you. You look down at where you cut yourself removing that damned staple.

Completely healed.

“You can…” Robin clears her throat, “see him. If you want.”

You have to. You know that.

And rather than assume Robin is just conflicted, you accept this as rejection. Because what in God’s name would it be otherwise?

“Right,” you have a little under two hours until the game, “Right. Sure.”

“Sorry- “ Robin stands, hands outstretched for you when you begin walking away.

“It’s okay, Rob,” you pull on your shoes, head too full of thoughts about the next meal to even begin conceptualizing the fact that the girl you love is directly turning you away, “I’ll see you at the game.”

“See you at the game,” she wrings her hands, already regretting her decision, “Things don’t… they don’t have to change.”

“Yeah,” you pause before you leave, leaning over to press a cautious kiss to her cheek, “Bye, bye.”

“Bye,” she waves.

Why did she do that?

It felt wrong. Not the same kind of wrong in how it would if you had been high or drunk, but also not entirely different. It was like something was moving for you. She’s known you for a long time. She’s seen you - studied your movements and mannerisms and she knows how you behave.

She’s not being paranoid, there is something wrong and she’s convinced that the “nightmare” wasn’t a nightmare at all.

So why isn’t she stopping you from visiting Andy?

You wouldn’t hurt Andy. You’re a sweetheart, you wouldn’t. Bizarre happenings or not.

Robin doesn’t know what to do, so she calls Steve. Stupidly.

“What would you do if I told you someone was off?”

A few streets away, you’ve already got Andy on his knees at an abandoned construction site. You’re trying to think of things he’s said before. Things he’s done. Anything to justify this.

“Your girlfriend? Yeah, the whole group knows she’s been off her rocker lately.”

He’s pressing strangely kind kisses up your thigh as you wind a hand in his hair. It makes you salivate in sick and hunger all at once.

“She’s not my- ! Whatever, I’m just saying. I’m worried. I know we agreed that the Upside Down isn’t open but… I dunno. What if they were wrong?”

You kneel down to Andy’s level. You cup his cheeks in your hands - gentle and tender and loving. You bat your lashes and his lips quirk upwards.

“I guess. Maybe it took a new host?”

Your hands wretch his head. Sharp and quick. Prey shouldn’t suffer - it’s inhumane.

“Maybe. We shouldn’t mention this, huh?”

You feel disgusted. Just until your stomach growls and the hunger grows. No longer can you sustain yourself on watermelon kisses and sun-bleached hair and pretty freckles.

“Probably not. That sounds like a one-way ticket and I don’t think we’re ready to use it yet.”

There’s nothing you can think of. Not that you’re thinking while you eat. If you think while you eat then you have to present, and if you’re present while you eat - you think you might go completely mad.

“Right. I gotta go get ready for the game. I’ll talk to you later, Hair.”

Before he can get out a “don’t call me that!” Robin hangs up. There’s a dagger in her gut and she can only rub at the ache building behind her eyes - it’s overwhelming. It crashes over her - unlike the ocean as it fails to build. More like a firework, sudden and unforgiving. Bright. Loud.

It hurts.

Robin wanders to her room and tries to fight off the urge to check if her bat is there. She hasn’t looked out of fear. If it’s still missing…

She doesn’t even want to think about it, so she doesn’t. She thrives in blissful, selected ignorance. But a glance outside her bedroom window, still unclean of blood and split open, shows your car left on the curb. Abandoned. Not even the cherry charm you keep hanging on your rearview mirror is swinging. Completely untouched.

Robin, foolishly, saves her concerns until homecoming that night.

“Hey! Someone’s lookin’ better!”

You turn at the coo and smile sunshine bright at your favorite drug pusher, “Hey, Eds!” you wave him over with a pom-pom, “Thought games weren’t your thing?”

“They aren’t, but post-game athletes in need of recreational fun,” Eddie holds up his black lunchbox and jingles it in front of your face, “they are.”

Humming, you look over his shoulder to where the Hawkins band is lining up in front of the bleachers. Lips pressing and head tilting.

There should be enough time, and it’s not like you’ll have any fun with anybody else. Besides, if you go to prom with Eddie and Robin brings Steve - it’ll be a friendly reunion. A nice reunion. There should be enough time between feeds.

Your face falls.

Jason’s running around the gym. He asks basketball players, cheerleaders, teachers, band members, and stray students alike. Where’s Andy? Where’s Andy? Where’s Andy?

“Hey,” Eddie settles a hand on your shoulder, face gentle but prodding, “you good, bubble-brain?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, airy and tired, eyes fluttery, “Sorry. Just, uhm, worried. I guess. Nobody can find Andy.”

Eddie shrugs and purses his lips, as if he has no idea why that might be alarming, “Probably fucking off somewhere. ‘s gonna work out. He’ll be here.”

Robin bursts through the doors with Steve hot on her tail, she searches for something. Someone. You.

She grins despite the saran wrap bundled relationship you’re sharing and rushes to you. A keyring is looped around her finger, fitted with three keys - each one with a different fruit painted onto it - and a fluffy pink and white ball charm. Robin presses the keys into your chest, hand lingering just long enough for you to cage her hand there with yours.

Your heart thunders and you wonder if Robin can feel it. You wonder if she knows why.

“You left these at my house,” Robin mutters, eyes staying on your glossed lips just a little too long for a friend - for a girl, “along with your car,” her voice is a little raspier than usual, you like it, “You should really keep better track of your things.”

“Right, sorry,” you release her hand and hand the keys to Eddie, “I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. I’m kinda… tired.”

“Of course,” Robin nods shortly, then takes you by the arm and drags you away from the boys, “Look, bunny, something is definitely up. And- and don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely…” she laughs, hollow, “I’m into you, that way. I like you, like, a lot. I think I’m crazy for you, actually. Just- I wanna get this all figured out before we start anything.”

Nothing will ever be figured out. Not really, anyway.

But you nod slowly because you don’t know how much longer you have to be with her like this.

“I get it, Rob,” you reach out and clench her hand, squeezing with a saccharine smile, “‘m still gonna flirt with you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she grins, bottom lip tugging between her teeth.

You’re not dumb - lots of people think you are, but you aren’t. You know that the demon sleeping inside you was satiated by Robin’s touch and you now choose to keep that in your back pocket.

You’ve never gotten full off of mere touch, so the fact it happened with Robin will be a last-ditch effort. A just in case. For the worst scenario. You don’t want her in this more than she has to be. If she has to be at all.

You leave her side, prancing off to the line of cheerleaders in front of the bleachers.

Robin watches, face screwed in wonder. She’s not dumb, either. She can hear Jason asking where Andy is. She knows you were more than likely the last person to see him alive. She knows something’s wrong.

Upside Down host or not, you’re you now. That’s unmistakable.

She watches from the band section as you cheer with the others. It’s you. She can feel it. There are times where she can’t. Where she senses something else. Something off. Like a store-brand coffee or a cheap copy of a dress.

Sometimes it’s you. Sometimes it’s a mix. Sometimes, rarely, it’s that dread from before. When you were keeping her down, she felt it. Darker. Twisted. A thick rainstorm, a deathly hurricane that smothers the sunshine.

But now, as you cheer on the Tigers and subtly wave to her with your sparkly green-and-yellow pom-pom - she knows you’re you. Undeniably and absolutely revocably you.

...

“Thanks again, Eds,” you’re in Eddie’s passenger seat by the end of the night. Your feet kick up onto the dashboard and twirl the ring Robin gave you around your finger, “So, how much did you make tonight?”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Eddie pops you in the thigh with the back of his hand, “And I made a shitload. Haven’t counted it all yet, but - it was a lot. Not that you’re seeing any.”

“Aww,” you lean over the center console, pouting dramatically, “you’re so mean.”

“Go tell your girlfriend about it,” he smiles at you. Big and fake and dumb.

“Oh, you know what- “ you fold your arms, lashes narrowing at the metalhead. Then, your eyes go lax and hands fall into your lap, fingers now picking at a peeling edge of cotton candy tinted nails, “Do you really think she likes me?”

“You two are so oblivious.”

“Well, I mean, I know she does, it’s just…” you look out your window, watching trees skim past the skyline, “I dunno. Maybe it’s the childhood friends effect.”

“I’m gonna lose my mind,” Eddie shakes his head, eyes lingering on your side profile for just a second longer, “I feel like I’m listening to a bad rom-com,” when you stay silent, he sighs. Over-the-top and thoroughly done, “Even if it is the childhood friends effect, it’s still there, right? You two are still into each other.”

“Yeah.”

But for how long?

How long can you hold yourself together?

“Wanna go to prom?” your voice is a little too distant, a little too caught up in your own thoughts, “I mean, I’ll be with Robin, but we need someone to bring us and I figure you’re going anyway.”

You gesture to the backseat of the van where Eddie’s black, metal lunchbox has been tossed - originally onto the seat but it tumbled to the floor as soon as Eddie started driving. He should really get his driving under control.

“Wow, just call me a chariot next time,” Eddie mumbles, hands knocking on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the radio, “Sure, I’ll take you.”

“Great!” you punch the ceiling of his van, quickly earning yourself a glare that could kill, “Thanks a lot, Eds.”

“Mhm,” he slams to a stop in front of your house and holds up a fist, “Don’t get killed by whatever thing is hunting hot teenagers, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you hope your voice doesn’t shake too much, hope your giggle isn’t too nervous, “You either, ‘kay?”

When you bump your knuckles with his, Eddie then moves to twirl his hair - voice drawling up comically higher to supposedly mimic you, “‘kay!”

“Oh, get a hobby,” you roll your eyes and hop out of the van, “Drive safe!”

“Never!” he shouts through the window, honking twice and speeding away.

You jump at the sound and flip Eddie off as he drives, fully knowing he may not even see it.

A few streets away, Robin is laid back in her bed. Eyes on the ceiling. She feels like she could call. Surely, you’re home. But the idea makes her sick - so she shuts her eyes and lets the thought die.

Her room is so cold.

Grossly so.

Robin doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, she falls into a fitful rest on top of her comforters. Cold and restless. Cold and unwelcome.

…

You’ve always been a firm believer that hell is just the day of prom. Over and over again. Even before recent developments that left you exhausted and drier than a bag of prunes without a good feed.

It’s a day chock full of last-minute promposals and athlete douchebags trying to somehow act too cool whilst begging you and your fellow cheerleaders to go with them. The begging is in subtext, but it happens nonetheless.

“You should probably skip that meeting with Ms. Moora,” Robin leans into you, watching as your gentle hands rub your temples, “Don’t look so good, bunny.”

“Yeah, I know,” you’re quiet, eyes scrunched at the volume of the cafeteria, “I feel like hell.”

Robin purses her lips, nodding while taking one of your hands and squeezing it, “Are you gonna be okay to drive?”

You sigh. Shrug.

“Yeah…”

You don’t have much of a choice.

Robin visibly cringes, “I dunno, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I’ll be fine, Rob,” you huff, ripping away your hand to cover your eyes, “Sorry. I just. I don’t feel good.”

“I figure,” she laughs dryly, the glee dropping from her face just as quickly as it’d arrived, “Sorry, I’m only worried. You’ve been acting really weird lately, and with the… you know, everything going on. I have a bad feeling.”

“I’m fine, Robin,” you groan and lean back, head tilting towards the ceiling, “Really.”

“But how do we know?”

“The only victims have been boys, right? That’s gotta mean something.”

“Well, yeah, but still. Don’t you care?”

“About a couple douchebag athlete dickheads getting ripped open? No, not really.”

Robin pulls back, eyes wide, “What?”

You pry your hands down from your face, giving the confused Robin a once over, “What?”

“Dude,” Robin shakes her head, “how could you say that?”

Robin wasn’t ever a fan of the Hawkins’ meatheads, but there’s something about the venom with which you said such a thing. The way you’re so apathetic. It’s not you.

“It’s just…” you toss your hands up, “boys! Stupid, asshole boys. What does it even matter? There are a thousand other jocks just like them.”

“Okay,” Robin guffaws in disbelief, “but this isn’t like you. They’re still people. You just… I don’t- “

“People change, Robin,” you rub your cheek and groan at how dry it feels, your stomach stinging with emptiness, “It’s totally not a big deal.”

“Are you sure?” Robin furrows her brows at you, “I don’t like this change.”

“Well,” you stop yourself.

You cover your mouth as your brain finally catches up to what you just said. What the fuck did you just say?

“I don’t…” you blink, slow and tired, dazed and confused, “I’m sorry- I don’t know why I said that…” Robin leans down to lock eyes with you, taking your hands in hers, “Any of it. I don’t know why I said any of it.”

Robin cups your cheek, gently rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone, “I think you should have your parents call you out of school.”

Your cheeks are sullen and eyes sunken. You look dead.

Something in the back of Robin’s head whispers. Aunt Shauna.

“They’re both at work,” you run a hand over your face, frowning as you pull the hand away, “I could probably just leave now.”

“Will you be okay to drive?” you stand, pressing Robin down by the shoulders when she tries following.

“I can ask Eds, he doesn’t plan on coming back after his stupid lunch deals,” you nudge your head towards the Hellfire table - noticeably lacking in a boisterous leader.

“Alright,” Robin chews her bottom lip, reaching under the collar of her Jem and the Holograms T-shirt, “Hey.”

She holds up her half of a strawberry heart BFF necklace.

You smile, earnest but exasperated, and pull out your own half of the necklace - bending down to click it in place with hers.

“We’ll be okay, right?” Robin wants to go back.

Before your stupid band and before Sully Vacks got killed.

But you lie.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay,” you kiss her cheek, leaving it faintly red in your lipstick’s stain, “See ya.”

“See you later,” she can’t help but feel like there’s something missing.

Torn out and shredded.

You find Eddie at his infamous picnic table in the woods, finishing up a deal with Stacey Bennett. Excitedly, he waves you over.

“The queen of Hawkins High! How can I help you?”

“Can you give me a ride home on your way out?” you sit next to Eddie and plop your head on his shoulder, “I feel like slush.”

“Aw,” he pouts, packing up his lunchbox of drugs, “muck, even?”

“Mucus, actually,” you giggle when he gasps, apparently horrified.

“Alright, get her started for me,” Eddie hands over his keys, and you grin, jangling them as you skip off to his prized van.

Robin can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

It persists even as she gets a ride home from Steve. Even as she gets in her pantsuit for prom. Even as she applies her makeup. It burns, eating at the fraying edges of her brain. Or what’s left of it, at least.

A few streets away, you slam your window shut and shake your head at how long you must’ve left it open. No wonder your room is practically freezing cold. That’s it.

You turn back towards your open closet and pull down the dress you’d picked out with Robin mere days ago. It’s a salmon pink affair to go with her baby pink pantsuit. Eddie will be in his usual attire with the addition of a blazer and aggressively neon pink tie. You hear Steve bought a hideously Barbie pink suit because he lost a bet to Robin.

It’s a beautiful dress. Dips and hugs where you want it to - lacing on the skirt (which falls to your ankles perfectly).

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Absent eyes. Irritated skin. Lips chapped. You look ill. So unlike yourself that it’s hard to believe this face was ever yours. You can’t stop staring, though.

It’s odd.

It’s you.

You’re hungry.

Just to punctuate the damn thing, your stomach rumbles - your head feels light and for a split second, you can’t see. You stumble, one hand flying out to catch yourself on the vanity and the other clutching your dress.

You wish you never went to The Hideout.

You need to feed quickly. You don’t want to think about the people you’d be hurting. Your friends. Robin. Last time was too close a call, you can’t possibly risk it again.

A sharpness hits your gut like you’ve been pierced, you whine and fall to your knees. Your mouth runs dry and you can feel your muscles twitch.

You need to feed quickly.

Eddie had a crush on you last year - you know that. You feel bad because you like Eddie as a friend and want him happy, but that can never be you. Something inside you, though, can’t stop thinking about it.

The way he looked at you. How he’d bend over backwards for you. How he still lets you put your heel-clad feet on the dashboard of his van.

“Hey, pull up here,” you’ve got half of a BFF necklace pulled up to your chin, pressing the cold metal against your skin.

Eddie concedes, looking over at you, “Alright, bubble-brain, what’s going on up here?”

He pokes your temple twice before you catch his hand - he laughs when you glare.

“Wanna check out the abandoned pool house?” you nudge your head in the direction of the aforementioned pool house. Moss bitten and vine slathered. It’s cracking the higher you look and kids like to dare each other to go inside on Halloween.

“Mmm, I dunno,” Eddie rests his elbow on the center console, chin digging into the meat of his palm, “We sort of have somewhere to be.”

“So?” you lean forward, nose at his cheek, grinning when he flushes, “C’mon, there’s fun to be had before prom.”

He backs away, arms folding. He’s trying to smile like this is lighthearted, like he isn’t half considering it and half afraid of you laughing in his face.

“What about Robin?” his brows furrow. Tongue pressed to cheek.

“What about Robin?” you run the half-heart charm over your lip.

“No,” Eddie laughs again, but he’s breathless, “You- no. No way.”

“Eds,” you puff out your bottom lip, “Eds.”

“No,” he’s firmer this time, “Alright, we can check out the pool house, but nothing is happening, do you understand? I don’t know what the fuck your problem is right now, but you’re being weird.”

“Nothing’s my problem,” you roll your eyes and hop out of his van, speaking before shutting the door, “Now, let’s go before we’re late.”

Eddie watches you cross the yard, you stop before the door and turn back to him. Calling and waving your hand impatiently. He reaches into his glove box and pulls out a walkie-talkie Dustin forced him to start carrying (not that he knows why, but when it comes to Henderson, it’s easier to simply go with it). He keys into the proper signal before calling out.

“Harrington? Come in, Harrington. I know you like dressing yourself up, but this is gonna be important.”

…

Robin looks at the walkie, then where Steve is still in his bathroom - eyes narrowed at his reflection and fingers burying in his hair every two seconds.

“Hello,” the ‘o’ is stretched out, “pretty boy, I’ve got serious shit going on.”

It’s Eddie. Robin might not be allowed to get into Steve’s shit, but this seems like a fine exception. So she grabs the walkie off Steve’s desk and tunes in.

“Eddie? It’s Robin, what’s going on?”

“Your girl is actin’ fucking weird. We’re stopped at the pool house. I think you two should hurry here before she decides to leave.”

Robin drops the walkie and darts out of Steve’s room. If she was thinking a little more clearly, a little less pressed for time, a little smarter - she would’ve dragged Steve to his car.

But she’s got that bad feeling and Eddie might be in trouble and you might be the cause.

She fucking knew she wasn’t paranoid. She knew something was wrong.

You were the last person to talk to Andy, and she knew that and she kept quiet because she didn’t want to be wrong. No, she wouldn’t have been wrong - she knows that now and she knew that then. She just didn’t want you getting caught.

There has to be something else. There’s no other option.

Her feet ache in the platformed dress shoes she stuffed herself into - but she doesn’t stop running. Her lungs are fucking burning and her legs are screaming at her to stop.

Something told her it was wrong. She saw you at the end of the hall - she saw you grab Sully’s sleeve and she could feel it when you trapped her against the couch. You looked like she’d never seen you - like you were twisted. Inverted and crushed and ground up and spat back out. No life. No warmth.

She should’ve listened to the whispers.

Aunt Shauna.

You’re not you. You’re not human.

…

“I’m telling you right now, bubble-brain, if you don’t let go - I might think you’re gonna try something.”

“Hm? And if I do?”

“I already told you, nothing’s happening.”

Your hands have found a place on Eddie’s sides, he can feel your nails through his layers of clothes. Your face pressed to his back.

“No fun,” you pout. Your stomach growls - stronger, louder, more vicious. You pry yourself away to clutch at your tummy, “God- fuck-!”

Eddie turns, eyes wide, “Are you…” his hands hover just above your shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“Hungry…” you collapse into his chest, forehead pressing into his neck, “So hungry, Eds. ‘m so weak. Can barely fight.”

“The hell’re you fighting?” he tries laughing, really tries, “I doubt it’s that serious, bubble-brain.”

“Can you help me?” your jaw feels loose. Hanging by a string of muscle, the bones detached. Tongue dry and numb and gut clenching, “You’re a good friend, right? You care about me? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course, we are,” he pulls you back by the shoulders and if you were just a little stronger then maybe you could’ve broken away like you did with Robin, “We can go eat right now. Where do you wanna go? I’ll use that game money to buy you anything you want.”

“Eddie…” you groan miserably, another growl and it rocks through you - a whole-body spasm. You snap forward at the hips as you yelp in pain. It’s like having that stupid bowie knife locked and twisted and dragged through your stomach again and again and again.

Your hands come back up to his sides, beneath the overcoat. Fingertips skimming up his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you bury your face into the crook of his neck, nails digging sharply into his ribs and keep sinking even when he grabs at you and tries pulling away. Even when he screams - even when he rushes you into the wall. You take it and you don’t know how much longer you can, “I’m so sorry.”

It’s desperation and agony and you don’t think you can live like this anymore.

You can’t justify this life - you want to stop but you’re too scared to die.

Or rather, too scared to find out what happens if you stop trying to drown out whatever thing inside you feeds on flesh. At least this way you control the meal. Somewhat.

But now you’re picking Eddie.

Eddie is your friend.

You scream as he does and you hope someone finds you two. You hope they shoot you through the back and pierce your blackened heart.

He bleeds.

“Bunny!”

You dart away from Eddie at the sound of her voice.

Not her. Anybody, sure. But not her. Not Robin. The only one who loves you instead of the cheerleading prom queen, the only one you love. She can’t see you like this.

Her sweet, rasped voice carries outside and you hide in a dark corner; Eddie collapses back into the wall with hisses of pain and Robin smashes through a cracked, spotted window.

Robin crashes in with glass scraping her knees, slicing through the legs of her clothes. Her eyes find you though - just like they do at every party and the cafeteria and friend get-together. She finds you. Under the grime and darkness, she sees you.

“Bunny,” one hand scrambles in hidden view while the other reaches out for you, “you can come out, sweetheart, come on out.”

You try. You move an inch before Eddie gurgles in pain and your stomach wretches.

It’s too much. Why did she ask before shooting?

It should’ve been Nancy that found you.

“Robin!” you wrench back, hands covering your ears and eyes clenched. Your back hits the wall and you slide down to your ass, “Robin, Robin, Robin- !”

Robin runs to you, her shaky hands try and steady on your shoulders, “It’s okay,” she laughs, hollow and dry, eyes heavy, “it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, bunny.”

“I don’t like this,” you whimper, legs pulling up as close to your chest as possible, “I hate this- “ you gasp and sputter, a scream is building beneath the surface, “I’m not me.”

“You’re you,” she presses a kiss to your forehead and her arms come around your neck, “You’re you right now, right?”

You nod weakly, hands coming down and winding into her overcoat, “I’m me.”

“You’re okay, bunny,” she kisses your temple and gently pries you away from the wall. Your back is exposed, “Everything will be okay…”

You sniffle and bury your face into the crook of her neck, “Robin- I- I don’t know what to do…”

She nods. Silent. Because she knows that if she opens her mouth now, everything will come spilling out.

“Robin, what do I do?”

Robin’s face scrunches and she kisses your cheek, “I’ll take care of it, bunny. Just let me take care of it, ‘kay?”

You go lax in her arms, a smile - finally, a real smile - spreads over your lips and you hug yourself impossibly closer. Her voice, raspy and scratchy and comforting, lulls you in like a siren’s song. And you hurdle towards her song like a lovestruck pirate - you hurdle right towards the whirlpool.

And you drown.

Robin cringes when you screech, but she digs the glass deeper into your back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- !”

Your hands scramble to her shoulders and you push and push and push until you can finally squirm out of her arms. You fly back into the wall, nudging the glass deeper. Your head rocks back and thuds into the dirt-caked surface as you scream.

You yank the glass shard from your back and watch the blood glint in the moonlight that leaks through cracked windows. Your eyes hesitantly flutter to Robin and you hate what you’re met with.

Wide eyes and heaving chest. She’s terrified. Terrified of you.

Then you look at Eddie. Bleeding and writhing in pain. His eyes can barely stay open long enough to properly watch you.

What have you done?

You drop the glass shard and it shatters across the concrete floor.

You like Eddie. He’s a good friend and a sweet person - an angel right to his core. If there was no way to justify hunting Andy and Jason - how in God’s name could you do it now?

Your knees ache when they hit the floor - a pain that rings up your thighs and nestles into your pelvic bone. Your forehead rests on the cold stone, dangerously close to the glass and you feel your stomach tighten. It growls and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, head moving so your chin is on the floor and you’re staring right at Robin, “So, so hungry…”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Robin clatters forward, on her hands and knees, face lowering to yours, “You were full with me, right? Why didn’t you just come to me?”

Your lip wobbles and you can feel the budding fears rise to the surface.

Months pretending. Months wasted trying not to think about it. It’s not real. The missing posters, the blood you scrub away, the voice in the back of your head - none of it is real. The suffering, the hunger, the violence, all because some shitty metal band mistook you for their ethereal virgin. All because they wanted fame more than they valued their fellow man.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, Rob…” your eyes burn and there are tears that drag down your face, “Didn’t wanna risk hurting you…”

“You wouldn’t,” she cups your face, brows furrowing, “We- “

Eddie comes to a stand, still leaning against the wall, still cupping his hands over his bleeding sides.

“We can go.”

You and Eddie both look at Robin, but her eyes are trained on you.

She can’t go through with it. Not you, she can’t lose you.

You’re sunshine and bubblegum and a BFF necklace in the shape of a strawberry heart hidden beneath a shirt collar. You’re her one. Her person. The burger to her fries. The Juliet to her Romeo.

“We can go, bunny,” her hands fret over your face and she lifts you onto your knees, “No more Hawkins.”

“What about the others?”

She shakes her head.

“What about Steve?”

Robin has said it herself. Her and Steve are Platonic soulmates with a capital ‘p’. She isn’t very sappy, but sometimes when it’s his birthday or is feeling especially emotional, she spills it all. To you, to Steve. To anybody who’ll listen.

If you’re her person, Steve is her schmuck. If you were to drop dead, Steve would be your eventual replacement. The mere step-bestie.

They’ve gone to war together, been interrogated and tortured together, almost died together. Steve is more than a brother, he’s the entire family.

Robin steels herself and tries to shrug off the weight she’s slinging over her shoulders as she says, “What about Steve? There’s a million people like him, but… but there’s only one you, bunny.”

You don’t believe her, and you can tell that she doesn’t even believe herself.

“I should’ve never gone to that fucking bar…” you heave, throat tight and stomach aching, “Those fuckers - Robbie - tried sacrificing me as a virgin and now I’m- “ you reach for Robin’s leg, thumb brushing over the exposed red lines of where she cut her knees on the glass, “I don’t know what I am, but it isn’t human.”

“Just stay with me,” Robin picks up your jaw, cradling your head tenderly and forcing you to lock eyes with her, “If I can help, I will. You feel full with me, so just be with me, bunny.”

“What if I hurt you?” you sniffle, eyes wet and body limp, “I can’t- “

“You won’t,” Robin kisses your cheek, “And if you do, we’ll deal with it together. You’re strong, bunny, you’re smart - I know you can handle this.”

Your turn towards Eddie, “He knows.”

Robin’s hands go to your shoulders, pulling you tight to herself, tucking your head into the crook of her neck. She stares at Eddie. Pleading and weak and uneasy.

“Munson, I know you haven’t been around for a lot of Hawkins’ shit like we have, and we’ll explain later - but just- “ her breathing is shaky, she shakes her head, “Please, this wasn’t her. I swear, this wasn’t her.”

Eddie is silent. It’s bizarre. He looks between the two of you.

He doesn’t know where to go. What to say. He wants the old you back, whenever you changed he doesn’t know but he wants you back. He doesn’t even know if that’s entirely possible. He doesn’t know what to say.

How does he laugh this off? How does he wave this away? This isn’t you mistakenly hitting a fence when he was trying to teach you how to drive. It’s more than you passing out on his bed after a late night. Bigger than accidentally missing Corroded Coffin’s gig at The Hideout.

Robin hugs you closer, “I know we’re not best friends, but you have to know - it’s Hawkins. She’s sick with whatever fucked up curse is here.”

Eddie stands up from the wall, he pulls his hands away from his side to inspect the blood there. He’ll live, most assuredly, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll take him to forgive this.

Should he forgive this?

His hand shakes as he points at you - past Robin and right at where you’re trying to hide, “I want an explanation… and- and answers for whatever Hawkins’ curse you’re talking about.”

“Will you keep quiet?” Robin’s trying so hard to sound like she has the power, but it’s all bravado she never mastered. She’s pleading. Begging.

You look at him now. Shaking and horrified. You don’t look like the girl he knows.

“Yeah,” so he submits, hands raising in surrender, “I’ll keep quiet.”

He slides back onto the ground and Robin turns your head to her, she smiles and you try to return it. You really, really do try. But you’re tired and you’re hungry and you want to disappear from his pool house. From the world where you’ve done what you have.

“You’re starving, huh, bunny?” Robin brushes a thumb over your bottom lip before kissing you, “We should take care of you.”

“Do you hate me?” you clutch at her despite the question, desperate to keep her close even if she does, “For the… for what I did…”

“No,” Robin kisses you again, hungrier, harder, “Not at all, bunny.”

Dare she say it, she loves you.

And one day, you’ll tell her you love her back.

“Come on,” she stands and you take her hand. She squeezes - your skin is warm. You’re you, “Let’s get you taken care of, bunny.”

You’re warm.

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley oneshot #robin buckley fic #robin buckley #robin buckley x fem!reader smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #jennifer's body #jennifer's body au #eddie munson x platonic!reader #i want this out of my drafts so bad #i'm so sick

324 notes · View notes

rainydayathogwarts · 7 months

Text

Characters I write for / take requests for

So I just want to introduce my blog with this post to invite new followers in! I write for many characters that I will list below, and take requests for all of them! I have been getting only Ron Weasley requests since a post I wrote for him got a lot of attention, but this is just for everyone to feel free to request other character too!

If I have written something for a character that is on my masterlist but isn't on here, it means I don't write for them anymore!!

My masterlist

Stranger things: - Nancy wheeler - Robin Buckley - Steve Harrington - Eddie Munson - Billy Hargrove Wizarding world: - Harry Potter - Ron Weasley - Neville Longbottom - Percy Weasley - Charlie Weasley - Oliver Wood - Viktor Krum - Seam Finnigan - James Potter - Sirius Black - Remus Lupin - Ginny Weasley - Lily Evans - Pansy Parkinson

MCU: - Wanda Maximoff - Natasha Romanoff - Peter Parker - Agatha Harkness

Criminal minds: - Spencer Reid - Emily Prentiss - Aaron Hotchner

Other: - Jennifer Check - Ken

34 notes · View notes

lanawinterscigarettes · 4 months

Note

Hello, there! I would like to request a Jennifer Check x reader, please? Some fluff, please? Thank you.

oh, absolutely! hope you like what I came up with <3

Clothing Troubles (Jennifer Check x reader)

Warnings: Jen's a clothing hoarder, mild and brief swearing, this is actually really sappy and sweet

"How can you have so many outfits and yet still find nothing to wear?" You asked while sitting on Jennifer's bed, watching her going through her dresser drawers looking for something to wear for the date you were taking her on.

It was nothing fancy, just a simple movie, but naturally her being the drama queen she was she needed to blow even the smallest of a circumstance way out of proportion.

"How can you have so many outfits and yet I'm constantly seeing you wear the same old sneakers and ratty hoodie?" She shot back, clearly frustrated.

You held up your hands in defense. "Hey, it was just a simple question, not an attack on your character."

She gave you a glare before shutting the drawer and moving on to the closet. "This is ridiculous," she said with a frown.

You let out a sigh, hating to see her so upset. "Look, I know it's important to you that you always look and feel the absolute best, but I think you're perfect just the way you are, okay?"

She scoffed at you, rolling her eyes. "Oh, of course you would say that."

"Jen, I'm serious." You got off the bed and made your way over to her. "I always think you end up looking incredible. Hell, I think you look amazing right now."

She pretended to be ignoring you, even though she really wasn't. "...go on," she said after a moment's pause.

"I think you're so beautiful," you continued, "and funny, even if you do have a really twisted sense of humor, and I think you're the focus point of every room you walk into."

"You're wrong," Jennifer corrected, finally paying you some attention. "I am the focus point."

"See? So you shouldn't stress so much." You take one of her hands in yours and press a light kiss to her knuckles.

"Oh my god, you are such a sap." Even if she was acting like she was annoyed with you, you knew what you said had affected her, and that she really did care. "Fine, I'll just find something random and throw it on. But if we run into anyone important while we're out, I'm going to be so pissed off."

"More important than you? Never."

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated <3

Main masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

🏷 taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous

107 notes · View notes

queen-helaenas-pet-spider · 11 months

Text

25 notes · View notes

imyourbratzdoll · 7 days

Note

if youre still taking requests for her, could you do jennifer check x snowwhite!reader? ur fics are so amazing :))

hi honey! I'm always taking requests for her, I missed writing her haha! I hope you liked this.

summary - people were confused on how snow white and the evil queen could be best friends, not knowing that best friends usually don't kiss like they do.

warning - girl on girl kissing.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

When people would think about you and Jennifer Check, they’d think Snow White and The Evil Queen. Where one would go, the other would follow. They’d wonder how the two of you could be best friends with such extreme differences in personalities. You were someone that was too sweet, so kind and lovable. You’d always think and put others before yourself, always so caring. How could something so sweet be surrounded by something so dark? But they never saw what happens behind closed doors or when no one is watching, even in the darkest corners of the school.

You and Jennifer are hanging in your bedroom, you lie on your back on your bed. Hair sprawled out underneath you, your mouth open as squeals escape you. Your eyes screwed shut as Jennifer leans over you, her perfectly manicured fingers digging into your sides as she tickles you. Your soft, sweet laugh brings a real smile to her lips, one only reserved for you.

“Jen!” You gasp, sucking in a sharp breath as she continues, your giggles bouncing off the walls. “Stop!” You wiggle underneath her, trying to escape her torturous fingers but you’re trapped. Your tear-filled eyes slowly open, connecting with her pretty blue ones.

Suddenly it felt as though everything had stopped. Time had slowed down, silence replacing the once joyous laughter. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, followed by the heavy breathing that escapes you and Jennifer. Has she always been this beautiful? When did your palms become so sweaty? Slowly your eyes drift down to her plump pink lips, you watch as her tongue swipes against her lips, wetting them.

Jennifer watches you, her eyes hazy as they drift down to your lips, watching them part and breathy gasps escape them. “Snowy…” Her voice raspy, but soothing. It suited her. Her nickname that she made after hearing what people called them fell from her lips. Jennifer’s hand cups your cheek, her thumb stroking it as her gaze flickers between your eyes and lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Baby Snow.” Her thumb moves against your plump bottom lip, watching you squirm beneath her. “You’re the only good thing I have…”

Your eyes widen as your hands move to grasp her hips, wanting to keep her as close to you as possible. She was your queen in your eyes, what people said was true. She was The Evil Queen, but never to you. You were her little Snow White or Baby Snow or Snowy. You’d kneel before her if it meant you could be hers forever. “Y–you won’t. I trust you, Jen. I always have and always will.” Your voice small and sweet, just like you.

And as those words slipped from your pretty red lips, all control Jennifer had broken, slipping through her fingers. Her lips crash against yours, eyes slipping closed, both hands cupping your cheeks and she presses her whole body against you, wanting to get closer. You let out a soft moan, following her movements, your grip on her hips tighten before they slide up her back and into her hair, tugging on it causing moans to fall from her lips.

Her tongue swipes against your bottom lip, smirking as you eagerly open your mouth, whining as her tongue slips inside, dominating you before you can even think. You were hers forever, the marks she left on you that night proved it to everyone.

It felt like the fairytale you had always dreamed of.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

24 notes · View notes

maliceofminds · 8 months

Text

really putting in that research

#jennifers body au #fic: god blessed/hell bound

10 notes · View notes

onlyangelxo · 10 months

Text

Last Sentence Tag War

hello! I was tagged by @realmermaid333 and @badmoodbatflowers

The rules of this game are simple, as there is only one: Post the last sentence you've written for any of your WIPs.

Tyler Galpin lords over the open space of the quad like a cavalier prince in his high tower observing the peasants of his kingdom.

this is from my jennifer's body au titled killing boys, which will be a part of one of my entries for @weylerwritingevents' kink bingo. hopefully the first chapter will be done soon!

I will be tagging @nonamemanga @katwitchwriting @wincestation @badmoodbatflowers @ladyadelinergrey

#wyler #weyler #nik writes fic #killing boys #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #jennifer's body au

18 notes · View notes

chopper-witch · 2 years

Text

Ritual 777 - Ch 4: Vendetta

Eddie Muson x female!reader; Jennifer’s Body!AU --> kind of changed into a general just cult AU

Minors DNI. I will find and tell your parents or guardians.

Story title inspired by Ritual 777 by Temple Twins | Chapter title inspired by Vendetta by UNSECRET, Krigaré | Full playlist (working - not finished aka will change)

WC: 7,000+

Summary: The ritual worked for them. They get what they want and you get to kill to live. That doesn’t really seem fair, does it?

Warnings: murder; revenge; more religious nonsense; I talk about antisemitism; if cults trigger you I really do suggest you stop reading now even though only Crowley’s nonsense is mentioned at the moment>

A/N: This chapter has no Eddie in it at all again. He is coming, I swear. I really do. He comes in chapter 6 if you want to just wait until then and skip everything else. Yes I stole Erin Greene from Midnight Mass what about it.

Prior Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Killing prominent men is not the best idea, you conclude. No matter how tempting, how delicious, how satiating and fulfilling.

You try to seek out less prominent men, men who aren’t pastors. With the mysterious disappearance and reappearance of that kid, who supposedly died but then didn’t or whatever, it isn’t too hard to pass the deaths of the two men — men who are drunkards and abusers and awful people, who are found in a creek a week later or so and probably chewed up by animals — off as a part of whatever mystery seems to be going on in Hawkins.

Time grows between each kill.

The need staves off. For a few weeks. Then over a month.

It comes back though.

Always.

Killing people, even if they are shit, should be prickling at your conscious a little, at least. There should be a pit in your gut telling you this is wrong. Because it is. It is.

But every time all you hear is how right it is. How beautiful. How this is what they deserve and how you are better than a god because no god actually punishes the evil. God will send a flood and then rebuild the world. But isn’t Satan supposed to recently torture you for all eternity?

You’re certain other religions have it different, but you haven’t bothered to check quite yet.

So maybe you are evil too, you conclude one day. But so what?

And every kill ends with the world singing a little more, looking a little brighter. Skin a little clearer. You notice new things. Like the hum of the lights even after they are off or the trickling of water through the pipes above the hallways or the going-to-be sunspots on Cherie’s skin or the fried edges of Kayla’s ‘natural’ red hair or that Mr. Schaefer and Mrs. Yates are having an affair.

It’s the dreams that are haunting.

Like a bad recording on a sitcom or something, those laughs will play on repeat no matter what you are dreaming - good, bad, neutral. Every single night.

And every single night, you wake suddenly. 12:35 on the dot. Waking gasping, panting, surroundings fuzzy and unrecognizable.

But the pressure in your back is that of your mattress, not a cold rock in the woods of Hawkins. Your hands press into the cotton of your sheets instead of the leaves and dirt in that forest. There is no cheering in the distance to indicate the party is still raving and no one is looking for you. There is just the sound of the Park’s TV from the apartment next door and the buzz of electricity through the walls.

Your eyes always turn to the clock on your bedside to see 12:35 bright before you.

12:35 AM.

12:25 AM.

12:35 AM.

12:36 AM.

And you always turn away from the clock then, returning to sleep.

Thankfully you need less sleep than you needed before.

Everything else is going fine — great even — until the list of students who got early acceptance is dropped in front of you the last Monday before the break, December 12th. It’s a thing to announce it on the morning of the last day before break. You scan the list looking for any of the seniors you might know beyond just passing in the hall.

Not really, except for four names:

Greg Halcolm

Seth Jackson

Chase Kline

Devin Scott

Your breath catches in your throat.

“You okay there?” Jackie asks.

“Yeah.” You look up from the paper to find the world off-kilter. Tilting… tilting… swirling. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Kelsey, can you start the meeting for me?”

You slam your hands on the sink and stare at yourself in the mirror.

It worked for them. It worked. It wasn’t a fucking fever dream. You aren’t in some weird nightmare. They get everything they ever wanted, and you’re stuck with something in you that you never wanted, never asked for.

They get a dream life, and you’re stuck killing to survive.

No matter how powerful you feel, how strong you are,

that isn’t fucking fair.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whisper to yourself, pacing in front of the door.

Going to the public library after school to ask about sacrifices isn’t something you should be doing in a town where they are still looking into the pastor’s violent and cruel death. Where the librarian might hear the word sacrifice and call the fucking cops on you.

Or worse.

The clergy.

You go inside anyway. You’ve pushed off finding answers for nearly a month and a half now. Answers mean it’s real, after all. That it isn’t some fever dream or some weird illness you refuse to get checked out. But something supernatural actually happened to you that night.

You cannot keep denying what is happening. Six men are already dead across Roane County. Something is inhabiting you — or you became something — and without answers, the bodies will just keep piling up. You can already feel the need for more coming on.

So ignoring the gnawing in your gut telling you to run, that twist and sinking you felt as soon as Chase kept moving you past the fire, you walk in. Even if something goes wrong, you’re strong. You’re fast. You can get out of it.

The main librarian is at the desk.

She knows you. She knows you are a good person. That you just like to read into things. Research random things. Like that one summer, you spent a week reading into human anatomy and specifically its decomposition.

Nothing is wrong.

You lay your hands flat on the counter.

Show I’m not a threat. My hands are empty.

“Hi.”

She smiles. “Haven’t seen you for a few weeks at least. How can I help you?”

Inhale. Exhale. Relax.

“I have like, a really weird question.”

She does her classic half-shrug, still smiling. “I’m sure it is no stranger than what we usually get. And definitely no stranger than what you normally ask.”

She laughs.

You laugh too. It’s terse and short and clearly stunted.

Here goes nothing.

“Do you have a section on occultism? Sacrifices even?”

There is a pause between you two. Your gut scrunches again; your legs begin to ache. It’s time to go. This is how you get caught, idiot.

“Hm. Not really,” she answers. Your body continues to tense up. “The community college probably does. But I can check real quick.”

You thank her, voice constricting with stress.

Despite the fact that her voice was steady and honestly curious, you still watch her intently as she turns to the computer at her desk, which is right next to the phone.

There is a thud from your right, and your head snaps to it, your heart rate increasing.

Just some kid who knocked a book over.

The typing grows louder, harsher. Angrier possibly.

A screech from your left.

Just a chair being pulled too hard.

A slam.

Just a door. Not even being closed hard.

There is a sudden rush of water. The pipes are no longer something you’ve filed away in the back of your mind, ambiance noise like so many other noises in our daily lives. It’s been drawn to the forefront as your brain scrambles to find the danger.

“It looks like we do.” She looks up at you right as you look back at her. “We do have a very small section, only a few books. By the cultural studies.”

Despite your whole body shaking, you nod as smoothly as you can. “Okay.”

“May I ask what this is for?”

You planned for this. You know what to say to this. Time for the most classic excuse in the book when it comes to weird things in the library — I’m doing research.

“Getting a head start on a paper I know I have to write next semester.”

Perfect. Leave it.

“Yeah, for English. Comparing a theme in one of our choices to real-world kind of things.”

Why did you keep talking, you idiot?

“Oh, what are the choices?” She adjusts her glasses. “I don’t know what would require research on sacrifice.”

Sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice.

Romeo and Juliet? No. Too typical.

Les Miserables? That’s never been on any reading list for Hawkins.

“‘The Tempest’,” you finally blurt out. “Deals with a lot of magic, ideas of sacrifice and self-sacrifice. So I wanted to get ahead on reading some sources on what people may have really done for religious or magical sacrifices instead of just what was put on for show.”

Please work, please work, please work.

“Oh. That’s actually very interesting.” You exhale quietly. “You’ve always been such a bright student! See if what we have is of use. If not, RCC definitely will have something.”

You just nod in response, trying not to be too quick to walk away from her careful watch.

It turns out useless. All that stress for nothing. For three books.

Some nonsense book written by some bishop about the dangers of occultism. Another about the terms - short and without any actual information. The third is another hundred-something page rant about how sacrifice is bad, except when the Christians did it throughout history. Like during the black plague, when they burned Jews to death because God was angry with sinners.

Yikes.

RCC it is.

December 21, 1983

“Semester is long over. What’re you doing here?”

The voice tears you from the pages you’ve been absorbed into for hours. Hours, you know, given it is now dark out and you arrived sometime around noon.

A woman is standing just down the row of tables from you, observing you. Not looking, observing. Eyes narrowed slightly, mouth every so minorly pursed, fingers wrapping around the strap of her bag just a little too tight.

“Oh. Sorry.” You shift in your seat. “I was told the library was still open.”

She begins to walk toward you. Her eyes open and lips pull into a slight smile.

“It is. Just never seen a student pour over so many books in the middle of winter break.” Whom you now presume is a professor stops in front of you, looking at the book you are reading. “Ah. Crowley. This hasn’t been opened by many other students. And you look a little young to be a college student.”

Her eyes narrow again. There is something so soft, so gentle about her face, her gaze. But at the same time, the scrutiny placed in that slight scrunch is enough to spike your heart rate. A primal thumping to your heart from your brain.

A warning.

“I’m a junior at Hawkins.” You stand, moving to grab the book. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

“Don’t.” You look at her again. The shot of adrenaline from her prior look subsides. The smile she has is gentle, like something you’d expect to see from a preschool teacher. “I’m Professor Erin Greene. I teach religion, mythology, and lore here. Send a lot of students to search for a good myth to do a paper on. They come back hailing tales from Greece or England or Japan or Mesopotamia. I always hope one of them will find something a little more weird and sinister and real.”

“Like Crowley?”

“Like Crowley.” She glances back down at the book. “Why are you reading into Crowley?”

You lick your lips. The same excuse you gave to the librarian could work just fine. But this is a professor of myth and lore. Someone who won’t run off to the cops if you say something that sounds batshit insane.

“There’s been a lot of people dying or going missing in Hawkins and it started after I heard some kids on Halloween joke about satanic sacrifice,” you decide upon, chuckling slightly at the absurdity of even the made-up situation, which is much more reasonable that what actually happened. “It’s ridiculous, but I can’t get it out of my head. So I just had to look into it. Whatever I could. To see if it could be real. Any of it.”

“And is it? Is it real?”

She has given you a chance to say no. That it is all a lie and nonsense and that the supernatural does not exist. An out from the hole you’ve begun to dig.

“It is,” you reply anyway.

Or am I fucking insane.

She smiles. Smiles so bright and proudly.

“I think so too.” Her hands begin digging in the bag she has slung over her shoulder. “I’m teaching a survey of evil throughout cultures class in the summer. You should take it. You might even be able to skip a class in your senior year for it. Some schools don’t like that though.”

“Evil throughout cultures?”

“Yeah. Every culture has an evil.” She places a small card on the table and begins to write something down. "So the class is about looking into them, discussing them. What makes them similar, different, could they all be descriptions of the same thing? You just need permission from your parent and if it’s gonna count towards your high school classes from your high school. But you should take it, especially if you are spending your winter break pouring over Crowley.”

“I’ll consider it.” You look at the card. Summer, RCC, RML-1307, E. Greene. “If I’m curious about sacrifices specifically, and them going wrong, and the kids specifically joked about Babylon, who should I look into?”

“Crowley is pretty decent for Babylon stuff, as you’ve probably already seen. Sounds like you need some more biblical reading too. Here. Let me give you a list.”

“Thank you.”

“Never going to deny an interested mind.”

Her hands go back into her bag to find something more than a little card and procures a large notebook. Pages upon pages are flipped through until she finds a blank one. Your eyes catch notes as she does so. Notes about succubi and incubi and summing methods and demonology; notes about angels and God and gods; notes about women versus men versus other genders in myth and lore.

So, someone who is at least dedicated to the subject of what you’ve been forced to become.

She hands you a list of books, authors, and passages after a few minutes.

“I hope to see you this summer. It’ll be filled with a lot of macho Christian boys trying to prove their brand of bastardized religion is good and want to feel satisfied by the class. They won’t get that from it. Someone like you, who is actually interested, could really benefit from it.” She pauses, opening her notebook back up. “What’s your name? So I can have it noted you are cleared to take it from my end when it’s available to sign up for.”

You give her your name, and she writes it down, adding “Hawkins High” and “junior” alongside it.

“Thank you, again.”

“I added my office number to the list if you ever have questions. It’s nice to see someone actually interested in this topic.”

She leaves then. Just walks off the way she came.

An announcement comes over the speaker that the library closes in 10 minutes so to “please return or check out any books”.

You look down at your pile of 13 books. Limit for non-students is 2.

December 29, 1983

“You’re coming to my family’s New Years’ thing right?”

“Hm?” You slowly pull your eyes from the book, far too engrossed in the nonsense splashed across the pages.

Well, it isn’t entirely nonsense. It’s just not written to make sense. It’s written to keep people listening to the prophet.

Cherie groans and flops onto the overside chair beside you. “My parent’s New Years’ nightmare? Like every year? I just want to check.”

God. Her parents’ New Year Eve party. Her parents’ any party. Just a bunch of rich people talking about rich things. It was fun at first, exciting. Come on, what kid doesn’t want to dress up and be at a fancy party?

Now it is just excruciating.

And you have something so much better to do.

“Of course, yeah. Might have to leave early, but I’ll be there. I’m always at everything. You know that.”

It’s true. Always at every Beaumont function that Cherie is at like you’re her sister, despite the distance her family creates from you because you are... you.

In typical Cher fashion, her hands go immediately to try and grab your hands. She likes to touch, to interact, to be involved. You let her take your right, and as she begins to speak again, she looks over your fingers one by one.

“Just checking. You’ve been acting fucking weird. And making my brother drive you to RCC every day early as hell and pick you up late as hell.” She holds your hand up close to her face. “What color is this nail polish? You’ve been wearing it for months, and I still can’t identify it.”

Human blood.

“Because I made it myself.”

“Huh. Well, it looks nice on you.”

She drops your hand, more interested in the book that had you enraptured earlier now that she has an answer to the great nail polish mystery. She tilts it back until she can see the cover, eyes narrowing to read the title.

“The magic…ick… of Th… Thel — ah. Whatever.” Her eyes turn back to you. Deep, discerning near black eyes that match her mom’s so much. “Are you in a cult?”

You roll your eyes at her suggestion. If only she knew. “No.”

She raises her brows, long nails tapping the cover. “That shit looks like a cult.”

You snap it closed. “Well, it is. But I’m not in it. It’s called research.” Your hand pinches her cheek. “Something you might need to do at some point, babe.”

She slaps your hand away and grimaces. “Ew. No.”

“How are you still in honors and AP classes?”

She holds her hand out to check her bubblegum pink nails. “I’m rich.”

You look around her overdecorated bedroom, covered in pinks and purples and white hardwood with marble top dressers and bureaus and a walk-in closet. Shoes and clothes that cost more than most people’s entire lives are scattered throughout. It’s larger than your entire apartment — which is paid for by her parents, who own the complex.

“Yes, yes you are, babe.”

December 31, 1983

You stare at the clock in the main… whatever room this is the mansion Cherie lives in from the corner, slightly behind a plant just waiting for the right time to leave. Cherie’s mom has come up to you about ten times, asking if you are all right. Normally you would have devoured an entire plate of her homemade sugar cookies by now, she comments, and you haven’t even had part of one.

The diet excuse didn’t work when you tried it several times. “It’s just one night!”

I’m not feeling well wasn’t particularly effective either. “Let me get you something else!”

So, despite how much you love and adore Mrs. Beaumont, you’ve spent the past hour avoiding her the best you can.

“What are you doing?”

You tear your eyes from the clock.

Steve Harrington. Of all the people to distract you.

“Shouldn’t you be off at some ball fondling party?” You sneer.

Steve shrugs. “Apparently, it would ‘look bad’ if I didn’t show up for the third year in a row.”

Your lips press together in an unsympathetic smile. “Must be so hard, Harrington.”

His reaction is instantaneous, knee-jerking. He scoffs and groans simultaneously, which is unbelievably impressive. “You know you are pretty damn lucky too, right? You’re best friends with, like, the richest family in the state. One of the richest families in the country.”

Yeah, lucky. Lucky enough to have your mom die out of state and her sister monopolize her funeral planning so you never got to attend, to have your dad leave, and to have your only living family that talks to you live hundreds of miles away and only let you visit out of sympathy. Lucky enough that you live alone at nearly 17 and have been for three years now because the one family you consider family doesn’t actually want you under their roof.

And damn lucky enough to be sacrificed in a ritual because no one would miss you enough.

“I don’t know.” You uncross your arms. “Being abandoned like some pet during a hurricane as a last nail in the coffin feels pretty unlucky, regardless of who my friends are.”

For the first time ever, Steve just gives you a sympathetic smile in response. No sneer, no snark, no groan. “Yeah. Yeah, that does suck.”

It’s weird having him not pull his usual douchebag shit. But if he’s going to take the night off, then good for him. You aren’t going to worry about it.

You glance at the clock.

It’s time to go.

“This has been fun, but I need to go find people I actually enjoy.”

Before he has a chance to get another word out, you are swerving around the cliques of people in thousand-dollar dresses and million-dollar necklaces, careful not to even come close to possibly ruining them. Because god forbid some random girl even breathes on them wrong.

Cher and Ailise are exactly where you expect them to be: outside on the deck, huddling under a set of fancy outdoor heating lamps with a handful of other kids and teens who really rather be hanging out at an actual party or with friends than at this nightmare.

“Hey, Cher, Al.” The two turn to you from the seat they are sharing, practically atop one another. “Gotta go. Love you.” You press a kiss to Al’s cheek. “Love you.” You press a kiss to Cherie’s cheek.

Cher pouts. “So early? Why?”

“Cousins want to call me at their midnight.” Excuse that is both ridiculous to make you sound upset but reasonable enough to let you leave. “Said it’s absolutely vital because it’s Nat’s first as an 18-year-old or something stupid.”

“Lame. Whatever.”

But Cher has a tight grip on your wrist, refusing to let you leave.

“Cher.”

She releases you with some reluctance and an even bigger pout. God, she already must be drunker than you thought if she’s hanging onto you and Al like that.

You use the side path to go to the garage to grab your bike and backpack left with it. Avoid any more discussions about food. Your bike is affixed with fancy winter wheels Nic just had to put on it. You’ve been biking for over 10 years in the winter without Frankenstein wheels. It isn’t ideal, but you’ve done it. Nic decided they were absolutely paramount this year. That he had figured out the best way to make the winter car tires into bike tires and you didn’t have a choice.

They’re good for the icy spots compared to worn-down normal bike tires. You will never admit it to him.

Instead of the normal right you take towards the backroads and wooded paths to get home faster, you take a left towards the main road through Hawkins. A longer path. But the path you need to be on.

According to what you overheard the other day when you just so happened to be in the general store at the same time as them, right after midnight they’ll be going from Tommy’s party to something at Lover’s Lake. Unless they want to drive through the forest, the only route from Tommy’s to Lover’s Lake includes the main road.

It’s their only option.

There is a long stretch of straight road right after a sharp curve just about exactly halfway between the two locations. A perfect place to catch unsuspecting, probably drunk teens off-guard. It’s already a place where accidents might happen.

New Year's Eve. Icy roads. Drunk, young drivers.

So you lean against a tree along the side of the road, far enough from the curve to give them time to panic, and wait.

Waiting ends up taking longer than you thought. Perk of being a demon, succubus, whatever is that you no longer feel particularly cold or hot anymore. So it is only boredom that plagues your mind.

The waiting.

The eyeing of every car to see if it’s that one.

The worry that maybe you got it wrong. That maybe they decided to stay at Tommy’s or left his way earlier or went somewhere else entirely and aren’t coming down this road.

12:35 and you instinctually check your watch.

12:35.

12:3—

The sound of a car comes seconds later. It’s an ugly custom green BMW, painted by Nic Beaumont at his garage this past summer. He complained the whole time about the color, but if Chase Kline wanted the ugliest “shit-puke green” in the world, then he was going to have it. And he was going to be charged to all hell for it.

You watch the headlights as the car charges around the bed far too fast for the conditions.

Once it has just made it into the straight stretch, you step into the road. Step exactly between the center of the road and the center of the lane. They either swerve to the right and right off the road or left and risk spinning out.

It’s a narrow road. They have to swerve hard to avoid you. Or brake hard.

Either way, it’s icy and they’re already fishtailing from the turn they took too fast.

So when the car goes swerving into the other lane to avoid you, it instead goes spinning and skidding right off the road and into a tree just off the road with a loud thud, crunch, and crumple.

Perfect.

You just stand still for a few seconds, however. Give them time to process.

Then you walk towards the car, where the four are shouting in panic and confusion.

“What the fuck was that man?” You hear from inside the car.

“It looked like a person!”

“No way a person would just stand like that. Had to be a deer or something.”

You knock three times on the cracked but not broken driver’s side window.

Four heads whip to you.

“Hi.”

Your fist smashes through the glass.

“Get out of the car. All of you.”

“No shit,” Devin scoffs as he gets out from the back driver’s side, thinking you’re just there to help. “We’re not staying in when it could catch—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’ve grabbed Devin and shoved him against the car, both arms pulled far and unnaturally behind his back. A yelp leaves his lips.

“Get out. And kneel down on this side, on the ground. Like Devin here.” You shove him down to the ground, back against the car, until he is kneeling. “Just for now.”

“What’s your problem, bitch?” Chase asks as he follows Devin’s lead. He’s already a little drunk and concussed from the way he sways as he drops to his knees, pretty blond hair covered in glass. “Stepping out in the road like… like some maniac!”

Seth falls in between the two of them, Greg nervously dropping to his knees on the other end. None of them are going to try to fight just yet. They’re too confused, too dazed from the accident.

“Don’t recognize me?” You lean down until you are face to face with Chase. “I know you’ve been avoiding me at school, but I figured you would still recognize me.”

The red coloring his face from the cold drains completely, and his annoyed grimace falls into an a gaping mouth. That sobers him up real quick.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.” You chuckle. “Oh shit.” You stand back upright, towering over them. “Wallets.”

Chase laughs. Suddenly, this doesn’t seem quite as dangerous. “So this is just a robbery?”

You sigh. “No. But I still want all your fucking wallets. Now. Toss them in front of you.”

They all look to Chase. Of course, they do. Chase goddamn Kline is in charge. Is Chase gonna do it or not? Well, he does, pulling his wallet from his jeans pocket and chucking it a good five or so feet in front of him in the snow.

He waits for you to run after it.

You don’t.

The other three follow, however, and take out their wallets and also throw them as far as they can. Yeah, you know they must be thinking. Make her go far so we can run.

You don’t though. You just stare at them.

“Arms out, wrists together.”

They look to Chase again. Who does as you say. Some rope versus tri-sport athletes? Yeah right.

The rope you had bundled in your pocket is slowly wound around Chase’s wrists first. The man in charge.

You know he is watching you wrap it intently and flexing his arms as much as he can. He wants a way out. You’re just a girl. Who cares if you got Devin earlier? They’ll be able to get you at the right moment. He knows that. He’s waiting for it. He’ll let you play your game.

There is a hand reaching for your right arm right as you go to tie a pretty little bow on Chase’s binds. It meets your left palm instead. With a quick twist of your wrist, there is a crunching noise around followed by wailing.

“Don’t try to escape. Don’t try to touch me. Don’t try to move.” You finish off the bow. “I will break you.”

Fear begins to roll off of them. There is no way to stop the primal salivation that has been activated by your brain - especially given how long it’s been since you last fed - but you have to do this your way. They can’t just die.

That’s too easy.

The other three are tied much quicker than Chase. Seth was super fast, given that every bone in his right arm is shattered and twisted the wrong way, so you just needed to link the good one to the bad one to keep it from moving.

Only once their arms are tied do you back up, eyes not leaving theirs, to retrieve the wallets. They are watching you too. Waiting for a moment to break for it, to run.

You aren’t going to give it to them.

Even if they did have a chance, they wouldn’t make it. But you don’t want a chase tonight. No.

One by one you pick up each wallet, take the money out, stuff it into one coat pocket, and the wallet into the other. Rich teenage boys on New Years? Oh. They have too much money for their own good.

Too, too much.

Then you go down the line again, one by one, and place their wallets into their coat pockets. Their stupid little varsity jacket pockets with their stupid little sports on one sleeve, already stained with blood from the crash.

“So they can identify you boys when I’m done,” you explain, patting Greg’s shoulder. “Maybe. If the fire doesn’t melt the IDs.”

Greg’s eyes widen. “What fire?”

“You…” You pause, tilting your head. “You won’t see, actually.”

He is wearing a scarf. Green and yellow - gold it’s probably meant to be - and knitted. Probably made by his mom. One of the nicest people in this whole goddamn town and she raised a killer under her roof. With a smile, you pull the hand-knitted scarf of his up and around his face, pulling tight as you can. Once satisfied, the excess is shoved into his mouth.

“What are you going to do to us?” Devin asks, voice crackling in fear.

He also has a scarf on.

“Do you know what you did to me?” Devin shakes his head. You keep talking, hands adjusting the store-bought scarf that you know cost at least a few hundred (Cherie has taught you your fabrics and stitches) until it is gagging him. “You were wrong. I wasn’t a virgin. Hadn’t been for a few years. But it doesn’t actually matter, I found out. Virgin or not. Because the kind of demon you summoned is not particularly fond of the abuse of the vulnerable. So it gave you wanted. Admission into your top colleges. The best girlfriends. Scholarships and amazing grades. But it also bound itself to your sacrifice. To me.”

Seth whimpers. “We didn’t think it would really work.”

“So you murdered a fellow student for… fun?” You ask as you do the same with his scarf. It has a little Hawkins’ High tiger at the end of its green and gold striped monstrous print.

Lame.

“We were super high and drunk. We —”

You hush, shushing him like a baby. “Regardless. I would actually like to thank you. You set me free. Gave me something I never even dreamed of. A power I still have yet to learn.” Your hand reaches up to cup his face, thumb rubbing along his cheek softly. “But don’t you worry, Chase. I’m going to kill you last. After a little torture, of course. Seven times, was it?”

You pull your hand away. “Yes, yes that’s right.”

The dagger flashes in front of him. The dagger he stabbed you with. Just something he got at that fucking army surplus store on sale.

He doesn’t have a scarf. He does have a high-necked sweater.

The knife slides through the fabric like soft butter. His soft whimpering roars something deep inside of you awake. Something not just hungry, not just starving, but wanting.

His fear, his pain is turning you on.

You slide the collar up and over his mouth just as you did with his friends.

“Did you know seven is associated with the Whore of Babylon, just like little ol’ Greg here said?”

You stand. Four gagged sinners kneel before you. As they should. As all people, all men, who don’t deserve forgiveness should be doing.

“The Whore of Babylon. Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth. The Red Woman.”

The car shifts away from them as a piece of the snow bank gives way. They flinch and scramble forward the best they can as you just stand and watch.

Another pulse of adrenaline from them.

Another pulse of desire in you.

You begin to walk as you speak, dagger being casually moved between your ungloved hands.

“After doing some research, I discovered that incubi and succubi can be traced to her. Or vice versa, depending on the lore. Did you know incubus comes from the Latin words for ‘to lie above’ and succubus ‘to lie below’? Not necessarily male and female? Like concubines for kings and whatnot. That comes from to lie with.”

The four give each other glances. You’re just… ranting. Ranting complete nonsense. Could they escape? Run for it? Scream loud enough through the gags you have them in alert someone?

Surely someone must come down the road at some point soon and see the car and a girl with a knife over four tied-up boys.

“And there are versions of sexual creatures in almost every mythology. Sex is a bad thing.” You pause, taking a beat to think, tapping the dagger against your chin. “For women, at least. That’s what I learned over the past ten days. I already knew that, but it really hit me reading about all these creatures that lure men and take the form of women. That are just created to blame. Or if they take the form of men, explain why a woman wasn’t quote unquote pure. Or something. Made up to excuse men’s sluttiness and deny a woman hers.”

You kneel down in front of Chase. He tries to lean back but the car is no longer there to lean against and if he leans too far he will topple.

“Because men.” You stab his left thigh. He screams. You yank the dagger out. “Aren’t.” You stab his right thigh. He screams again. You yank the dagger out. “To.” You stab his left forearm. He screams a third time. You yank the dagger out. “Blame.” You stab his right forearm. He screams a fourth time. You yank the dagger out.

He begins to sob. Blubber, even. And you can’t help but lean in close to better smell his individual fear.

His fear is particularly delicious in scent. It’s personal. It’s exactly what you have been desiring.

All of theirs are overwhelming, though. It pierces through the cold air. Fear is mouth-watering. It’s indescribable in scent, but it kicks in the same part of you that used to salivate over the lemonade Al would bring to Cherie’s that you three would chug like shots after playing in the pool, the same part of you that would eat an entire plate of Cherie’s mom’s sugar cookies, the same part of you that would bike miles for a watermelon slushy.

Triggers something insatiable.

Deep.

Primal.

Just controllable enough for you to terrify them some more.

Devin lifts his head up as high as he can, eyes cast to the sky, not at you. And he cries out as loud as he can.

Your boot-laden foot meets his neck. His cries stop.

“I don’t want to hear another sound out of any of you. Another noise and all of you die right now. And I will leave you unidentifiable, and the car will disappear. Your families will never know what happened to you. Left wondering. Never knowing. Do you want that?”

There is silence beside the crying from Chase.

“That’s what I thought.”

You remove your foot and continue your speech, pacing and playing with the dagger once again.

“Well, before I was so rudely interrupted. I was going to say: Powerful, intense emotions make people taste sweeter. Fear and sexual pleasure are the best. Those tasty neurotransmitters and hormones add this… flavor.”

You inhale heavily and close your eyes. Adrenaline. Cortisol.

Come on boys. Saturate in it. Marinate in it. Let’s go. I’m keeping parts this time around.

“Provide a kind of energy. The energy is also aura-based.”

Your eyes open. All four are shaking. It’s cold, yeah, but not cold enough for the way they are shivering. Pools of red have already soaked into the snow beneath Chase to the point in which they are tunnels straight to the dirt. Hopefully the fire will take care of melting the snow enough that it isn’t painfully obvious that someone was stabbed first.

“It’s possible to feed off just the energy, the intangible version. But that takes time, takes practice, and for some just isn’t enough.”

You lean down again, this time in front of Seth. The second one in line. His green eyes are brighter than ever before with the once white now red from tears of panic and pain. Heart rate is nearly 140. But he is falling into freeze mode and out of fight or flight. The struggle against his binds is completely nonexistent.

“I haven’t practiced enough.” Then you look over at the finale two. Heart rates still high, still marinating in hormones, but any urge to fight or flight is slowed or stopped. “Only six kills, actually. And you boys are not worthy of leaving alive anyway.”

Greg begins to mutter something quietly when he thinks you’ve looked away.

But you can still hear him.

Your hand wraps around his throat, squeezing hard. His eyes fly open. He's been caught, and he knows it. But you want to know what he was saying, muttering. He didn’t try to scream out, so it was something personal to him. Something he didn’t want anyone else to know about. Your free hand pulls out his scarf. It’s covered in spit and tears and soaked through, and nearly frozen in the parts that have been subjected to the Indiana winter for the past five minutes.

Gross.

“What were you saying?” You demand.

“N-nothing,” he pathetically mumbles.

“No.” You pick the dagger back up and point it at him. “You were saying something. Mumbling it. I want to hear it.”

“W-was just reciting the Lord’s p-prayer.”

You snort. Asking the Lord for help. What kind of sick joke. Sacrifice someone and still ask God for protection when the day of judgment comes upon them.

“Say it.”

Greg gasps. “What?”

The dagger presses into his cheek. It is sharper than it was when they used it on you now, and a line of red begins to flow without you ever pulling away. “Say it. Say the prayer. I want to hear it.”

Greg glances at his friends. The desire to consume him is growing which is going to make your plan to essentially harvest them much, much harder.

“Don’t look at them.” Your hand slides up his neck until your nails are digging into his cheeks, crescents appearing beside the gash he is now sporting. His head is forced to turn back to yours, and you stare into his scared hazel eyes. The swirling in you grows, thrums. “They aren’t holding your life in their hands. I am. So come on. I want to hear it.”

You remove your grip entirely, the dagger following.

“Our Father who art in-in heaven, hallowed be th-thy name.” He pauses, gasping for a breath. “Thy kingdom co-ome, thy will be done, on earth as-as it is-s in heaven.”

He stops, beginning to sob.

You groan at his blubbering. This isn’t torment, this is just him being sad. He needs to suffer.

“No, no, no. Come on Greg. I want to hear the rest. You’ve got it.”

Devin gives him a nod of encouragement. How pathetic.

He attempts to hold in his crying, so you allow him this reprieve. He’s going to do it. You just know it.

“G-give us this day our d-daily bread.” He stops, inhales shakily and continues. “An-and fo-forgive us our-our tres-trespasses, as w-we.” He stops again. He inhales shakily again, this time letting out a few more whimpers while he is at it. “Also have forgiven-en our trespass-pass-passers. And lead us not into tem-temptation, but d-deliver us from ev-evil.”

And he bursts into sobbing again.

You lean back even more, smiling.

Now that is torment.

A good church boy praying to god while being tortured by the devil for the sins he committed.

“Good. That was really good, Greg.”

He smiles in return through the tears. You know just from the look on his face and slight abatement of fear from his scent that he thinks he just might get out of this. Just might.

So you lean really close to his ear, much, much closer than before, tongue sliding along his neck. So, so sweet. But not candy sweet. “But you got it wrong. There is no god. There is only me. And there will be no forgiveness.”

You don’t even pull away to look him in the eyes.

You just sink your teeth right into where his thyroid sits.

Your skin tingles

“I am with you.”

“We are here at the scene of a fiery accident on the main highway in Hawkins. We have almost no details as of yet, but police are saying it looks like they simply skidded off the road after being spooked by an animal of some kind.”

The TV clicks off.

The scar above your heart that was once just a blob is now a branding of a seven-pointed star. The one you saw is associated with Babalon. It burned into your skin on your seventh kill.

Seven stabs. Seven kills. Seven points.

You press the cup to your lips, smile, then drink.

The scar hums.

There is something extra delicious about revenge.

But it definitely is a dish — or drink, rather — best served cold.

A/N: sorry for the delay on this as well. I got so distracted lmfao by other ideas

Prior Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

#ritual 777 #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x female!reader #Jennifers body au #Eddie munson fic #Eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic

100 notes · View notes

proxima-writes · 1 year

Text

the satanic rites of eddie munson (chapter 3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Cheerleader!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Read on AO3

Summary:

Eddie was just trying to have a normal Thursday when some band from out of town decides he’d make an excellent virgin sacrifice for their get-famous-quick plan.

Except he’s not a virgin, and the ritual unleashes something much more sinister that lives in him now, hungry for flesh and possessive of you, the pretty cheerleader he’s always been drawn to.

Which means anyone that touches you? Needs to die.

Inspired by the movie Jennifer's Body.

Additional tags: graphic depictions of blood and violence, gore, other demon activities, making out, dirty talk, pet names, dry humping

Eddie struggles against the rope binding him to the tree as the absolute nutcase in front of him takes a step closer.

“We found this book, right? Old as shit, practically falling apart, but it’s got a really interesting section on wish fulfillment,” he says, crouching so that he’s eye level with Eddie. He places the tip of the dagger beneath his chin. “All we gotta do is spill the blood of a virgin on a full moon and all our dreams will come true.”

Eddie pauses in his struggle. “What makes you think I’m a virgin?”

“You spent twenty minutes going on about your stupid little board game. It doesn’t take a genius.”

“But—“

“Shut up.” The tip of the blade digs deeper into Eddie’s throat. “Mike, start the incantation.”

________

This has arguably been the best few days of Eddie’s life. He’s given you a ride home from school every day, relishing in the opportunity to spend time with you outside of the five to ten minutes he gets before the first period bell. He’s introduced you to Metallica and Dio and Black Sabbath, and now when you get in his van your first task is switching his tapes around for the one you want. He learns you’re an avid reader and love romantic comedies. You’re a cheerleader at your mom’s insistence. You want to major in nursing when you graduate and go to college. You have a garden at home that you like to spend time in, though you haven’t really gotten the hang of growing much besides one thriving basil plant.

Of course everything has to inevitably come crashing down.

By the following Monday, the hunger is back, a sharp pain in his abdomen that can’t be mitigated by anything, no matter how much he eats. His teeth and jaw ache with the need to rip and maim and kill. His skin feels too tight for his skeleton. His eyes burn and the shadows beneath them are more prominent.

You start to notice around Thursday. In class, you give him a concerned glance every time he shifts in his seat, unable to sit still. When he bounces his foot, you place a warm palm on his knee to stop him. The brief touch centers him, at least for the rest of class.

But once you’re out of his sight, the agitation returns ten fold.

In the halls and at lunch, he seeks you out. A brush of your shoulder, a smile from you when you catch him staring - anything to quiet that grating voice in his head telling him it’s time to feed.

At lunch on Friday, he watches you stand up from your table and throw away your trash. He expects you to sit back down, since there’s nearly twenty minutes left in the lunch period, but you surprise him by leaving, backpack slung over your shoulder as you push through the heavy metal doors.

With little thought, he’s out of his seat and following after you. He vaguely registers Jeff calling out for him but chooses to ignore it as he leaves the noise of the cafeteria for the blessed quiet of the empty school halls.

Your footsteps echo on the linoleum and Eddie follows the sound. You lead him to the library and he watches you walk past the old librarian, Mrs. Lewis, with a sweet smile. Students aren’t supposed to be in the library during lunch period, but it doesn’t surprise him that you’ve got the batty old woman wrapped around your finger.

Eddie, on the other hand, probably has a lifetime ban from her and a WANTED poster with his picture hanging in her office. He’s going to need a bit more finesse to get inside.

He waits patiently, watching the circulation desk. After what feels like ages, Mrs. Lewis stands with her coffee cup in hand and heads to her office for an afternoon pick-me-up.

Eddie opens the door quietly and darts inside, heading deeper into the stacks to look for you. The act of searching for you appeals to this darker side of his brain, the one that wants to hunt you down as you run through the trees, your fear rolling off of you in waves like the sweetest scent.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought.

He’s glancing down every aisle until he finally spots you, up on the tips of your toes trying to reach a book on a higher shelf. Your little cheerleading skirt rides up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs and as you stretch your arms, your top lifts to show a tantalizing strip of your stomach.

When you notice him at the end of the aisle, you flash him a bright smile that spurs him into motion. He steps up behind you, pressing closer than what’s absolutely necessary, and reaching above you to grab the spine of the book your fingers had been unable to reach.

“The Encyclopedia of Wild Cats,” Eddie reads from the cover. “Just a bit of light reading?”

You blush, holding a hand out for the book. “Just….getting ahead in biology this semester.”

Eddie tilts his head. “You’re in chemistry this semester. Not biology.”

“Right,” you reply lamely, staring at the book in your hands. “Okay, fine, I was just looking up the migration patterns of mountain lions. It’s just…it feels like they’re not looking into all the possibilities. I mean, we don’t have mountain lions here, much less mountain lion attacks.”

“I think you’re just feeling a little paranoid, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He fails to mention that the very thing you should be most afraid of is standing right in front of you.

Your eyes go wide. “You really think so?”

“Let the good ol’ boys over at Hawkins police department worry about it,” he urges, pulling the book back from your grasp and sliding it into place on the shelf. You nod, eyes flicking between the book and Eddie’s face.

“Okay,” you whisper back.

________

Eddie steps closer, the movement urging you back until you’re pressed against the stack of books behind you. He lifts his arm, placing his hand on one of the shelves above your head, effectively caging you in. This close, you can see how bloodshot his eyes are, how dark the circles beneath them have become. How pale he looks.

“Eddie, are you okay?” You ask. He smirks.

“Never been better,” he whispers.

You swear his gaze lingers on your lips. Your heart hammers in your chest as he stands there, pressed so close to you yet not nearly close enough. You swipe your tongue across your bottom lip and watch as his eyes darken following the motion.

His head tilts closer still, and you swear that this time maybe he’ll kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

Then the bell rings.

The sudden noise startles you so much that you jump against the bookcase, rattling the contents. Eddie places a hand on your shoulder to steady you, the heat of it on your exposed skin feeling like a brand.

You can’t look away from Eddie’s deep brown eyes. You can hear students entering the library for their free period, but it feels like you’re in your own little world with him staring at you like this.

You swallow nervously. “I gotta—“

“Right, yeah,” Eddie murmurs, stepping back. You slip past him, ready to head to your next class, but he calls out your name. “Would you…wanna hang out? Sometime?”

“I’d like that,” you reply. He smiles, his face lighting up with it and temporarily washing away that bone deep exhaustion that’s been painting his features for the past couple of days. “Tonight? They canceled the game with everything going on.”

“I’m free tonight,” he confirms.

“Great!” You reply, a bit too enthusiastically. The warning bell rings, breaking your attention from Eddie. “I should—“

“Get to class, princess. I’ll see you after school,” he tells you.

With one last lingering look at him, you turn to leave, a little extra sway in your hips and bounce in your step.

________

Eddie sits on the toilet in the boy’s bathroom, rolling papers and freshly ground weed balanced on his knee. He’s skipping his last period, rolling himself a joint in the hopes that it might take the edge off of this pain in his gut.

The door bursts open, and a familiar pompous voice echoes in the tiled room. “Did you get the stuff?” Jason asks.

Eddie quietly lifts his feet from the floor to keep them out of sight as a second voice responds, “Yeah, man. Got a bottle of whiskey my old man won’t miss. And my brother left me a six pack last time he visited.”

“One bottle of whiskey and a six pack is not enough for a fucking party, Alex,” Jason snaps. “We need a keg.”

“Bruce will get one for us,” the third person says, his voice soothing like he’s calming a wild animal. “He’s never failed us before.”

“Good, good,” Jason replies. “Tell Bruce to drop it off at the diner.”

Eddie tilts his head in interest. The diner in question, Benny’s Burgers, has been abandoned since it closed down last year. It’s since been claimed for parties by the Hawkins High elite. He’s been to a few gatherings there, mostly to empty out his lunchbox of party favors and pad his wallet with some spending money.

But the other thing about the old diner is that it’s near the edge of town, surrounded by woods.

Eddie smiles.

________

Eddie drops you off at home after school, just as he has every day for the last week. This time before you open the door of the van, you ask, “So, you’ll come pick me up later, right?”

He nods. “What time, sweetheart?”

“Best to wait until my parents go to sleep. How about nine? They usually head to bed around 8:30.”

“I’ll be here.” He leans across you, his arm brushing against your chest as he pulls the latch to your door. Your breath stutters as he draws back, that same arm purposely dragging across the hard points of your nipples. “See you soon.”

With a nervous swallow, you hop out of the van.

________

Eddie parks his van at the edge of the woods near Benny’s Diner. He kills the engine and gets out, assessing. Distantly, he can hear the sound of Jason’s voice and those of his friends replying to him, but it doesn’t sound like the party is in full swing yet. Likely won’t be for a couple more hours.

He creeps closer through the trees until he can spot Jason and his two lackeys from earlier. A fourth man wheels a silver keg into the dilapidated building before accepting cash from Jason with a grunt.

“Did one of you get cups?” Jason asks. The two jocks glance at each other. “Seriously? Do I have to do everything myself for it to get done right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jason needs to get off his fucking high horse.

Good thing he plans to knock him down.

Jason orders the two idiots to go get supplies while he gets the keg tapped and ready. Eddie watches them get into the car parked in the overgrown parking lot, speeding away with a blast of music from the stereo.

Eddie walks out from the tree line, hands shoved in his pockets. Jason must hear the crunch of gravel beneath his sneakers because he glances over his shoulder, smile dropping when he takes in Eddie. He drops the keg hose and turns to face him.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Jason demands.

“Heard there was a party. Doesn’t seem like it, though. All your little friends busy?” Eddie teases. He watches with glee as Jason’s face begins to turn red. “You know, you got a real anger issue, Jason. Bet I got something that could help that.”

The blonde’s fists tighten, jaw tensing. Eddie steps closer.

“Might even got something to keep you from shootin’ off too fast. You know that’s the number one cause of failed relationships, right? Sexual frustration.”

That must hit the mark. Jason launches forward, fists swinging, one colliding with Eddie’s cheek and sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. Blood drips hot down the side of his face. He dodges the next swing, diving for Jason’s midsection and tackling him to the ground.

He wrestles with him until the blonde is pinned him. Eddie wraps a hand around his throat, leaning his weight into it. Jason’s legs flail behind him and his fingers claw into the leather of his jacket. He leans closer.

“I can smell your fear, Jason,” Eddie says casually. Jason’s eyes go wide and he struggles to gasp for air. “I’ve been so patient waiting for my meal. I thought it would have been more…rewarding. Maybe I should let you fight just a little bit more, huh?”

Eddie releases his hold on Jason’s throat. He gasps, coughing on the sudden lungful of air before shifting his weight and scrambling from beneath Eddie.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jason snaps.

“Less questions, more running. Come on now, I’ve got a date I’m late for,” Eddie replies. Jason takes a couple stumbling steps backward, tripping over his feet in his haste.

Eddie waits until Jason disappears from view through the trees before walking at a leisurely pace in the same direction. He whistles casually as he follows the panicked breaths of his prey.

He checks his watch. It’s nearing 9:30, which means he’s already late to pick you up and people are bound to be showing up and expecting a party soon.

A twig snaps nearby and Eddie turns to follow the sound. A body collides with his, sending him rolling across the forest floor. Another punch lands to the side of his eye, making him hiss.

“Motherfucker,” he snaps, grappling until he’s out from beneath Jason. The blonde dives forward with another punch.

But he sees it coming this time.

Eddie grabs Jason’s outstretched arm, tugging until he hears the sick pop of bone leaving socket. He collapses with a shout, holding his disabled arm to his body defensively. Eddie kicks at his injured shoulder to leave him flat on his back.

He crouches beside the writhing man. “Do you know why this is happening, Jason?”

“F-fuck you, you freak ,” Jason spits.

“It’s because you touched something that belongs to me. And I don’t like to share.” Eddie’s jaw clicks as his teeth sharpen to dangerous points. He swipes a clawed hand across Jason’s abdomen, ripping through skin and muscle and fat like paper. A scream lodges in the boy’s throat, replaced by the gurgle of blood as he chokes.

Eddie’s hand slides up behind his rib cage, fingers curling around the faintly beating organ and tearing it out. The light goes out from Jason’s eyes, his body going limp as blood continues to pool around him.

Eddie sinks his teeth into his heart, blood dripping down his chin as he feasts.

And feasts.

_________

You glance at the clock, biting at the skin of your thumb in annoyance. It’s past ten, making Eddie over an hour late to your plans. Your parents are fast asleep, the house quiet save for the hum of the air conditioning as it kicks on.

You’re annoyed, bordering on angry, with a side of worry. Part of you wants to chew him out for ditching you but a bigger part wants to make sure nothing bad has happened to him, be it this mysterious mountain lion or something else.

You leave your room with quiet footsteps, slipping out of the front door with a soft click. You follow the shadows around the back of the house to the bike your mom uses for her weekly group rides with her fitness pals.

Rolling it out to the sidewalk, you hop on once you’re a greater distance from your home. You know Eddie lives in the Forest Hills trailer park with his Uncle Wayne. He’s mentioned it a couple of times during your rides together. You don’t have a plan, exactly. You’re fueled by feminine rage and fear, not logic.

You slow your pedaling as you make it past the front sign marking the start of the trailer park. It’s dark, but a few of the homes have porch lights on that help you see. It’s not long before you spot a familiar van parked outside a worn down trailer.

Okay. You’re officially fueled more by rage than fear.

You toss the bike in the grass and stomp up the steps, banging on the door with your fist. “Eddie! Open the door!”

“Shut up!” A woman’s rough voice calls out.

“Make me!” You snap back right as the door opens, your fist colliding with a shirtless chest rather than a metal door.

You look up and gasp. Eddie’s gripping the doorframe, knuckles bruised in a shade of purple that matches the mottled skin around his right eye. There’s a small cut on his jaw and blood has collected in the corner of his lip.

“Sweetheart, now’s not a good—“

“Oh my god! What happened to you?” You shove your way past him into the trailer despite his objections. Your fingers skim the bruise around his eyes.

“You should see the other guy,” Eddie jokes, tilting his head slightly into your palm.

“Do you have a first aid kit or something?”

“Under the kitchen sink.”

You spot the kitchen behind him and head for the sink, kneeling on the cracked linoleum to open the laminate cabinet door. There’s a bottle of bleach, a mouse trap, and the promised first aid kit amongst the contents. You grab the box and stand, shaking it at Eddie.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” As if knowing arguing won’t work, Eddie surrenders, leading you to the back of the trailer into what you assume is his room. It’s messy and cluttered, but so very Eddie.

There’s posters lining most of the wall, along with a handmade Corroded Coffin flag pinned above a dresser. He has a guitar hanging on the wall, as well as an acoustic one set in a stand in the corner. The bed is messy and rumpled, pillows smooshed against the wall and blankets balled up across the surface.

“Sorry, would have cleaned if I’d known I’d be having company,” Eddie comments quietly.

“No, I like it. It’s very you.” You set the box of supplies on a clear patch of desk.

“Messy?”

“More like…subversive. Now sit,” you command, rifling through the contents of the box. There’s a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze, a few band aids, and some butterfly stitches.

Eddie laughs as he takes a seat. “Subversive?”

“Yeah, you know, it’s all yours. It’s not pristine. You don’t have the same blue plaid bedspread as all the other guys.” You pour some alcohol onto a gauze pad, patting it gently to the cut on his jaw. He leans away with a hiss.

“Seen a lot of blue plaid bedspreads, then?” He grabs your waist with both hands, fingers wrapping into the grooves of your ribs as you continue to clean his wounds. “Because I don’t know if I like that.”

“Like what?”

He stares up at you with those big brown eyes, and for a moment you wonder if that bruise has already faded some. His hands slide to your hips, squeezing, pulling you closer between his spread legs.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are and how much of him is on display. Your own hands land on his bare shoulders to steady yourself. The heat of him is nearly stifling.

“I don’t think I like the idea of you seeing a lot of other bedspreads,” Eddie rumbles, voice rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I uh…haven’t. My mom just…gets a lot of Macy’s catalogs,” you reply breathlessly.

He grins. He urges you forward, slipping a hand on the back of your thigh and lifting slightly to fold you into his lap. Your breath leaves you at the contact, the hard length of him unmistakable where it presses against your core.

He leans forward, lips ghosting over your neck. Your hips flex at the gentle touch and he groans, his breath hot against you as his mouth grows more insistent, teeth nipping and lips dragging deliciously.

“Eddie,” you whimper. His head lifts and he brings a hand to your jaw, gripping your chin to pull your mouth to his.

Christ. Christ. You’ve been kissed before, sure, but never like this . He controls everything, tilting your head with his hand and urging your mouth open with his tongue. The cold metal of his rings is a sharp contrast to his heat and you groan as his tongue tangles with yours.

His free hand slips beneath the waist of your jeans, fingers gripping roughly onto your ass and grinding you harder, faster against him. Your breath is coming in short pants as he drives you higher, a low growl rumbling through his chest. You can feel your muscles tightening, winding tighter in anticipation of your release.

And like he knows, like he’s more in tune with your body than you are, his hand leaves your jaw and tangles in your hair, pulling your head back with a sharp tug.

“That’s it, baby, let me see you,” Eddie says. “Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

“Oh god,” you cry out, fingernails digging into Eddie’s shoulders and legs pressing tightly to his as you cum.

“No god here, princess,” Eddie says with a smirk. “Just me.”

“Just you? Christ, Eddie,” you reply breathlessly, giggling as you bury your head against his neck. “Did you—?”

“Don’t worry about me,” He shifts you gently from his lap, laying you back onto the mattress before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m gonna clean up real quick. Don’t go anywhere.”

You nod, burrowing into the blankets that smell like Eddie with a contented sigh.

_______

Eddie locks the bathroom door behind him and inspects his face in the mirror. The cut you’d been tending to is nothing more than a faint pink line. The bruise around his eye is more yellow than black and blue. He’s not sure how he’ll explain that if you ask.

He turns the water on and rubs a thumb against the corner of his lip to clean off the dried blood stuck there.

Then he gets to work scrubbing the rest of blood from beneath his fingernails while you wait for him.

#eddie munson #no use of y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #demon eddie munson #inspired by jennifer’s body

111 notes · View notes