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dearest-nell · 10 months ago

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morning person

s. harrington x reader, 2.8k

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

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

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

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 It’s a far cry from the mansion he used to live in, small and outdated and a little worse for wear, if he were to say so himself, but it’s home.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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Five more minutes, then.”

Steve was back asleep within three.

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alloftheimaginesblog · 10 months ago

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first love {e.m}

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

character: eddie munson x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not your fault, Eddie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Say hi to her from me."

"Will do."

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

#one shot #os #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson #imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things one shot #stranger things reader insert #reader insert

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 8 months ago

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Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!Reader: Boy Moms

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

Warnings: boy moms (gags), sexism

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked right at you and pointed a manicured finger.

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

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

But of course, Eddie and his big mouth…

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

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

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

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

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

“Tanner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie, still horrified, nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x oc #stranger things reader insert #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x y/n

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robinbuckleyluvr · 7 months ago

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⊹˚˖⁺ whispers - robin buckley

masterlist | requests

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

Warnings: none

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

Word count: 201

⸻⊱༺ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 11 months ago

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request ! with either Peter parker or steve harrington (steve feels more fitting but whatever feels right) basically a reader who is very afraid of confrontation like they will just agree with things just to avoid any arguments or confrontation. like for example let's say he wants to take her out to a fair and they agree to it despite being afraid of the rides or the fireworks. and the boy starts to realise that they just agree even if they don't want to sometimes

hope that made sense ly<333

i too have this problem. gn!reader

it started when you were young. heart racing at the thought of disagreeing or trying to speak your mind, parents never listening to you so you assumed that strangers wouldn’t either.

you’ve eaten food you were knowingly allergic to, worn outfits for family events that made you uncomfortable, and you even said yes to a date with a kid that ate his boogers since second grade.

but somehow one unlucky action turned into you being close with steve harrington, one of the most popular and handsome guys in town. he was actually really sweet when you’ve mostly heard through the grapevine that he was a jerk to people lower on the food chain.

so when he suggested going to the fourth of july fair, you should’ve took the opportunity to say no cause your brain thinks too much about the structure of the rides and the fireworks blasting rattle your ear drums. but instead you dumbly agreed saying, “i love the fair!”

so here’s where you ended up. standing with steve in line for the ferris wheel, stomach twisting into knots and legs starting to shake. you kept your eyes faced ahead, trying to trick yourself into being okay with this. it’s not going well.

“you doing okay?” a soft pressure on your back with a voice over your shoulder. you didn’t bother looking at steve, eyes stayed forward with a closed mouth as you hummed and nodded. you felt like you were about to throw up.

“hey,” steve moved to stand in front of you. his hands holding onto your shoulders as he bent to be in you eye line. “why don’t we get something to drink? we can come back later if you want.” he didn’t wait for any response, just moved the both of you out the line then took your hand to head into the direction of the food tents.

sitting at a picnic bench with a water and shared fries, you slumped into yourself. “i’m sorry about earlier.” picking at the red paint chips.

“it’s fine. it’s just the ferris wheel, nothing crazy about that.” his words muffled as he chewed his food. you sighed then looked at him, “but for me it’s scary.”

you could see the slight change in his demeanor. his back straightened, wiping his face clean and looking only at you. “okay… do you want to explain it?”

you licked your lips, “i- i think about how they build these.” a hand waving about, “like they set them up within a week and then tear them down after and move on. that’s concerning! and- and fireworks, the noise!” shutting your eyes at just the mention.

“wait, if you don’t like the fair, why’d you agree? we could’ve done something else. i’ve been here plenty of times.”

“cause i don’t like being a burden or just confrontation. im use to just doing what other people want.”

steve went quiet and then he moved to sit beside you. your cheeks were puffed as your fist squished into them. “well you don’t have to do that with me,” rubbing a palm over your spine. “i want you to be comfortable so you can enjoy yourself. so if i suggest something that you don’t like, just tell me.”

#erin writes steve #erin’s blurb requests #a 1k special #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington au #steve harrington x gn!reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine

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aloneinthehellfire · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Forgotten and the Remembered

Gates Of Hell

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, amnesia, the usual monsters, angst ofc, the biggest warning is that this isn't proof-read bc if I didn't release this soon then I was gonna start tweaking

[A/N: Writer's block is currently kicking my ass but I REFUSE to be beaten!! Posting at 3am!! No one can stop me!!]

The Forgotten and the Remembered

“Can I be the first to say that I seriously hate this apocalypse?”

Eddie shoves the dead demodog off of his torso with a groan, a small and grateful nod directed to Steve for killing it before he was literally dog meat.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think you’re the first.” Steve says, offering a hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Ugh, we can braid each other’s hair later, let’s get moving.”

Excluding Billy’s childish remark, Steve had to agree with his urgency; it was getting pretty dark already and if they didn’t speed up their footsteps, they would never make it to the Radio Shack.

The mission was as simple as it could be, drawn out on an out-of-date map with no contingency plans if it all went wrong. Which, as Steve goes over it all in his head, was a terrible mistake. When has anything ever gone smoothly for him?

They needed to get to the Radio Shack for nightfall, grab a spare walkie and contact their respective groups to alert their survival. Steve wondered if they'd be happy to hear his voice. After all, his absence was probably a relief considering how suffocating he had been lately.

Next, they were to trail around the outskirts of the centre, hopefully avoiding bigger hives of monsters on the streets. Eddie stated that getting to the edge of the mall was vital to the final part of the plan.

And, finally, the crucial part: Eddie will guide them to the delivery bay and lead them straight to the supplies. In and out. It should be simple.

If they even made it there, that is.

“I still don’t get why you don’t just leave, man.” Eddie reiterates for the thousandth time since leaving the camp. Steve’s head was starting to ache with the constant pestering.

“Because we can’t.” Steve sighs, rubbing his temple. Up ahead, he caught the subtle shake of Billy’s shoulders, indicating that he was very much amused with Steve’s distress.

Asshole, Steve thinks as he rolls his shoulder. The last demodog attack forced his swing too hard, leaving a dull ache that did not help his discomfort at all. No sleep, migraines, and now a bruised shoulder. It wasn’t his day, that’s for sure.

“But you have the perfect opportunity-”

“Can we talk about something else?” Steve suddenly snaps, not in any malicious intent but it came out more stressed than he wanted. “Please.”

Eddie sounds a low whistle, widening his eyes. “Sure, man, my bad.”

“Thank you.”

To the joy of his thrumming headache, Eddie was quiet after that. Rather than speak, he quietly kicked around a small stone, sometimes humming a strange tune. Steve felt a little guilty, but maybe silence was what they needed right now.

It didn’t last as long as he hoped.

“Who else is here?” Eddie questions just as they pass the abandoned Steelworks building. Steve always found the place to be a little creepy.

“Like our group?”

“Yeah. I realised I never asked and I think it would be nice to know who I’m risking my life for.”

“Well, there’s us, obviously.” He runs a hand through his hair, spotting the old inn in the distance. They were getting closer. “Then there’s a bunch of kids. Six of ‘em. And a girl from high school. Nancy’s there, too.”

“She the one dating the Byers’ kid now?” Eddie asks innocently enough, assessing Steve’s reaction. “Is he there too?”

“Uh…”

A pained gasp hits the air like a sobering thought, stilling his aching body. It didn’t belong to him.

In his silence, Billy throws a look over his shoulder and clears his throat.

“Not anymore.” He says, and Steve swallows the thick lump in his throat. Eddie merely nods, choosing not to pester further.

“No. No, his, uh, his mom is, though. And his brother.” He nods himself back into the confidence to have this conversation, smiling to hide his hurt. “There’s a fair amount of us, I guess. Hopper takes care of them, though. Kinda his thing.”

"Hopper? As in Chief Hopper?"

"The very same."

His eyes flicker with distaste. Steve can only assume Eddie and the chief hadn’t gotten along over the past few years, especially with the whole drug-dealing career Eddie found himself in.

"Who, uh, who else is with you guys?"

"No, that's pretty much it." Steve frowns at the way Eddie's usually animated features suddenly drop, clearing his throat. "Why? Are you also looking for someone?"

"Uh, no, nothing like that- Wait… also?" Eddie's eyes narrow when he pulls Steve to a stop, leaning in so Billy doesn't overhear them. "I'm sorry, are you telling me that you've dragged me out here because you're looking for someone? What happened to the whole 'we're dying and need help' situation?!"

"Okay, firstly," Steve yanks his arm back, a small mumble of an apology flowing from Eddie's lips in return, "I'm not technically telling you anything, but yes. I- we are looking for someone. And secondly- dos - we do need supplies. Without them, we can't find the person we're looking for. Now you might be upset with me for that but I didn't ask you to come out here. You led us all on your own, so maybe you should be thinking about why you seem so desperate to get away from that camp instead of blaming me for it."

Steve clears his throat, taken aback by his own words.

A small exhale of breath escapes Eddie's lungs, his mouth snapping shut. He wore a look of guilt, one Steve has borrowed and made all throughout his life. For a single moment, a slither of regret binds knots around his stomach. But it merely lasts that, a moment; he doesn't have time to care for others feelings when he still hasn't found you.

“Steve!” Nancy shouts, but what else could he do? He wasn’t fast enough to stop this.

His eyes fly shut once the dagger is closer than comfort, awaiting the painful stretch of metal into his flesh. Unfortunately for someone else, he didn’t have to.

A pained gasp hits the air like a sobering thought, stilling his aching body. It didn’t belong to him. It belonged to Jonathan.

Nancy starts to scream as blood pours from his mouth, his legs losing their power and stumbling him back into a hoard of shapeshifters. Steve watches as they grab at him, pulling at his clothes. They throw a hand over his mouth and drag him away, looking satisfied in their assault.

And there it was again. Even with his shifted morals, the guilt kept returning, embracing him like a mother would their child. Or, at least, he assumes a mother would. His negligence of other people's feelings seem to be almost as identical to that of his parents, and it was far deadlier in this apocalypse.

"Whatever." Eddie grumbles, snapping him out of his haze of self-hatred. "We've got about another 20 minutes so let's speed this up, yeah?"

He charged ahead, leaving Steve behind to stand in contemplation before he begrudgingly followed. Steve sighs. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

“Hello? Can anyone hear us?”

“Is anyone there?”

“I repeat, is anyone there?”

Your knuckles were white with the grasp you had on the microphone, throat tightening with every communication you tried. It had been a couple of minutes, and there hasn’t been a single response.

Once you and Jonathan had navigated the maze of hallways, you had been quick to usher him inside the comms room and lock the door behind you, ensuring at least some kind of security in your mission. Jonathan had assured you he could send out a signal to your friends, and you had immediately began your search for an exit using the camera system Brenner had set up in here. The only problem was that you couldn’t see an exit, and no one was responding to your call.

“It’s Y/n. Y/n Hopper. I’m here with Jonathan Byers. Can anyone hear us?” You try again, sharing a look with the boy currently fixated on the radio system. “We’re stuck in a bunker, and we need help. Over.”

The device eventually rests back on the table’s surface, along with your hope of a response.

“I thought you said they were monitoring the stations?” You ask Jonathan as he fiddles with various dials.

“They are.” He says with determination, shaking his head at the machine. “Dustin basically built on some radio extension, they should be able to hear us. Maybe it’s a problem with-”

His voice falters as he peers behind the table, momentarily ducking down. “I found the problem.”

Before you can ask, he sits back up with a frayed wire in his hand and a frown on his face.

“Shit.” You breathe and he can only nod, inspecting it with disdain.

“Looks like someone tampered with it.” He sighs, leaning back in the chair. “Can we guess who?”

“Probably the same person who removed any trace of a door from the camera feeds.” You say, resting your head in your hand as you continue to click through the screens in front of you.

You had seen what felt like a million hallways and rooms, an unnecessary amount of security in a deserted bunker, but not one single way out of here. It was starting to mess with your brain, wondering if there was even an exit at all.

“Maybe he knew we were gonna escape? You know, just ruined the radio and removed the camera on the front door so we couldn’t leave.” You offer, resisting the repetitive click of the mouse by pushing away from the desk and resting your hands between your thighs.

“How would he know that?” Jonathan frowns, looking lost in thought. “He’s crafty, I’ll give him that. He’s supposed to be dead so I guess nothing can surprise me now.”

You slowly nod along to his words, not really retaining anything here or there. Jonathan explained to you who Brenner was just moments prior to accepting defeat with the technology surrounding you. It turns out he wasn’t a complete stranger after all; Hopper had been hunting him down for years. But there was only so much Jonathan could tell you about him.

You still didn’t know why he took you here in the first place. Or why Jonathan was locked up in a random room with medical equipment.

While Jonathan continues to mutter about the possibilities of escaping, your eyes catch a series of tapes lined across shelves, noticing that very few are marked with a subject.

“What do they say?” You point above him, cutting off his spiel about seeing if there was a weapons room.

“Uh…” Jonathan abandons his seat and peers at the shelf, tilting his head to read the tapes. “There are a couple that say ‘Lab’. Another says ‘Experiment 8’... this one is creepy. It just says, ‘I saw you’.”

A chill runs down your spine as his eyes meet yours with matching concern. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Play it.” You say with more confidence than you expected.

Jonathan doesn’t object, slipping the tape into the player and watching the screen brighten with the image of a furnished room.

“What’s this?” He frowns, looking to you for some sort of answer. Your face had dropped, eyes glued to the screen.

“No.” You whisper, watching yesterday play out in front of you for the second time.

The camera feed suggested it was hidden in a vent closer to the ceiling, metal lines obstructing some view, but the subject was still clear as day. You watched as Owens talked to you on the couch, holding your breath. Even in a grainy exposure, you could still see the fear on his face.

“What’s happening?” Jonathan asks quietly just as Owens ushers you to the closet.

“He’s saving me.” You state and Brenner walks into the room. From this angle, you can see the gun he’s hiding behind his back, and it makes your stomach churn.

“What…” Jonathan’s question cuts off with the flash of a bullet, a gasp leaving his lips as Owens falls to the ground and lays in a pool of his own blood. “He killed him.”

If the screen weren’t so big, you would’ve missed the way Brenner turns his head to the vent, eyes staring directly into the camera. He doesn’t smile, or speak. He just stares. Like he knew.

Because he always knew.

“There aren’t meant to be any cameras in there.” You say, shaking your head. “He- he knew Owens was telling me everything, he knew I saw what he did.”

“So why didn’t he kill you too?” Jonathan asks the million dollar question. Why didn’t he kill you too?

“Play the other ones.” You nod. “We have to figure out what he knows.”

The tapes didn’t relax your anxiety. You and Jonathan watched three before you felt like you could throw up if you continued.

Each one was a different shot of the Hawkins lab, following the lives of your dad, the kids, everyone. There wasn’t any sound, but it was pretty clear what each person was doing; patrols, planning. He had been watching all of you this entire time.

“There’s more.” Jonathan says, pulling out notebooks from one of the drawers he had curiously opened while you were flicking through tapes. “He’s been writing about us.”

You flick through a couple of pages, frowning. The writing was messy and cursive, detailing different notes about conspiracies, almost all about Hopper and his whereabouts. “Why? Why does he care what we’re doing?”

“Maybe he doesn’t like that we’re trying to find a way to close these gates.”

“What possible reason does he have to keep them open?” You ask just as you discard another book, laying your eyes on the last in the pile.

This notebook was eerily familiar to you. It seemed worn, a couple scratches and stains. They were almost comforting, especially in a stark clean place like this.

You turn the first page and fall into realisation, observing the scrawl of handwriting that fell from your own fingertips. It was your notebook.

It contained information about monsters; their strengths and weaknesses. Like you had been observing them for a while, not that you could remember. And it contained a small diary entry every few pages. Nothing seemed of importance, mostly details about feeling ill or wanting to go home. But one word was scribbled across these pages with such care, catching your eye with every letter.

The most important piece to the puzzle.

"Steve." You manage to whisper out before turning to the screen with haste when you hear your own voice muttering through the screen. This video had audio.

“When was this?” Jonathan asks, and you look closer.

You and a boy are standing at a railing, staring out of a giant glass window with one of the gates staring back at you. Steve. You were with Steve.

“I don’t remember.” You frown, trying to listen to yourself.

“… I’m glad I got to see the real Steve Harrington, even if it was just a few days, but… but that’s not enough time to really know each other. You don’t know me.”

“Looks like the day the lab exploded.”

Everything around you was either burnt or burning, small flames dancing along the ground and chasing after screeching vines.

The lab had exploded, you realise, shoulders dropping. It was gone. And it took the gate with it, only a large crack against the surface left in its demise.

You turn to see Steve already standing beside you, taking in the scene just as you had, his hard stare softening into defeat. There was no going back.

“What now?” You whisper, afraid if you say it any louder the realisation of what you had done would come crashing down, taking away that last remaining piece of sanity with its tide.

“I…” Steve frowns, slowly meeting your eyes. He didn’t have a plan this time, no positives to share. You were both stuck in an alternate dimension, your exit blown to smithereens. “I don’t know.”

“How the hell did I forget that?” Your hands find a tighter grip on your notebook, pulling it closer. “I… I should have remembered.”

Jonathan offers a sympathetic smile. “Y/n, you’ve been missing for weeks. If Brenner’s been feeding you those pills this entire time… it’s gonna take a while for you to remember everything.”

But I should have remembered him.

The way Steve smiled, or how he fiddled with his hair when he was nervous. Each mole painting his skin, or the way he’d huff when he was upset in the most adorable way. The way he’d hold your hand, the sweetness and care behind every kiss. It should have been easy to remember, because your heart never truly forgot.

Your eyes drift up to the screen, watching as Steve leans closer to you. The strain on your heart was loosening with the memory of him, but your stomach tightened with guilt. He would never have forgotten you.

“They don’t need me, Steve.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t.” You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’ve been doing this shit long before I was ever in the picture. If anything, I’ve just ruined it-”

“Why do you do that?” He cuts you off, flickering between your eyes with a look of concern. “Act like you aren’t someone important, when you most definitely are.”

“Y/n?” Jonathan brings his chair closer, ensuring a respectable boundary between you two.

You almost turn back to him in defeat when you find yourself staring at the red beam of light behind you and Steve. Reaching forward, you click the mouse and pause the video, leaning closer. The gate was glowing a crimson fog onto the window, eerily beautiful despite its dangerous contents. But, most importantly, you remember that glow post-amnesia. In the room you met Owens.

“Oh my god.” You breathe out, leaning back into your chair to let the dread flood your body.

“What is it?” Jonathan glances between you and the screen, peering closer at the image as if he could use it to read your mind.

“It’s not a door.” You state with a whisper, repeating it louder when you realise he can’t understand you. “It’s not a door. Our exit. It’s a gate.”

You grab the mouse and start flicking back through the live camera feeds, rapidly searching for evidence of your claims until the image presents itself, eliciting a gasp from the boy beside you.

The room you had encountered Owens in for the first time was exactly as you remembered it. Small machines lined the walls and shutters blocked out what you assume to be a large window to your exit. The camera quality wasn’t the best, but it didn’t need to be perfect to see the red light peeking out from the cracks.

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Jonathan asks, arm leaning on the desk beside you as he peers over your shoulder, holding his breath until you answer.

“Yep.” You slowly nod, meeting his eyes. “We’re not just in a bunker.”

“We’re in the Upside Down.”

Almost as soon as the terrifying truth breathed from Jonathan’s mouth, a shrill screech of sirens started to echo around you, startling you out of your seat.

Brenner knew you were escaping.

“Shit, time to go.” Jonathan gasps, spinning around and spotting an old satchel under the desk. He quickly grabs it and starts shoving in evidence; notebooks, tapes, even an old recording device Brenner had left on the shelf.

Before you leave, you ensure your notebook is a part of the collection before unlocking the door and throwing it open to reveal the flashing white and red hallway of your nightmares.

“Which way?!” Jonathan yells over the alarm and you grab his arm, tugging him left into a sprinted run, racing against the clock.

But it didn’t matter how fast you ran. You couldn't outrun time.

Darkness fell over Hawkins like an omen, plunging everything into a deep, dark, black.

The red hues of the clouds above would cast a bloody visage on the buildings whenever lightning should clash, but no thunder followed in its wake. This weather wasn’t normal. It was silent, and it was very, very deadly.

Hiding after dark was the only solution in a world like this now. Unfortunately, sanctuary was getting harder and harder to find. Steve, Billy, and Eddie, learnt that the hard way.

“I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but, uh…” Eddie’s finger waved to the ceiling, gulping.

The problem with the ceiling? There wasn’t one.

“Shit.” Billy runs a hand down his face. “Something ripped that roof clean off.”

“Maybe we should head next door?” Eddie offers, but he knew any suggestions were useless. It was pitch black and Steve was pretty sure the windows of the building opposite were smashed into pieces.

“We can set up a camp.” Steve nods slowly, looking around the store. A couple of shelf stands were still upright. Maybe if they set up their tents behind them, it’ll shield them from anything in the sky. He could shudder at the thought of something flying around right now, but it wouldn’t surprise him.

And it wasn’t necessarily a shock to him that the roof was gone. He’s constantly reminded of the giant shadow you had seen a while back, a fear in your eye he couldn’t ignore. The worst part was that Steve hadn’t seen it around lately, and that made it so much more terrifying. It suggested that this thing only appeared when it mattered.

So why target the Radio Shack?

Billy was the one to start on the tents, while Steve gathered some old wood from broken tables to throw in a pile. Eddie watches them with uncertainty, uncomfortable with how calm they seemed to be. He knew they’ve probably been through a lot, they all have, but they move with such confidence in a situation that would definitely have him spiralling if he was in charge.

“You sure these radios are gonna work?” He tries to keep himself busy as Steve looks over, nodding.

“Yeah. Not those ones, but I brought one with me. It’s battery powered so I just need any packs we can find around here. And it’s always been a pretty good spot for connections. You know, since it’s a radio store and all.” He assures, pulling out some flint he may or may not have snagged from Eddie’s camp. The boy either didn’t mind or took no notice of it, still fiddling with the radios. “Hey.”

Steve carefully takes the radio from his hand, checking the battery. It definitely needed replacing, and he held it while he assessed the situation. There were more radios scattered about, at least one of them had to have the power he needed.

“We’ll need to contact them in the morning.” He finally says, responding to Eddie’s wide eyes of disapproval. “Look, we don’t know why but radios are practically useless when it’s dark. Maybe it’s something to do with the clouds, I don’t know. But we also don’t want any of those things out there hearing us. Especially since we don’t have a roof over our head.”

He gently places it back down on the counter, sighing.

“I say we make a small fire. Just enough to keep us warm. And we’ll block out the windows so nothing can look in.”

“What about…” Eddie points to the ceiling, eyebrows raised.

“We can risk it.” Billy finally joins them, looking up at the sky just as a burst of red illuminated the clouds. “Nothing’s seeing us from up there.”

“How can you be so sure?” Eddie asks.

Billy doesn’t respond. Instead, he swipes the flint from Steve’s hand and starts work on the campfire, avoiding their eyes.

Steve has never known Billy to be normal. Not even close. He was an egomaniac, emphasis on the maniac, with an array of anger issues and, frankly, terrible judgement. I mean, this guy saw Lucas Sinclair as a threat, and Steve knew there could be only one reason why Lucas of all the boys was targeted.

And yet, even with all his horrible traits, Steve hasn’t known Billy to act this… weird. He was quieter, motivated, and, above all else, somewhat selfless? He didn’t have to volunteer for this trip. He certainly didn’t have to stay when the plan went awry, and considering the military were moving people out, Billy has every opportunity to leave them behind.

Something was just off. And he couldn’t figure out why.

“So, I know you don’t want to talk about it…” Eddie says after a while, the fire set and his back resting against an old wall. Steve looks over before his breath hitches in his throat.

You sat there once. It was back in the Upside Down, but it reminded him of you all the same. Eddie had that same look of defeat on his face, a cool determination still resting behind his eyes like he was still trying to fight. Just like you did.

God, he missed you so fucking much.

“Why is this person you’re looking for so important?” Eddie finishes and Billy’s eyes briefly flicker to Steve’s, the truth weighing heavy on his tongue.

“Because she is.” Steve replies simply, rubbing his hands together as the cold air creeps between the flames. “And she’s incredibly important to all of us.”

“Why?”

“She just is.”

Eddie tightens his lips, slowly nodding. Even as Steve avoids his eyes, his gaze is hard set on the side of his head, reading him like a book. He could almost feel the thoughts radiating from Eddie’s head.

"You're searching for Y/n, aren't you?"

Everything is suddenly too silent. Even Billy tensed up a little, pausing his efforts to pry open a tin of beans they’d packed back at the camp.

Steve isn't sure how to respond. He wasn't expecting Eddie to make such an accurate guess, especially considering your reputation in high school; Steve risking his life for you wouldn't ever cross someone's mind if they had not witnessed your change in relationship.

Unless it wasn't a guess at all.

"How do you know that?"

Eddie suddenly looks sheepish, eyes darting to the ground. "I, uh... I heard... I heard something."

"Heard something?"

"Your radio." Eddie sighs, still avoiding the boy's glare. "Back at the camp. You were asleep and I was on watch that night. I thought I heard a voice- her voice. It was coming from the radio in your bag. But when I tried to respond, nothing went through so I figured I had made it up..."

"You heard her." Steve blinks, shoulders tensing. "You heard her?!"

"Woah, dude, calm down." Eddie jumps from his seat, hands surrendering. "I was gonna look into it when we got here, try and send out another signal."

"Why wouldn't you tell me?!"

"Because last I heard you guys hated each other! How was I meant to know you're friends now?! I've been stuck on the other side of town for weeks now trying to help my uncle, I don't have time to catch up on the latest King Steve gossip!"

"Stop calling me that."

"My bad, would you prefer ‘freak’?"

"Fucking hell, will the both of you just shut the fuck up?" Billy groans, discarding the tin of beans and looking at them in disbelief. "You guys keep arguing over and over and unless one of you is gonna man up and beat the shit out of the other one, I'm sick of your whining."

Steve blinks. Billy Hargrove was the one telling them that their anger issues were the problem? Considering Eddie's similar expression, he wasn't the only one who realised how insane that sounded. Which only meant Billy was right; they really were a problem.

"Ah." Billy grins sarcastically, leaning back against the shelves, "Music to my ears."

"Whatever." Eddie coughs, snagging the radio from the counter and marching away before anyone could protest, mumbling about trying to find another battery.

"What is his problem?" Steve muttered to himself, not quietly enough to avoid Billy's coarse chuckle. "What?"

"Maybe the dude is worked up because we won't tell him a single thing about anything." He offers, eyes plastered the last remaining flickers of ember in the campfire. "We haven't told him about the Upside Down, forgot to mention anything about the gates of hell that we're trying to track. And now you're neglecting to tell him about how Y/n is trapped in another dimension and needs our help. Dude is gonna be pissed."

"Why does he care?" Steve asks, barely any venom in his words. He was just tired. More tired than he usually gets. Maybe he should have taken the opportunity to sleep when the tents were set up.

"About the Upside Down?" Billy cocks a brow, sending a knowing look. "Or Y/n?"

Steve straightens at the way he said it, shifting uncomfortably at the idea he was alluding to something he wasn't aware of.

"Both..." Steve says with uncertainty.

Billy smirks, almost hidden under the growing shade of nightfall.

"I'm pretty sure his uncle is dying and he doesn't know how to stop it."

Dread and guilt bubble into their own brew in Steve's stomach, tightening his throat. "How the hell would you know that?"

"By using these things people call eyes."

"Alright, don't-"

"And because you've both been so busy avoiding the truth around each other that I've been noticing things you've both forgotten to hide. His uncle is clearly the most resourceful of all of them back at the camp and yet he's the only one who stays behind to 'keep watch'. Eddie always keeps things private from him like he's tryna protect him. And I'm pretty sure that Heather girl is in on it, too. She was training to be a lifeguard before Hawkins went to shit and is probably the only one with first aid experience. Tommy and Chrissy however have no clue since they're clearly traumatised about what happened to them on ‘day one’."

Steve is speechless to say the least, the darkness shedding a whole new light on his perception of the boy next to him.

"You got all that from just looking?"

"You can notice shit a whole lot better when you become an afterthought." He replies, a quiet anger in his eyes. "Y/n taught me that."

Steve tried to ignore it, but he couldn't help fixating on that last little comment. An afterthought. That's how you've felt this entire time. From realising you had been lied to for two years to assuming your father had left without you, Steve never truly appreciated how alone you must have felt, predicting people's departures before they'd ever arrived.

"And the reason Eddie should know about what's happening to Y/n is the same reason we're out here right now risking our damn lives." Billy's eyes drift to where Eddie was fiddling the radio now, whispering into the speaker with a false sense of hope. "He cares about her."

"I didn't even know they were friends." Steve sighs, sitting down in defeat. Another migraine began to form behind his eyes. Jesus, he could use some painkillers right now.

"Me neither." Billy shrugs, and Steve looks at him quizzically. "What? Just because I'm observant doesn't mean I'm a fucking psychic. I only moved here last year, remember?"

"Trying to forget." Steve comments, but there was no malice. In fact, if Steve squinted, he could just see the making of a smirk lifting the corner of Billy's lips.

They could never be friends. But that didn't mean they had to hate each other forever.

You taught him that.

The persistent sounds of a warning system were the last thing you needed in such a hasty situation. It was hard enough to recall the layout of a white-walled maze without the constant interference of a building headache, barely remembering to grab onto Jonathan’s arm anytime you made a sudden sharp turn.

Time was running against you now. One wrong turn and it could all be over.

“We’re almost there!” You say aloud, but it wasn’t to ease Jonathan’s mind.

You recognised the increasing door numbers around you, reminiscent of the days you would wander around this place and only have to worry about your memory.

It seemed that the closer to the gate you were, the quieter the alarms became. Maybe the power was malfunctioning. After all, electricity didn’t exist in the Upside Down. Brenner must be powering it with some external source and the security system had to be using up all that energy rapidly.

“It’s just down-”

As you pull Jonathan around another corner, attempting to lead him to the gate, someone blocks the hallway, gun in his unnaturally steady hand.

The both of you stop dead in your tracks, locking eyes with your captor.

“I can’t let you leave.” Brenner says, unwavering. “My work isn’t complete.”

You shake your head, slowly raising your hands in surrender. “What work?”

He doesn’t answer, but you don’t expect him to, especially not when he looked like that.

Eyes bloodshot and white hair messy, Brenner looked like he had been fighting. There were no bruises or blood as evidence, but his demeanour was wilder than you’ve ever known it to be. He was always collected, calm, unusually so. And right now, he didn’t look like himself.

“I… I can’t let you leave.” His voice trembles this time, alongside a slight tremor in his hand.

Beside you, you can feel Jonathan move closer. He’s obviously preparing for the worst, hoping you both can run before the bullet reaches you.

“You don’t understand!” Brenner yells this time, taking two harsh steps closer to you. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull the trigger. “I can’t- I can’t let him have her.”

That caught you by surprise, your hands slowly lowering back down to your sides. “Who…”

“I could have done great things. I would have.” He begins laughing to himself now, a crazed shell of himself echoing into the hallway. “But she is more important.”

Slowly, his hand lowers, gun pointed at the floor. He starts to stare into the distance, an unsettling smile dropping to a defeated expression. You exchange a look with Jonathan, unsure how to approach him. Brenner was clearly out of his mind and was blocking the only way out.

“Brenner?” You whisper out, taking a tentative step forward much to Jonathan’s immediate distress.

“What are you-”

You shrug him off, tilting your head to hopefully catch Brenner’s eye. You always had a sixth sense about people, about if they were truly good or evil. And right now, you saw a man that needed help. He wasn’t okay, and you hoped that your instincts were right.

“Dr?” You try again, and this time, he looks up.

“I’m sorry.” He says as he meets your eyes, his own glittering with silent tears. “I truly am sorry.”

“Just let us go.” You plead with a comforting voice, holding out your hands. “We’ll forget all about this. You- you need help. We can… we can get help.”

“You can’t leave.” He frowns, face suddenly hardening to stone.

“Y/n…” Jonathan warns, stepping closer to you, but it was too late.

Brenner raises the gun, straightening his stance and pointing it directly at your chest. “I can’t let him win.”

Him? You question, eyes glued to the weapon. You notice the flicker of his index finger on the trigger, and you wish you hadn’t. It meant you were about to die.

Or, at least, someone was.

Before any bullets could leave the barrel, something big lunges out from the darkness and pounces onto Brenner, the gun firing into the wall beside your head.

Brenner yells out in pain as the monster raises its ugly claw, striking down. A scream almost leaves your lips before Jonathan is taking the opportunity to escape, grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the horrifying miracle.

You find yourself unable to decide if leaving Brenner was making you feel guilty or not. And you didn’t have time to. Jonathan leads you straight to the red hue seeping from behind one of the doors, throwing it open and tugging you inside with haste.

“How do we-”

He begins to ask how to open the shutters, but you’ve already launched yourself towards the door on the far end of the room, following the faint hum that has haunted your dreams since day one. He joins you almost as quickly as you left him, standing beside you in the open doorway and staring in at the room that follows.

“Jesus…” He whispers, the gate smaller than the one at the lab but big enough to have him wondering. “We’ve been searching for a gate for weeks. And it’s been here the whole time? How did we miss this?”

The taunting sound of heavy footsteps call out from behind you, something big hitting the door with malicious intent.

Both of you jump inside the room, tipping over a metal unit to block the door before you make a run for it, the shelves you destroyed scraping against the floor as the monster attempts to break in.

As your footsteps echo loudly against the silver steps leading to the gate, the unsettling wave of familiarity plagues you for the last time inside this bunker.

A lab, a gate, a boy. Time was repeating itself, over and over, making you question if your actions ever meant anything at all. You always ended back here, back in a life or death deal with only one realistic option left for survival; run.

You almost slip, but Jonathan manages to catch you, a terrifying crash sounding from the door.

As Jonathan takes your hand in his, the cool skin feels unusual against yours. Your body was aching for some kind of warmth this boy didn't have, reminiscent of a safe grasp.

You didn’t realise what was wrong until you were being pulled through the gate with a gasp, senses thrown off balance as you barely escaped the claws of a close death.

Jonathan’s hand didn't bring the same comfort you’ve yearned for all this time.

He wasn't Steve.

No one really appreciates a roof over their head until they don’t have it anymore.

There was the blinding light of sun peeking through the grey clouds and a horrible sensation of something clinging to his arm when he woke, causing Steve to groan in despair. He barely got any sleep last night, and now he’ll probably be up for another 20 hours. Life sucked right now.

Steve peels his arm away from the lining of the tent, frowning. It felt wet. Why was it wet?

Crawling out of his pop-up quarters, ignoring how uncool he must look right now, Steve’s heart drops as his hand slips into a puddle. It rained. It rained.

“Shit.” He spits, scrambling to his feet and letting his eyes fall across the store.

Any and all electronic equipment was now soaked and useless.

“Shit!” He says, louder this time. His hands were pressed against the top of his head as he paced.

“What’s going on?” Eddie yawns, stepping out of the second tent with much more grace than Steve had earlier. But he couldn’t dwell on that, right now. “Damn. When did it rain?”

“The batteries.” Steve gasped, rushing over to the counter.

Any radios left were drowned, leaving no promise of what he desperately needed. His hands fumble with the battery compartments, a little piece of his soul chipping away as each battery led in their own pools of rain.

“Steve?”

Eddie’s voice wasn’t a priority. His hands were shaking. He was stuck here, just like in the Upside Down. Just like you. And now he-

“Steve!”

His eyes finally snap up to see his saving grace.

Eddie stood with a radio in one hand, pointing to it with the other. “It’s fine. I found a battery and shoved it into my tent when we turned in last night. And it works, too.”

“Oh, thank god.” Steve sighs, releasing all his anxious energy back into the air.

“You sleep okay, man? You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah, I- I’m okay.” He rubs his eyes, sucking in the fresh air. Well, as fresh as it could be in an apocalypse. “Where’s Billy?”

“Uh…” Eddie takes a quick look around before deciding on a shrug.

“Great.” Steve sighs, rolling his shoulder. There was still a dull ache resting there, flaming whenever he moved his left arm. “I’ll start getting us packed up, you try and contact your camp.”

Eddie didn’t seem all too convinced by his false display of wellness. “You sure you’re-”

“I’m fine.” Steve offers a tight-lipped smile, already taking down the tents with haste that suggested he really wasn’t in the mood to talk about how miserable he was right now. “See if anything else survived. We’ll need some spare batteries for when we’re out of the mall. Just in case.”

“Cool. Back-ups. I like it.” Eddie nods, mostly to himself since Steve had already left his side.

Steve’s hands immediately find solace in disassembling the tents, grateful to be busy. He wasn’t sure what was making him so cranky. Usually it would be from another nightmare he couldn’t control, images of your virus-stricken form weaving into his deepest fears. He didn’t dream last night, but he wasn’t even sure he slept at all.

It was like there was a small nagging pinch of a dagger resting at the back of his mind, occasionally piercing him but mostly leaving a dull ache in his brain. It was almost torture, and he wasn’t sure what was causing it. No sleep, no water or food, could remove it no matter how hard he tried.

Maybe it was all the pressure finally taking its toll on him. The apocalypse wasn’t resting easy on anyone’s mind, but after losing you and leading Jonathan straight to his demise, it was certainly heavy.

Maybe it was something else entirely. Something he missed. He’d been feeling it since that day in the motel basement, where you sacrificed all you had left to make sure he was saved. But he had nothing more than a blackout and a painful memory to evidence his growing fatigue.

One thing was for sure; his only cure right now would be you.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice calls out from the other side of the shelves, making Steve pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something staring at me.”

Steve pauses all movement, eyes widening. His heartbeat raises quicker than usual, a trail of goosebumps straightening the hairs on his arms.

“Is this the demogorgon you were talking about?” He asks, and Steve slowly makes his way back through the store, attempting to catch a glimpse of the window.

“Tall, grey, faceless?” Steve recalls, taking slow steps. He can just see his bat resting near one of the deflated tents, calling to him. The sun above made everything impossible to see, pu

re light reflecting on the window.

“No. It’s, uh…”

When Eddie’s words falter, Steve makes a quick and crucial decision. He steps to his bat and swipes it off the ground, turning to see the boy fully now. Eddie’s face had fallen, fists clenched.

“What?” Steve frowns, afraid to look behind him at the glass pane.

“It’s grinning at me.”

Heart sinking into his stomach, Steve can’t seem to find the words to warn Eddie before glass shatters the earth behind him, a sharp ringing in his ear. It cuts his voice with a sliced gasp through the air as something pulls him backwards until he hits the ground hard.

He didn’t get a moment to recover. A large clawed hand found its way around his throat, pinning him to the ground.

As he chokes for breath, Steve finds himself staring up at the eerie image of a jagged smile, dead eyes glaring down at him with enough malice to turn his body cold. But Steve wasn’t the target. After all, that thing didn’t smile at him.

Pressure relieves his neck and he’s no longer the prey.

“Eddie-” He gasps, trying to sit up when the grinning monster leaves his side. “Run.”

“Shit!” Eddie has no objections as he snatches the radio from the counter and takes off in the opposite direction. And, just as Steve assumed, the monster followed.

A burst of pain seeped from his shoulder and along his spine, a hiss leaving Steve’s lips as he forced himself to stand. Various cuts from shards of glass littered his hands but that would have to wait.

“Billy!” He yells out, eyes struggling to focus around him.

He doesn’t understand why it didn’t just kill him when it had the chance, but there wasn’t much time to debate it. Billy had the only weapon sure enough to take this thing out with a single blow to the head, and he was nowhere to be seen.

A cry echoes from inside the Radio Shack and Steve’s hand instinctively finds his bat. I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way, he thinks as he rushes to the noise, his only plan resting on the pure adrenaline of fear.

He appeared just in time to watch Eddie’s feet dangle above the ground, his hands scrambling to tear at the thick skin of the monster’s grip around his neck. Steve ignores the pain in his shoulder to lift the bat above his head and swipe it down onto the back of its head with as much force as he could muster.

It screeches, dropping Eddie to snap its head around to where Steve stood, panting. The bat was laced with droplets of blood, but his attack didn’t cause the damage he had hoped for.

Claws swiped at his face, causing him to jump back and stumble directly into old wooden shelves. They collapse into a heap behind him and he loses his footing.

His bat rolls from his grip and his eyes widen just as the smirk of his worst fears approaches him. It only seems to get bigger, the disproportionate body towering over him. It grinned the same way it had at Eddie. He was next.

“Hey!”

The sickening smile still rested on its face as it turned to the intrusion, keen on finding something to rip apart. Steve felt despair for a moment, closed in with a pile of wooden rubble at his feet.

He shouldn’t have doubted Eddie’s fighting spirit.

An ear-splitting scream left the creature’s jagged mouth when Eddie’s spear slotted perfectly into one of its eyes, black blood pouring out from the back of its head as it wobbled from left to right.

Steve manages to scurry out of the way just in time for the monster to collapse into the heap, a stomach-churning squelch of the spear being pushed further into the head with the impact.

“Smile about that, asshole.” Eddie quips, still shaking with fear.

Steve’s wide eyes turn into lights of approval, a trembling laugh erupting from his mouth. “Holy shit.”

Eddie only nods, adjusting his bandana. “Holy shit.”

“You just killed that thing with a spear.” Steve says in bewilderment, still chuckling, but none of it was funny. It was just easier this way, to find the humour in a situation that was very much deadly a few seconds ago.

“I played a lot of DnD.” He replies earnestly, balling his hands into fists. Steve could tell he was trying to pretend it was nothing, to brush it off. “That was… that was the first thing I’ve ever killed.”

“Really?” Steve frowns, brushing the dust from his hands. He was pretty much sitting in a puddle right now, but he wasn’t sure he could stand. Adrenaline wore off pretty quickly. “Well, uh… congrats, I guess.”

“Thanks.”

Steve had a lot of experience battling monsters from the Upside Down. Although, he wasn’t necessarily an expert per say. The normal baseline for experience with these things would be absolutely zero considering they aren’t meant to exist. But he knew the first time facing the reality of a life and death situation was scarring. He also knew Eddie should count himself lucky; not everyone could stand their ground.

Sometimes people run away before they learn that courage.

“Are we sure it's dead?” Eddie asks, peering down at it. Before Steve can reply, the answer presents itself instead.

The thing twitched, clawed hand shooting out to grab onto Eddie’s leg. Bat resting further than Steve would have hoped, he scrambles for a new weapon, hands rooting around the dirty ground for a rock heavy enough to cause some damage.

Luckily for him, he didn’t need to search long.

A heavy shot pierces the air and the next thing he knows, Eddie is splattered with the monster’s blood, the tight grip on his ankle faltering until the thing goes limp and it falls with a single bullet between the eyes.

“Holy shit.” Eddie exhales, looking up with an anxious smile, “That was close.”

Steve can only nod in exasperation, pushing himself from the ground for the fourth time today and dusting his hands free of gravel.

He turns to look for Billy’s smug face, expecting the drawl of condescending remarks to fall upon his ear. He was sorely mistaken.

One glance at the dead monster and he sees it; one tiny, clean, bullet hole. Not from a shotgun.

“Can’t you go anywhere without me?”

“... Nancy?”

Nancy Wheeler stands with her trusted gun pointed at the ground, a relieved smile painting her lips. She was wearing different clothes than the last time he saw her, a new jacket he recognised straight from Jonathan’s wardrobe. She had a satchel resting across her body, but that wasn’t her only accessory.

Behind her, Robin Buckley stood with arms folded, a radio strapped to her hip and paired with a taser on the other side. She didn’t smile, but Steve wasn’t at all surprised. She’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t a fan of his since your disappearance.

The only surprise was the fact they were both here.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He finally asks, posture depleting with exasperation.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Nancy says, retiring her gun back to her belt. “Where have you guys been? We’ve been trying to radio-”

Her voice cuts out when she notices Eddie stood there awkwardly.

“Uh, hi.” He offers a wave, and she merely nods back. “I’m Eddie.”

“Munson?” She frowns, looking between him and Steve before focusing on the latter. “When did-”

“It’s a long story.” He sighs.

“Not really.”

Billy finally rejoins the group, the shotgun they had desperately needed a minute ago looped onto his shoulder. His shoes were muddy, hair a little damp from what Steve assumes to be the early rain.

“We got stranded at the library and ran into some other survivors. We camped out with them and then Munson offered to take us to the last place with supplies and, well, here we are.” Billy recalls, folding his arms. “Not a long story.”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Everyone turns to Steve in surprise. His voice was bitter, a bite in his eye that suggested he wasn’t in the mood to be messed with.

“Took a walk.” Billy says, stoic expression faltering slightly when he finally clocks the dead monster on the ground. “Ah.”

“Ah?” Steve repeats, walking over to him. “Ah? We almost died because you took our only solid weapon on a walk, and all you can say is ‘ah’?!”

“Chill out, it’s dead, isn’t it?” Billy straightens, undefeated by Steve’s dangerous gaze. “Obviously you didn’t need me.”

“I can’t believe you-”

“Woah, okay.” Nancy steps forward, hand guiding Steve away from Billy with an ounce of pressure on his shoulder and he winces. “Sorry. Let’s just… calm down. We can fight about this later, but right now we have bigger things to worry about.”

“She’s right.” Robin speaks up for the first time, tilting her head. “We have a lead.”

“A lead on what?” Steve frowns, stalking away from Billy and cradling his shoulder. It definitely got worse after the attack.

“Y/n.”

If his heart could jump from his chest and strangle him, he’s sure it would have done it just then, throat tightening with a thick set of emotion. “What… what about her?”

“We heard her.” Nancy smiles, nodding feverously. “We picked up a signal yesterday. It was definitely Y/n. She’s- she’s alive. And she’s not alone.”

“Who…”

“Jonathan.” She laughs this time. Complete and utter joy slipping from her lips, a light he definitely hadn’t seen in some time.

Steve can only shake his head. “Wait, but that’s- how could he-”

“I don’t know.” Nancy steps closer, ensuring that he was only focused on what she had to say and not the disbelief running through his thoughts. “But we definitely heard her right. She and Jonathan were saying they were stuck somewhere. We- we lost the signal before we heard anything else, but it’s them. They’re alive, Steve. I know it.”

Confliction rolled around Steve’s stomach until it made him sick. He had so many concerns about this supposed signal, but mostly he was afraid that steering off course for a hopeful miracle would ruin everything. If the signal was wrong, if you and Jonathan weren’t there… then what?

“We’re heading to the new mall. Eddie says there’s enough supplies there to last us another month at least. I can’t- we can’t leave without it.”

“You’re not gonna believe it,” Nancy shakes her head in bewilderment, struck with relief of their luck, “But Hopper managed to track the signal.”

Billy unfolds his arms and Eddie stops slumping. Nancy doesn’t have to finish her words, but she does anyway, letting that hope solidify with a heavy promise.

“They’re in Starcourt already.”

[A/N: the next chapter is coming whenever I'm not rethinking my entire life after three years of university just to end up in a retail job, i hate it here. but ily guys for still reading]

@sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore . @carolineesnell .

#stranger things x reader #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfiction #gates of hell #st2 #steve x reader #stranger things au #apocalypse au

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denim-mixtapes · 1 year ago

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Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan.

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb.

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least.

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it.

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss.

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!”

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name.

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it.

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor.

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday.

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime.

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar.

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down.

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it.

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.”

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?”

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?”

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.”

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.”

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside.

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?”

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.”

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty.

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?”

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?”

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.”

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.”

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.”

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.”

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls – so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee.

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.”

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.”

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room.

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.”

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.”

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.”

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully.

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–”

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!”

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway.

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks.

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?”

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.”

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.”

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless.

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?”

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes.

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight.

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are.

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests.

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake.

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington/you #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington reader insert

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lena-after-dark · 14 days ago

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Pairing: Henry Creel x Reader

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

Requested By: Anon

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

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

And then he found you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To keep you.

Buy Me A Coffee?

#henry creel #001 #stranger things 001 #st 001 #stranger things henry creel #st henry creel #henry creel x reader #001 x reader #stranger things reader insert #st reader insert #reader insert #dark!henry creel #dark!001 #darkfic

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fictionalthrill · 1 year ago

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A Stranger Valentine: Steve Harrington One-Shot

A/N: Greetings! So here it is! After a very long hiatus, I'm finally back with a little one-shot for Steve Harrington. It is my first in a while and I hope it won't be my last. I'm a little nervous about it, but I might as well just stop overthinking and go for it. And oddly enough, this just so happens to be my blog's 7th anniversary! I hope you like it!

Happy Valentine's Day!

Description: Steve puts himself out there on Valentine's Day. (3292 words)

WARNINGS: FLUFF!

Love interest: Reader

It was a nice, breezy, and all together, regular day in Hawkins. A somewhat busy Monday for some businesses, including the Family Video. Customers had come and gone. The shelves ripped apart; most rentals gone by the evening. Surprisingly, things had died down for a bit, giving Steve and Robin a breath. The bell at the door rang as a couple of customers exited, giving way to Dustin.

“Hey, Robin!” He greeted.

“Hey, nerd.”

“I don’t take that as insult, no matter how many times you call me it,” Dustin said.

Steve then appeared from the back room. “Okay Robin, make a note, we are out of When Harry Met Sally, Flashdance, Splash, Footloose, Sixteen Candles, and Back to the Future. I just went over some inventory and those are the ones most asked for and the ones we are out of for now.” He glanced over the counter. “Sup, Henderson?”

“Do you have The NeverEnding Story?”

“On a school night?” Steve said as he stood behind the counter. He reached for the bin of returned movies while he looked at his young friend.

“Yeah, Susie and I are gonna watch it together on Valentine’s Day while we talk on the phone.”

“You are guys are so weird,” Robin said.

“Those are your Valentine’s Day plans?” Steve asked.

“Well, there really isn’t much to do at a distance. Plus, it doesn’t help that Valentine’s Day is on a Wednesday this year.”

“Right. Also, Valentine’s Day is two days away, why are you asking about the movie today?”

“The NeverEnding Story is a beloved film. It could just as easily be on your little list of out-of-stock movies.”

“Doubtful,” Robin said.

Out of nowhere, a VHS box fell to the ground. The sound earned the attention of the trio by the counter. Then, a hand was raised from behind one of the shelves.

“Sorry, that was my bad.” Someone’s voice rang. Their head poked up as well.

“You’re good,” Robin responded.

Steve failed to tear his eyes away. He watched as the girl continued to scan the films, while she enjoyed the music that played on her Walkman. Steve was pulled out of his trance by Dustin who snapped his fingers in his face.

“Hellooooo!?”

“What? What?”

Dustin looked between the shelves and Steve. “You really shouldn’t stare, Steve. It’s rude.”

“I often tell him,” Robin said as she flipped through the pages of a magazine she usually hid behind the counter.

“I wasn’t staring,” Steve said.

“Oh, you were just ogling at Y/N,” Dustin said.

Steve’s head snapped towards Dustin. “You know her?”

“Uh, yeah, most people do.”

“Huh? I could have sworn she just moved here.”

“No, she moved back,” Robin added.

“What you know them too?”

“Duh, dingus.”

“How do you both know her, and I don’t?”

“Probably because you were too busy being King Steve.”

“Ugh!”

“Yup! Y/N was in your year,” Dustin said.

“How do you know anything about her?”

“She babysat Mike and I a couple of times.”

“And you know her how, Robin?”

“She tutored me in algebra.”

Suddenly, Y/N made her way over to the counter with a couple of films in hand, cutting the trio’s conversation short.

“Okay, I think that’s enough browsing for the day,” she said as she removed her headphones.

“Hey, Y/N!” Dustin smiled.

“Dustin Henderson? Look at you! You’ve gotten taller!”

“And you’ve stayed the same.” “Well, I think I hit my growth spurt too early and ran out quickly.”

“It happens.”

“Hi, Robin!” She glanced at Steve. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hey, Y/N!”

“Hi,” Steve said shyly.

Robin moved to the computer on the counter while Y/N handed the movies to her.

“How long will you be renting these for?”

“Um, you can put me down for two nights. Seems like you guys have been really busy, today.”

“Yeah, it’s been oddly hectic for Valentine’s Day week.”

“Oh, that’s right! Wednesday… is that why I couldn’t find a copy of Sixteen Candles?”

“Oh?” Robin looked at Steve. “No, Sixteen Candles?”

Steve shot Robin a disappointed look, realizing she never listened to him earlier. “Yeah, sorry. We’re all out of that one…” Steve told Y/N.

“No, worries. I just like to rewatch it every now and again.”

“Sorry,” Steve said.

“It’s okay.”

“Okay, you are set to go,” Robin said as she slid the movies to Y/N.

“Thanks. Well, I’ll see you guys around. Bye!” She locked eyes with Steve before she headed towards the door.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this off your game since our Scoops Ahoy days, dingus.”

“Yeah, Steve, you were just there. Staring. Again!”

“What did you guys expect me to do with you two here?”

“Uh, act normal,” Robin said.

“I did act normal. She wasn’t really interested.”

“Maybe cause you were avoiding them.”

“I wasn’t avoiding them. They clearly aren’t interested.”

“I believe you just haven’t been trying hard enough,” Dustin said.

“I second that,” Robin said.

“When’s the last time you went on a date?”

“Ha!” Robin exclaimed.

“What? It hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been a while. Actually, I don’t think you’ve dated anyone in the time that I’ve known you.”

“Come on! It has not been long.”

“Long enough.”

“Whether that’s the case or not, maybe you should just try. Why don’t you ask them out?” Dustin said.

“Because he doesn’t know how. He’s done nothing but stare at her each time she’s been in here.”

“I’m right here, Robin. Besides, I helped her the second time she came in.”

“You pointed to where the comedies were and practically ran away from her.”

“Fine, so I’m a little off my game. So what?”

“Maybe you just need to not think about it as much,” Dustin suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Just ask her out. Let the words come out and don’t think about it too much or else you’ll psych yourself out.”

“Can’t believe I’m getting advice from Henderson.”

“Like that’ll work,” Robin commented.

“You’re not really helping,” Dustin said.

“Okay, how’s this for advice? Stop living in the past. You’re not the same Steve from high school, which means people don’t act the way they used to around you. The real world is different, and you are in it. So why don’t you just grow a pair and just ask her out! What’s the worst that can happen, that she says no? You’ve been rejected before, and you’ve lived. You’ll be just fine no matter the outcome.”

“Uh… okay, thanks.”

---

On Valentine’s Day, Family Video saw a lot of traffic from the moment it was opened. Girls came around in their little cliques and grabbed snacks to go with their choice of films like The Blue Lagoon, Endless Love, An Officer and a Gentleman, Flashdance, and more. These were also popular among the guys that strung along their girlfriends or the dates they had for the day.

Steve had finished shelving some of the returns before he made his way to the counter. Things had died for a bit, so he took the opportunity to stock some movies before more customers showed up. This would leave Robin with the inventory in the back. When he went to check on her, he found her lying back on a chair, a magazine covering her face.

“Of course,” he said.

The bell at the door rang, and Steve eyed the monitors on the desk in front of Robin. The footage showed Y/N, as she made her way to the counter. Steve felt his heart rate increase. He took a deep breath and exited the back room, immediately coming face to face with Y/N.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi!” Y/N said as she fished some movies from her messenger bag. “I’ve come to return these.” She placed the films on the counter.

“Alrighty.” Steve reached for the films while he worked on the computer. He noticed two of the three titles: Cinderella and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Steve felt this was his time to make small talk. “Had yourself a Disney night?”

“Hmm?”

“A Disney night… Cinderella and Snow White?” He smiled nervously.

“Oh! Kinda. I had to babysit two little girls and as you can imagine they love princesses.” Y/N beamed.

“Right. And if you baby sit boys, what do you usually go for?”

“Easy. Star Wars. Or E.T. Dustin can testify to that.”

“Classic choices right there.” He saw the last title: Grease. “I’m guessing Grease is more of a personal choice.”

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah, you’re not wrong. I like to have one for myself for when the kids fall asleep.”

“Understandable. Uh, that’ll be four-twenty-five.”

As Y/N searched through her wallet for her money, Steve watched her for a moment. He took in her soft features and notice how delicate she looked. She pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to him. Steve charged the films and took out three quarters to give back.

“No movies for tonight?”

“Didn’t really have any in mind. Weirdly enough I got no calls to baby sit tonight. And I didn’t make plans so, right now I don’t know what the rest of the day holds.”

Robin’s words replayed in Steve’s mind. Grow a pair and just ask her. He thought. Now or never, Harrington.

“Listen, since you don’t have any plans for tonight, would you…” he cleared his throat and continued. “Would you like to go see a movie? With me? Tonight?”

“Oh… like on a date?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah—Only if you want…”

Y/N smiled at him. “What did you have in mind to go see?”

Steve swallowed. “There’s this new movie coming out… Pretty in Pink…”

“I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You had me at movie and now I’m even more excited knowing it’s to see Pretty in Pink.”

Steve chuckled. “Great. That’s great. There’s a showing at eight. Can I pick you up at seven-thirty?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Awesome, so I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Steve.” With that Y/N exited the Family Video.

Once she was out of sight, Steve couldn’t help but fist bump the air. It had actually worked. He asked and she said yes. Steve turned around and jumped when he noticed Robin just stood there.

“Jesus!”

She had a smug look on her face. “Told you so, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

---

Funnily enough, Steve had forgotten to ask Y/N where she lived. Luckily, Robin helped him figure it out. He arrived just as he had told her; seven thirty on the dot. He popped a breath mint in his mouth as he walked up to the door. He combed his fingers through his hair, adjusted the jacket he had on, and rang the doorbell.

A minute passed before the door swung open to reveal Y/N standing opposite of him. Steve eyed her for a second before he swallowed so hard the breath mint went straight to his stomach. He could have sworn he heard Dustin telling him to stop ogling at the girl.

He snapped out of his daze. “Hey.”

“Hi. You alright?” She asked.

“Me? Yeah. I’m good.”

She smiled.

“You look great, by the way. Uh, beautiful actually.” Steve noticed her cheeks grew warm.

“Thank you.”

“Are you ready to go? I’m not rushing you, though.”

“I’m ready.”

“Alrighty, let’s go.”

Steve moved aside as she stepped out and locked the door behind her. They walked together to his car, and Steve picked up his steps to beat her to the passenger side. He opened the door and closed it after she climbed in. Steve then marched over to the driver’s side. As soon as he got in, he started his car, and drove on to the movie theater. The ride started off a bit quiet with both parties rather nervous about the date, not that they’d confess anything to one another. Suddenly, Steve turned on the radio and the catchy beat of Daryl Hall and John Oats’ You Make My Dreams Come True, came through the speakers. Steve caught on to Y/N tapping her hands on her lap in tune to the song, and so he left it on that station. After that, the ride didn’t feel as long. Before they knew it, the song finished when they arrived.

Steve made sure to get the door for Y/N and together they strolled over to the ticket booth. Being a gentleman, he bought their tickets, and the pair made their way inside. Steve eyed the snacks counter and turned to Y/N at his side.

“Would you like any snacks?”

“Uh, only you do.”

“I could definitely go for some popcorn. We could share?”

“Okay.”

“If you want you can get us some seats while I get the snacks.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind going with you.”

“Yeah. Movie will start here in a bit so were gonna see plenty of people filing in and before you know it, the good seats will be gone.”

“Okay. I’ll see you inside.”

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later Y/N waved Steve over the minute she spotted him coming into the theater. Steve was hugging a bucket of popcorn while also holding a beverage on each hand. When he reached the seat next to her, Y/N stopped rubbing her hands on her upper arms and helped Steve with the drinks. She placed each one on the cup holders and Steve sat next to her. The lights dimmed and the screen slowly went on. Steve leaned a little closer to Y/N.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just a little colder than I expected, and I totally forgot my cardigan at home.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, but it’s okay.”

“Here, hold this.” Steve handed her the popcorn and proceeded to remove his jacket. He then extended it to her. “Take it.”

“What? No, Steve. I couldn’t.”

“You can. Take it, please.”

“Steve…”

“Please.”

Y/N took the boy’s jacket. Steve wouldn’t say it out loud, but he loved how she looked in it, even in the dimmed theater. She warmed up immediately.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome. Popcorn?” He whispered back.

“Yes, please. Thanks.”

Steve handed his date the popcorn and kept a small handful. The film started and the pair got comfortable in their seats. At one point during the movie, their hands bumped into one another when reaching for the popcorn.

“Sorry,” Y/N whispered.

“It’s okay. Some good popcorn.”

Steve shook his head as he watched the movie, the words echoing in his head. Some good popcorn? Idiot.

Mid way through the film Y/N slightly leaned her shoulder into Steve’s armrest. Steve took as deep breath and enjoyed the closeness. They would remain like that until the end.

---

As the pair exited the theater along with the crowd, Y/N gushed to Steve about how much she enjoyed the movie.

“I thought it was pretty sweet. Thanks for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome.”

As they strolled on over to the car, Y/N got a little closer to Steve.

“Why did you bring me?”

“What?”

“Why did you bring me to see this movie tonight? On Valentine’s Day?”

Steve stopped in place. “Oh, I- uh, I thought it was pretty obvious.”

She stopped as well and gazed up at him. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, that I… that I… like you.”

“That’s good. I like you too.” She grinned.

“You do?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

Steve chuckled and nodded. He noticed a man at the street corner selling roses. Without saying a word, he started jogging towards the man. Y/N turned, and her eyes followed his figure.

“Steve?”

“One sec.”

She watched as Steve got a rose from the man and jogged right back to her.

Steve extended the rose towards her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She accepted it.

He continued. “I didn’t make a big deal of it because it’s only our first date and I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“I love it.”

They continued on back towards Steve’s car, not that far apart from one another. When they reached the car, Steve being a gentleman once again, opened the door for her to get in.

On their way back, there was a soft love song playing on the radio, which they both enjoyed in silence. According to the host, it had been requested by some lovesick caller. They pulled up slowly to Y/N’s home, and Steve turned off the engine. As they sauntered to her door, Steve realized he didn’t want the night to end. Sure, he had been a bundle of nerves the whole time, but even then, he enjoyed her company and thought her shyness was just adorable. When they reached the door Steve stayed on the second step, while she stood at the top. They were at eye level this way.

“Steve?” She said shyly.

“Yeah?”

“How come you didn’t ask me sooner?”

Steve took a deep breath. It was as if the date had only just begun again. “Honestly? I couldn’t muster the courage to ask you out.”

“What changed?”

“Robin gave me a harsh, but much needed pep talk.”

“And how did you decide on a movie?”

“It seemed like you love ‘em. I tried to hold Sixteen Candles for you cause you asked for it the other day. But then, I saw this movie had the same chick in it. So, I took a shot.”

“Molly Ringwald.”

“Huh?”

“The actress you’re talking about. It’s Molly Ringwald.”

“Right, yeah. That one.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m glad our first date was on Valentine’s Day. It will stand out from any future one’s.”

“Future one’s? You sayin’ you would go on a date with me again?” His heart was beating through his ears.

She played with the rose she held in her hand. “Only if you want to. I wasn’t sure if you’d ask again.”

“I do. I really, really do.”

“Then it’s a date.”

“Totally.”

The two stood under the moonlight for another minute, as if waiting for something else to happen. However, nothing did.

“Well, thanks again, Steve. I had a really great time.”

“Me too.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight.”

Y/N smiled at the boy before her, one more time. She then turned to the door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

“Bye.”

Steve waved softly at her and watched the door close. He stood there for a brief moment, kicking himself for not doing more to not bring the night to close so soon.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Y/N stepped in front of Steve in two quick steps. She placed a delicate hand on Steve’s right cheek, leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his.

Steve was stunned. His hands slightly hovered around her, before they came down to settle on her hips. He pulled her in a little tighter, relaxing into the kiss. He felt a warmth between them, as he savored her soft lips. He could still taste the movie theater popcorn.

After a moment, Y/N broke the kiss and took a step back. Steve’s eyes remained closed, and his hands lingered on her hips. He finally opened his eyes and gazed into hers.

“Wow.”

A giggle bubbled in her throat. She took another step back, but Steve couldn’t resist pulling her in by her hips and kissing her one more time. Steve broke the kiss on this occasion and saw as he had left her stunned this time around. As he gazed back at her, he watched as she began to take slow steps backwards into her home.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve.”

She then closed the door and lied her back against it, with a hand hovering over her lips. Steve couldn’t see this. Which meant she didn’t see him when he raised his fists in triumph.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Don't be afraid to let me know what you think! If you are interested in another Steve Harrington One Shot, I wrote one a while back. Here is the link:

#fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #stranger things x reader #steve #harrington #stranger things #reader insert #reader imagine #reader x Steve harrington #fan fiction #fan fics #fan fic writing

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magical-reid · 2 months ago

Text

Between the Lines (Part 3/Final)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1 / Part 2

Eddie still hadn’t let go.

His fingers were wrapped around yours, tight, trembling, like if he let go for even a second, you might disappear. His breath was uneven, chest rising and falling too fast, his pulse hammering against your palm.

He was spiraling.

And you couldn’t let him.

“Eddie,” you murmured, voice low, steady.

His grip tightened.

You took a slow step closer. “Look at me.”

Eddie shook his head.

Like he couldn’t. Like if he looked at you, really looked, he’d have to face it.

So you made the choice for him.

You reached up, your free hand brushing his cheek, guiding him gently, forcing his eyes to find yours.

And when they did?

Something broke.

Because Eddie Munson was terrified.

Not of this place. Not of the monsters outside.

But of losing you.

“I can’t—” His voice cracked. His fingers dug into your skin. “I can’t—”

You swallowed hard. “You can.”

Eddie laughed. A breathless, wrecked thing. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You tried to smile. “You’ve mentioned.”

He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how to do this.”

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

Eddie’s eyes flickered over your face, like he was memorizing you, like he was terrified this was the last time he’d ever get to.

Then—softly, brokenly—

“Hold on to something good.”

Your heart stopped.

Because there it was.

The truth.

This wasn’t just about the Upside Down. Wasn’t just about surviving.

This was about you.

You, who had been the one thing he hadn’t expected. You, who had let him pull you in, who had reached back when he was too afraid to.

You, who had made Eddie Munson realize what it felt like to be wanted.

And now, when everything was falling apart, when there was no more time to pretend—

He finally admitted it.

Your chest ached.

Because you needed him to know.

You inhaled sharply, then—without thinking, without overanalyzing, without giving him time to run—

You moved.

Stepped forward, pressed up onto your toes, and kissed him.

Eddie froze.

Then he broke.

His hands grabbed you, desperate, pulling you in, holding on. His lips crashed against yours, messy and needing, like he was trying to memorize you, like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting go.

Because he wouldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when the kiss broke. Not when your foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard, the weight of everything hanging in the space between.

His hands were still on you—one curled around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist like he was afraid to loosen his hold. Like if he did, you’d slip through his fingers.

And you? You weren’t letting go either.

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, full.

Then—Eddie exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound.

And he laughed.

Not loud. Not forced. Just a quiet, shaky thing, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You swallowed, chest tight. “What?”

Eddie shook his head, barely pulling back enough to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing you.

Then—softly, almost helplessly—

“I’m so fucking gone for you.”

Your breath caught.

Because it wasn’t just an admission.

It was everything.

The way he’d been looking at you for weeks. The way he had pulled you into his world without meaning to, the way he had fought this—fought himself—until he couldn’t anymore. Now he was done fighting.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer. “Then don’t go anywhere.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then he kissed you again.

Softer, this time. Sweeter.

Like he was promising something.

Like he was all in.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The others found you minutes later.

Steve groaned. “Oh my god—seriously? Now?”

Nancy ignored him, stepping forward. “We have a problem.”

Eddie sighed, still very much holding onto you. “Oh, great. More problems. I love problems.”

Robin frowned. “We think Vecna knows we’re here.”

Eddie stiffened.

Your stomach dropped.

Nancy’s expression was grim. “We need to move. Now.”

Silence.

Eddie exhaled sharply. Then—reluctantly, reluctantly—he pulled away, his fingers brushing yours one last time before he turned to the group.

And just like that, the moment was over.

But as you followed them out of the trailer, as the storm in the distance rumbled louder, as you felt the wrongness in the air watching—

Eddie reached for you.

Slipped his fingers between yours.

And held on.

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when the group started moving, slipping through the trees in a tense, breathless silence. Not when the sky overhead rumbled, deep and wrong, a storm of red lightning flashing through the thick clouds.

Not when Vecna’s presence pressed against the air, like a weight settling over your chest, thick and suffocating.

His fingers were wrapped tightly around yours, calloused and warm, his grip unyielding.

Like he was afraid to loosen it.

Like if he let go, something would take you from him.

Nancy led the way, flashlight beam cutting through the dark. Robin and Steve followed close behind, whispering back and forth about their next move, about what the hell they were supposed to do now.

But you barely heard them.

Because Eddie was still holding your hand.

And every so often—just for a second, just barely—his thumb brushed over your knuckles, like he needed to remind himself that you were still here.

Still with him.

Your stomach tightened.

Because it was hitting you now—really hitting you.

This wasn’t just about getting out of here.

This was about Eddie.

Eddie, who had spent his entire life being overlooked. Who had convinced himself that no one ever stayed, that nothing good ever lasted.

And now, after all of it, after the fights and the fears and the almosts

He was finally holding onto something.

You weren’t going to let him lose it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You reached the clearing near the gate.

Nancy hesitated, lifting her flashlight. “We should be close.”

Eddie exhaled, squeezing your hand once before finally—reluctantly—letting go. “So, uh. What’s the plan, exactly?”

Robin huffed. “Oh, you mean besides the don’t die part?”

Steve sighed. “We get back through the gate, find Dustin and the others, and figure out how the hell to kill this thing.”

Eddie snorted. “Right. Easy. Love that for us.”

Nancy frowned. “We just have to get across the clearing.”

You didn’t like how she said just.

Because the clearing?

It wasn’t empty.

The flying creatures—the bats—were swarming.

Dipping and shrieking, circling the clearing in an endless, twisting pattern of teeth and wings.

Your stomach dropped.

Robin swallowed hard. “Okay. I vote not dying by demon bat.”

Nancy tightened her grip on her gun. “We run.”

Eddie stared at her. “Through that?”

Nancy exhaled. “We don’t have a choice.”

Steve pulled a rusted metal lid from the ground—a makeshift shield—before glancing back at the group. “We go on three.”

Your pulse hammered.

Eddie shifted closer, his fingers brushing yours—just barely, like he wanted to grab your hand again but didn’t trust himself to hold on too tight.

Like he knew he wouldn’t let go.

Steve took a breath. “One.”

The bats shrieked.

Eddie’s hand curled into a fist.

“Two.”

Your heart pounded.

Eddie glanced at you, just once.

And then—

“Three!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Through the dirt and the wind, through the screeching and the chaos, you ran. Steve swung his makeshift shield at anything that came too close. Nancy fired into the dark, guiding the group forward, her face hard with determination.

Robin stumbled, nearly going down—but Eddie grabbed her, shoved her forward before she could fall behind.

He was right beside you.

Breath hot, fingers skimming yours but not grabbing, like he was forcing himself to let you run on your own.

Like he wanted to hold on but couldn’t.

Then—

A shriek.

A sharp, sudden pain—

And something ripped into your side.

You choked on a gasp.

Because shit, it hurt.

A flash of pain, white-hot and searing, knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled, your legs giving out beneath you—

And Eddie caught you.

“No—”

His arms wrapped around you, the momentum knocking you both to the ground. The world spun.

Bats dived from the sky, closing in—

Eddie’s arms tightened.

And then—

Steve’s shield slammed into the ground beside you, knocking a bat out of the air. “Get up!”

Eddie hauled you up.

Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think.

Just grabbed you, one arm around your waist, pulling you forward.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You made it through the gate.

Fell through the crack in reality, hitting the ground hard, gasping for air.

Robin tumbled beside you, Steve and Nancy scrambling up behind her.

But Eddie?

Eddie was on you before you could even move.

“Hey—hey—” His hands were everywhere, searching, pressing, checking—his fingers skimming over your ribs, sticky and wet, pulling back to reveal—

Blood.

Your blood.

Eddie’s face went white.

You tried to sit up. “I’m—”

Eddie pressed down, keeping you still. “Don’t—don’t move, okay? Just—shit—just breathe—”

His hands shook.

His eyes flickered up to Steve, panicked. “She’s—fuck—she’s bleeding, Harrington, what do we—”

Steve was already moving, pulling off his jacket, pressing it against your side. “She’s okay—you’re okay,” he said, voice tight, rushed. “It’s not deep. Just—just a scratch.”

Eddie let out a wrecked breath.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t let go.

Didn’t breathe until your fingers curled around his wrist.

Eddie’s gaze snapped back to you.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady.

“I told you not to go anywhere.”

Eddie let out a broken, relieved laugh.

Then he dropped his forehead against yours.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t let go.

Not when Steve pressed his jacket against your side, trying to slow the bleeding. Not when Robin and Nancy hovered nearby, whispering about what to do next. Not even when you winced—his grip only tightened, like he could keep you together by holding on.

Your head was spinning, the pain sharp but distant, like your body hadn’t fully caught up to what had happened yet. But Eddie?

Eddie felt it all.

You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his breath shook, in the way his fingers curled against your skin like he was desperately trying to keep himself from breaking.

Like if he let go for even a second, this whole thing would slip through his fingers.

And you couldn’t let him think that.

So you reached up, slowly, brushing your fingers against his cheek.

His breath hitched.

Your voice was quiet, weak but firm. “I’m okay.”

Eddie laughed.

A breathless, wrecked thing, like he didn’t know whether to believe you.

“You almost weren’t,” he whispered.

Your chest tightened.

Because that was it. That was what had shaken him.

Not the monsters. Not the gate.

But you.

The idea of losing you.

You swallowed. “But I am.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, like he was trying to believe you, trying to let the words sink in.

Then—without warning—he dropped his head against your shoulder.

His arms wrapped around you, careful but firm, like he needed to feel you there, solid and real and alive.

His breath was shaky against your neck.

“I can’t—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I can’t do this without you.”

Your heart ached.

Because Eddie Munson, the boy who had spent his whole life expecting people to leave—

Was asking you to stay.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath.

Then—softly, desperately—

“Promise?”

You tightened your grip on him.

“I promise.”

Eddie exhaled.

And for the first time since stepping into hell, he finally—finally—let himself believe it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie didn’t move.

Not even when the others shifted around you, whispering about what to do next, about getting back to Hawkins, about what comes after.

Because right now?

Right now, you were the only thing that mattered.

His arms were still around you, careful but unrelenting, like if he let go, the world might take you away. His breath was uneven, his heart hammering against yours, the weight of what almost happened settling between you both.

And you felt it.

The fear. The helplessness.

The absolute certainty that Eddie Munson would never recover if he lost you.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of his jacket, grounding both of you. “Eddie,” you whispered.

He inhaled sharply.

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t lift his head.

Just held on.

“Give me a minute,” he murmured, voice raw. “Just—just a minute, okay?”

Your chest ached.

Because this wasn’t for you.

This was for him.

For the boy who had spent his whole life expecting people to leave. For the boy who had never been given something good without it being taken away.

For the boy who had spent weeks trying not to want you—only to realize he couldn’t survive losing you now.

You exhaled softly.

Then—without hesitation, without fear—you wrapped your arms around him.

Holding him this time.

Eddie’s breath hitched.

Like he hadn’t expected it.

Like he hadn’t realized how much he needed it.

Then, slowly, carefully, he melted into you.

His grip tightened. His fingers curled against your back. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

Like he was memorizing you.

Like he needed this moment to be real.

And you let him have it.

Because Eddie Munson had never had something worth holding on to before.

But now?

Now he did.

And he was never letting go.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie hadn’t let go of you in over an hour.

Not fully, anyway.

Even after the bleeding had stopped. Even after Nancy and Steve had agreed that you were okay. Even after the group had packed up and started moving again, heading back to Hawkins, back to whatever came next.

His hand was always on you.

A steadying touch at your back when you stood. His fingers brushing your wrist as you walked side by side. His knee pressed against yours when you sat down to rest.

Small things.

Things that no one else would notice.

But you noticed.

And every time?

Your chest ached.

Because Eddie Munson, who had spent weeks keeping you at a distance, who had convinced himself that letting you in would be a mistake—

Was holding on to you like he couldn’t survive letting go.

And you weren’t going to let him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The group made it back to Steve’s house just before dawn.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

No one spoke much as they filtered inside, exhaustion heavy in the air.

Robin and Nancy crashed on the couch. Steve disappeared upstairs, muttering something about needing a shower before he “lost his goddamn mind.”

But Eddie?

Eddie didn’t let you out of his sight.

Even now, as you sat on the basement couch, his fingers were curled around yours, his grip tight. His leg bounced restlessly, his face unreadable, like his mind was still stuck back there.

Stuck in the almost.

The what if I lost you.

You squeezed his hand.

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—quiet, wrecked—

“I need you to say something.”

You frowned. “Like what?”

Eddie huffed a breathless, almost helpless laugh, shaking his head. “Like—fuck, I don’t know. Tell me I’m losing it. Tell me this whole thing isn’t real. Tell me I didn’t just—” He stopped, running a hand through his curls. “Tell me I didn’t just fall for you in the middle of a goddamn horror movie.”

Your stomach flipped.

Because there it was.

The thing he had been holding back. The thing he had fought for so long.

But now, after all of it—after the running, the fighting, the fear—he wasn’t fighting it anymore.

You swallowed hard. “Eddie.”

He stilled.

Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes lifted to yours.

And you saw everything.

The fear. The exhaustion.

The need.

And, most of all, the certainty.

Because Eddie Munson wasn’t running anymore.

Not from you.

Not from this.

You exhaled. Then—softly, steadily—

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

Eddie’s breath hitched.

Then, before he could say anything else—before he could overthink or panic—you reached up, fingers curling in his jacket, and pulled him in.

And when his lips met yours?

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t panicked.

It was steady.

It was certain.

It was a promise.

Because this wasn’t about almosts anymore, this was real.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie kissed you like he meant it.

Like he had been meaning to for weeks, like it had been building and building, waiting for the moment he finally let himself have it.

And now that he had?

He wasn’t letting go.

His hands slid up, fingers tangling in your hair, his grip careful but firm, like he was grounding himself in you. Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between you, until his breath was your breath, until the only thing in the world was this.

Not the danger. Not the running. Not the things waiting in the dark.

Just you and Eddie.

And when he finally—reluctantly—broke away, he didn’t go far.

Just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, his heart hammering beneath your hands.

Silence stretched.

Then—soft, wrecked, real—

“I think I’m in trouble.”

Your chest ached.

Because you knew what he meant.

This wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment thing.

This was Eddie Munson, falling for you, completely and irreversibly, in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse.

And you weren’t going to let him do it alone.

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling tighter in his jacket. “Then we’re both in trouble.”

Eddie inhaled sharply.

Then—before he could second-guess it, before he could panic—you kissed him again.

And this time?

Eddie melted.

Because there was no more pretending.

No more almosts.

No more running.

Just you.

Just this.

And when the world finally stopped falling apart—when the danger was over, when Hawkins was safe again, when Eddie Munson wasn’t a fugitive anymore—

You knew he’d still be holding on to you.

Because this?

This was real.

And Eddie Munson?

He wasn’t ever letting go.

#magical-reid #self insert #reader insert #fluff #Eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson reader insert #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert

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alexisaflop · 19 days ago

Text

Wait on Your song - Steve Harrington x Henderson! reader

Chapter 7: The Bathtub

Bit of a longer one? Maybe. You tease Nancy about her blatant crush on Jonathan.

Warnings: use of Y/N, canon typical violence/gore.

MASTERLIST

You find Jonathan and Nancy at the police station. One of Nancy's hands holds ice to his head, fingers idely playing with his hair. Her other hand is clasped in one of Jonathan's. As soon as they see you, they let go of each other. You decide not to mention it.

"Why did you go with Steve?" asked Nancy. She doesn't sound angry, but you feel as though you'd crossed a line.

"To tell him he deserved it, and that he needs better friends," you say, "Especially if he is going to keep dating my best friend," you add, even though you hadn't said that. That moment in the alleyway had just felt so odd, so close, that you needed to give a respectable reason for being there.

You aren't sure whether to say more, when Hopper calls you all away to his office. And Nancy explains her theory.

"So, you're saying blood draws this thing," clarifies Hopper, he doesn't sound convinced.

"She's right," you can see Barb's blood in the water. You don't even realise you've spoken until Hopper turns to you.

"And you would know this how?"

"When I was with Barb, the monster knew she was the one who was injured. I don't think it even intended for me to come with them -"

"So you've been there, where Will is?" Hopper cuts you off.

"I've been somewhere but its not like we know where Will is, right?" Your face reddens, "Sorry Joyce," you add.

"He said it was cold, like home but cold."

You think of the Wheeler's empty house; the festering trees of Mirkwood. Pretty astute description.

"Then, yes. And, I agree with Nancy, I think blood draws it. I think it comes here to hunt. That's probably why it went for the deer over me, it smelt weakness and an easy kill. And I think it liked playing with its human food."

Shouting from the next room draws Hopper away. Joyce takes the opportunity to drag Jonathan from the room and give him a good talking to.

I'm glad my mum doesn't know about all this, you can't help but think. Imagining telling your mum about all of it, makes you feel weak at the knees and you aren't even standing up.

Nancy sits beside you, picking at her fingers. The aura of her guilt is mixed with yours.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save Barb," you say finally, "I couldn't admit it to myself yet, last night I mean, that it was my fault. But I should have got us both out of there alive."

"It's not your fault, Y/N. I've spent the last few days blaming myself. If I had gone home with her, or come with you guys to the bathroom, or made a different change, the monster might not even had found Barb."

You sit in silence for a minute. It felt good to hear her say it. Thinking that she wasn't willing to take responsibility just because she wanted to hang out with some boy had been grating on you. Especially as really you knew it wasn't her fault.

"So what I'm saying is," she continues, "I'm sorry too."

You don't know how to continue, so you take a swing at changing the subject. Her hand now wrapped in yours, you ask in a low voice, "so this King Steve, was he any good?"

She laughs bitterly.

"What about Jonathan, then?" you ask, only half-joking. You'd seen how they held onto each other after the fight as they ran from the cops; how they held hands.

She blushed slightly, "it's different with him … he's different."

She's cut off by Hopper bursting back into the room. It sounds like he found out about Eleven. And based on the slightly wild look on his face, you decide not to mention you already knew about her. He might kill you.

The scene when you arrive at the Wheeler's house is chaos. There are Hawkins Power and Light vans outside and a flurry of workers rushing inside and out; taking the Wheeler's belongings. For a horrible moment you wonder if this is the beginning of that lifeless house in the Upside Down.

"My mother and father are in there. Let me go!" Nancy shouts at Hopper.

"Hey! Listen to me, listen to me. The last thing we need is you mixed up in all this."

"Mike is over there-"

"They haven't found him," Hopper insists, gesturing to the helicopter patrolling the sky.

"We need to find them before they do, you got any idea where they might have gone?"

Nancy and Jonathan both shake their heads. You think of the fight Dustin told you about last night.

"The junkyard," you say confidently, until you falter, realising, "I don't know where it is."

"I know how to ask," Jonathan says. He begins to suggest going home and getting Will's radio.

You pull out your Walkie from your bag.

"Dustin, Dustin do you copy?"

Silence.

"Dustin, come on man, you know what we talked about last night? There's been a whole day of that here," you think of the fight, the bewildered and bloodied face of Steve Harrington pops to the front of your mind, "I just, really need to talk to you."

The silence continues.

"Okay, so I've been to the Wheeler's house. I guess the bad men heard about El, yeah? And now you're hiding. And you guys are good at it too because they're still looking. I want to find you first, little brother."

You glance at Nancy as the silence continues. She shrugs and shakes her head. Hopper is trying to stop himself going ballistic. You had been helping some kids hold a captive child. Impressionable children he can forgive but you're practically an adult.

You ignore his reddening face and carry on.

"Okay, if I was you, I'd want proof that it's really me talking, that I'm alone? So I will swear it to you on something sacred. How about, the Mewvies on Saturday night? You remember the first one? I'd just moved here and was kinda a horrible person, but you were sad and begged me to hang out for a bit. Mews chose the VHS's by knocking them on the floor.

"I just wanted to help you then. And that's what I want now. You guys had a fight at the junkyard right? Are you back there now, how do we get there? Or are you someplace else?"

You sit in silence for a bit. You offer Hopper the Walkie. Before he can take it from your hand Dustin's voice comes through.

"Yes, I copy, I'm here, we're all here."

You heave a sigh of relief.

Hopper insists on you all holding back whilst he collects the kids from the Junkyard. You bite your tongue just because it will give you the opportunity to sit down for a bit. This day kept getting longer and your headache kept getting stronger.

When Hopper gets back from the junkyard, you grab Dustin, "never take that long to answer me again."

You turn to El, "and you!" your voice softens, "I heard what you did with Troy, nice work."

She smiled weakly.

Inside, Mike explains about the gate.

"This gate, is it underground?" asks Hopper.

"Yes," Eleven's voice is quiet.

"Near a large water tank?"

"Yes."

You lay a protective hand on El's shoulder. Hopper continues to stare at her. You know he's just trying to help Will. But you know El has had to deal with enough. And you can tell her doesn't trust her. You can understand why, but she's just a kid, and she needs someone on her side just for once.

"Do you think you could talk to Will?" asks Joyce.

She nods.

So Mike and Joyce set her up at the kitchen table. As she closes her eyes, a rush of static fills the room. The lights flicker and your loaned walkie talkie crackles and pops. A heavy silence descends upon the room.

"I'm sorry," whispers El, she sits perfectly still, as if one of you might pounce, "I can't find him."

You rest a hand on her shoulder, "it's okay. You did your best. Do you need a minute? You've had a long day."

You show her to the bathroom and lean on the wall outside. Everyone is talking about her like she's not a person, like she's some kind of machine. Like all she needs is new batteries. You frown and hope that she gets to live a somewhat normal life someday.

"The bath," she says when she re-emerges, you follow her back into the kitchen, "I can find them in the bath."

You and Nancy share a dumbfounded look, but Hopper seems to understand. It's slightly concerning how he so readily knows about all this.

Dustin phones Mr Clarke, "he is very stubborn after all," you had agreed.

Dustin rolled his eyes, "you're welcome."

The group falls silent as Dustin dials Mr Clarke. It crosses the back of your mind how silly a group you must seem. Three nerdy boys with a girl who has superpowers which are consolidated by a bath. A small town cop, a distraught mother, and three unpopular teenagers.

"I have a science question … Do you know anything about sensory deprivation tanks?" you wince, imagining all the mandatory reporting questions going through Mr Clarke's head.

"Fun," Dustin says simply. He is clearly denied as he starts talking about "curiosity doors."

You raise an eyebrow at Lucas, who just whispers, "I don't know, he's your brother."

But Dustin's stubbornness seems to win out as he starts taking down ingredients and measurements to build this thing.

"Dude, you could at least have said thank you," you reprimand him after he abruptly hangs up.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, looking only slightly remorseful, "You still have that kiddie pool we used to bob for apples in?" He asks turning to Joyce.

And so a plan is born. Building a sensory deprivation tank. At a middle school. Well, it's certainly one way to spend a Saturday night.

You're with Nancy and Mike getting hoses, to be honest, you're not much help. Your leg has got more and more inflamed all day, and the adrenaline from earlier is wearing off. You lean against the wall as Nancy breaks down the door. You check out for a bit as she and Mike have a sibling moment, they promise to stop keeping things from each other.

"Okay, do you like Jonathan now?" Mike's voice is tentative, but there's the tone of intuitive teasing that all younger siblings are capable of.

You can't help it, you dissolve into giggles.

"What? No! Y/N stop it, you're not helping. It's not like that, we're just friends."

Mike doesn't seem to buy it, and to be fair, your giggles probably weren't helping. But you can't help it, the laughter distracts you from your leg that is twinging with every step.

"Well do you like Eleven?" Nancy counters.

"What, ew no gross!"

Great job guys, you think as Mike walks off ahead. You can't help but giggle again. Nancy glares at you.

"I don't know what to say Nance, even your brother knows. And he is clearly clueless."

Nancy smiles, but just says, "How can he know when I don't even know? I like Steve, he can just be difficult sometimes. But he cares so much. I know you don't buy it but he's trying. He thinks I'm special, for real. And Jonathan, he just gets me. I don't need to think about it with him, we just work. I think I need some time after all this is done," she says gesturing vaguely around you both.

"I know, I'm just saying I'm here for you, if you need me."

You vaguely think about how her describing her love for Jonathan sounds a lot like how Steve loves her. How both she and Jonathan are special and different. This is going to get messy in the future. If you get one. Your fingers tighten around the hoses you carry.

- - - -

As Eleven floats, the temperature raises again. There's the same strange humidity as in the Upside Down. You think for a minute how her power seems to make it warm but the Upside Down as a whole is cold.

"Castle Byers," she breathes. Your own breathing falters.

"Will?"

Joyce gasps, "tell him we're coming okay, tell him Mom is coming."

"Hurry," his voice is hoarse through the crackly speaker of the walkie.

Joyce says more things to tell him, but something is wrong. El thrashes in the water, screaming.

"Will!" screams Eleven before sitting up.

Joyce wraps her arms around her, you hold her hand. After a few minutes, you guide her to the changing rooms and help her get dry. Then you sit with her on the bleachers. She's silent the whole time. You're glad to sit down as your leg continues to throb dully. When this is all sorted out, I will get myself fixed you promise yourself silently. Right now, Will is more important.

Guilt stabs at you again. Will had survived nearly a week in that place, and you couldn't keep Barb alive down there for longer than fifteen minutes. It doesn't help that if you had just gone home with Will then he probably wouldn't even be there. You sigh, your head spinning. If you're feeling like this, you can't imagine how Nancy is feeling. She still blames herself for what happens at Steve's. Where is she?

"Okay, Dustin, I'm putting you in charge," your leg groans as you stand up.

"Favouritism," snipes Lucas.

"Look after Eleven, find some food, I'll be back, I'm just going to find Nancy."

You manage to walk out without limping too much. Thankfully the boys are too enraptured by the thought of stealing food from the school cafeteria to notice.

Or so you think, until Dustin runs up to you and says, "later, I want to know what happened to your leg."

"See this is why I put you in charge. Astute observation, Mr Holmes," he smiles smugly, you raise your voice for the rest of the group, "Look after each other."

You receive three mock salutes from the boys, which El looks to Mike to understand.

Out in the hallway, Nancy is crying on Jonathan's shoulder when you find them, "I want to kill it," she says determinedly.

You offer her a hand up, "let's do it."

- - - -

A/N can't believe we've almost finished Season 1!!

I find it so funny that mrs wheeler is on the phone to steves mom/dad at the strt of the ep to see if nancy is there. like we never see steve's parents ever and the call is never referenced by steve later (i dont think). We never find out if they're upset/happy that Steve potentially has a girlfriend even though we know steve and nancy spend a lot of time together. I would love to know how accurate the complete asshole dad that fanon has made is. obviously steve calls him that, but for all we know hes compleetely normal and gets angry at steve for being irresponsible/hanging out with assholes. anyway

#stranger things #steve harrington x reader #wait on your song #writing #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #stranger things rewrite #stranger things reader insert #steve harrington x henderson! reader #stranger things x reader #dustin henderson #jancy #this episode anyway

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cielie-voss · 2 years ago

Note

hi, can I make a request for an eddie fic? Like enemies to lovers where the reader is in a classic school band which is always in a fight with corroded coffin? Thanks a lot :D

You know I hate you, right?

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader - Enemies to lovers

Warnings: swearing, Eddie and Reader being bitchy.

a/n: thank you so much, I loved this one, it's so sweet! I hope you like how it turned out!

If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

Masterlist

“If I were your wife, I would poison your coffee!” Her screeching voice fills the cafeteria.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie stands up angrily and stomps a step towards her, "If I were your husband, I'd love to drink it!"

“She doesn’t mean it.” Shrugging, Gareth leans back in denial.

“Oh, she means it.” With a shake of his head, Jeff brings his friend out of his delusion. “And I couldn’t blame her.”

“Nonsense!” Gareth denies and continues to stick to his conviction.

“Jesus Christ, I’m counting the days until I don’t have to put up with this smug behavior from her anymore.” Grumbling, Eddie sits down at the table again, seething with anger at his eternal rival, who, also seething with anger, stomps away from the table.

"And her wannabe metal look... How I'd love to rip the studs off her vest."

“I bet he’d love to rip other things off her,” Dustin whispers to Gareth, unfortunately not as quietly as he intended to, and receives a bitterly angry look from the freak.

“Never in my life! And not in a thousand years and if we were the last two people in this universe!” he explains to his young friend with a disgusted grimace.

"And now? Where should we practice now?” After a few moments of deliberation, Jeff says what everyone at the table was silently wondering. After the water damage to Gareth's house, the garage was blocked. Unless the guys at Corroded Coffin would love to practice between Laundry baskets and boxes full of books. And at the gig in three months, according to rumors, people from the music industry will also be there to scout new talents. So nothing is more important than practice right now.

“So I guess we can forget about the music room,” Gareth sighs and leans back. “Thanks to our Prince Charming here.”

Eddie shoots up next to him indignantly. “Prince Charming?” His mouth opens and closes like a fish on land, trying to counter this sarcastic remark.

“What can I do about her being like that? A stupid, bitchy, snippy, unfriendly, unempathetic, arrogant wannabe alternative bitch?”

“You don't happen to have any more negative Attributes come to mind as these …”

“Seven, it was seven,” Dustin adds to Jeff’s remark about the line-up of unnecessary adjectives.

An uncomfortable, oppressive silence falls over them as everyone picks at their food thoughtfully.

“Maybe you’ll try again. Just… nicer?” Gareth suggests after what feels like an eternity, furrowing his eyebrows, ready for another angry tirade on Eddie's part.

“Yeah, maybe you should really try charm. You know, women are into that sort of thing. Flattery, nice words,” Jeff adds.

“Oh, and how do you know what women are into?” With a very exaggerated rolling of his eyes, Eddie turns to his friend. “Besides, I doubt there is even an ounce of femininity in this … bitch. And when it does, it's buried deep under a heap of arrogance. No, before I have to deal with her again, hell will freeze over. We'll find another rehearsal room."

XXX

The Hawkins High School music club has always been a tight-knit community, a sanctuary for those who revel in the soothing melodies of classical music. Y/N, with her cello in hand, was the epitome of this world. She thrives on the sweet symphonies that echo through the club's hallowed halls. As for Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of the local metal band and self-proclaimed "Metalhead," he was about to clash with this world in ways he couldn't have imagined.

One sunny afternoon, Eddie and his bandmates strolled into the music club's headquarters, hoping to secure a practice space for the coming months. Despite Eddies reluctance and constant complaints, they managed to talk to him, convince him that this is the only way to find some place to practice. Open confrontation is what they called it. And to keep everything nice and calm, they asked Dustin to help them negotiate.

Y/N, sitting amidst her fellow cellists, raises an eyebrow at the sight of these intruders. Their leather jackets and wild hair stood in stark contrast to the elegant formality she is used to. It is clear from the beginning that Eddie and his bandmates are unwanted guests.

"We need a place to practice," Eddie declares, his voice dripping with defiance.

Dustin added, "Yeah, and we're willing to pay."

“Pay?”, Gareth asks quietly with furrowed brows and leans to Jeff.

The music club's president, a stern guy named Brandon, stares them down. "This isn't a place for your noise," he sneeres.

Y/N's fingers tighten around her cello's neck, her disdain for the interlopers growing by the second. She has always despised their kind—the rebels, the rule-breakers. To her, music was a sacred refuge, and these delinquents threatened to disrupt it. Although she secretly began to find some peace - unlike the one she knew before - in listening to Metallica or even Iron Butterfly.

Eddie, undeterred by the icy glares and piercing remarks, leans in closer to Brandon. "We won't be here forever, just a few months. We won't interfere with your precious little concerts or rehearsals."

Brandon scoffed, his eyes flicking toward Y/N as if seeking her approval. "The answer is no."

Y/N, unable to contain her annoyance any longer, speaks up. “If you won’t take no for an answer, you have to discuss with the principal. And I’m pretty sure, since you’re definitely not his favorite student, he’s on our side. So I’m afraid you have to find another way to practice your … noise.” With her hands gesturing around their instruments, she puts on a smug grin.

Reluctant Dustin tugs at Eddie's vest. “Dude, come on. We’ll find another way.”

“Yeah, go on Freaks, find another way.”, she quips and shoos them out with waving hands.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, smirking as he shoots back, slowly walking towards her, nearer and nearer with every word until their noses nearly touch, "Oh we’ll find another way, little Beethoven. And it’ll bother you even more than sharing this room with us, just because I’d love to see the regret and defeat on your nasty, little face."

The room falls silent, the tension between them palpable. Their exchange has caught everyone off guard, a brief spark of some kind of chemistry amidst the hostility. But neither is willing to admit it.

XXX

In the following weeks, Eddie and his bandmates scoured Hawkins for any available practice spaces. Everywhere they went, doors slammed in their faces, and they were met with cold rejection. It seemed the music club's word had spread like wildfire, labeling them as outcasts.

“Shit. Fucking. Bullshit.” Gareth declares, as they leave another unsuccessful negotiation. “The gig is in two months. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if this is a stupid idea. But… what about the hellfire club room?” Shrugging, Dustin turns to Eddie with this last resort.

“The-” Eddie takes a deep breath and clenches his hand into a fist, bringing it dangerously close to his face waving around. “The Hellfire Room? Why didn’t we think of this before?!”

Now that a new rehearsal space was found, Corroded Coffin spent every free minute practicing. Of course, to the great dismay of the music club, which was only a few rooms away. Their unruly appearance and the thunderous echoes of their music didn't sit well with the club's traditionalists. A constant battle ensued as to who is louder; Corroded Coffin with their covers of Metallica, Van Halen and Co, or the Music Club with their cello and piano version of Mendelssohn's ‘Song without words’.

One evening, Y/N is practicing with her cello alone when she hears the distant sound of an electric guitar. Curiosity piqued, she follows the music, which stops and starts playing again every now and then, paired with a string of curse words until she stumbles upon an abandoned classroom. There, she finds Eddie, his fingers dancing across the guitar strings, lost in the raw passion of his music and the frustration in not hitting the right tones.

In that moment, Y/N is captivated by the power and emotion in Eddie's playing. It is a stark contrast to the elegance of her cello, but it resonated with her in a way she couldn't explain. She leans against the doorway, silently listening, her earlier animosity momentarily forgotten.

Eddie notices her presence but doesn't stop playing. He smirks and quips, "Enjoying the noise?"

Y/N bites her lip, feeling a strange sense of connection. "It's not noise," she admits, surprising even herself. “And you’re playing it wrong.”

Before Eddie even has the chance to say a word, she continues and takes a step towards him. “Your fingers are too slow. If you would move your index finger faster from here - “ She raises her hand and mimics his hand, still wrapped around his guitar, making it easier to understand for him, “ - to here, you would get the right tone. But either way your finger is too slow, or you just simply don’t know how to actually play guitar.”

Still with furrowed brows, Eddie cocks his head. She’s not wrong. She’s absolutely right. And that bugs him.

“But actually, in my opinion, the latter is the case. Well … “

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop, little Beethoven!” He carefully lays down his guitar, then turns to her, raising his hands indignant. “So you are trying to tell me, Edward Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin, that I can’t play guitar?” Laughing contemptuously he leans forward and grabs one of the little silly pompoms hanging down from her jacket. “You don’t even know what real music is and you have the audacity to tell me how to play my guitar?”

Rolling with her eyes, Y/N brushes off his hand and sighs. “Dickhead.”, she hisses under her breath, reaching out to his guitar. Before Eddies mind has the chance to comprehend what is happening, she wraps her hand around the neck of said instrument.

“See, you play it this way.” Her fingers glide smoothly over the strings, mimicking his previous playing.

With his eyes wide in shock, he follows her actions. She is good. Really good, actually. But of course Eddie is way too proud to admit it, so he rolls with his eyes and laughs.

“And this is how it’s really done.” She continues the song, but plays the right chords. And damn, she was right. That’s why it never sounded good when Eddie was playing.

“You know, you’re really getting on my nerves, little Beethoven.” Ripping his guitar out of her hands, and pushing her outside of the room again, he desperately tries to fight against the butterflies inside his stomach. But this? Damn, without him knowing, his mind decided that this was damn sexy. And he hates himself for feeling this way.

From that day on, Y/N finds herself drawn to the abandoned classroom. She begins to bring her cello along - pretending to feel safer when she isn’t all alone in the school at night practicing-, while Eddie shreds his incredible solos. Every now and then, he even lets her play with his guitar, acting dumb and like he needs some help from her. They still exchange barbs and insults, but there is a newfound camaraderie beneath it all.

One evening, after a particularly intense jam session, Eddie looks at Y/N, who has brought her own guitar this time, his eyes softened. "You know," he begins hesitantly, "you're not half bad on that guitar of yours."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Coming from a Metalhead and lead guitarist, that's a compliment, I suppose."

Eddie grins and for the first time, it isn’t a taunting grin. It’s genuine, filled with a warmth Y/N had never seen before.

As the weeks pass, Eddie and Y/N's secret jam sessions continue. They are enemies turned to unlikely allies, and the more they play together, the more their mutual attraction grows. The music club's rejection has pushed them together, and in the process, they discovered a love for each other's worlds.

And the more he gets to know her, the more he realizes that she isn’t just some wannabe alternative bitch, but a real alternative bitch, listening to Metallica, Mötley Crüe and Slayer in secret. He hates to admit it, but he really starts to have a crush on her. Which, of course, his bandmates and friends start to notice.

One evening, after they played a haunting melody that blended their two musical styles, Y/N leans in, her lips brushing against Eddie's ear. "You know," she whispers and his hand automatically finds its place on her knee, "if I were your wife, I'd make you coffee every morning." What is happening? She never even dared to think about getting near to the freak, let alone imagining enjoying this intimacy she recently has with him. Her heart is beating so fast, he nearly could hear its pounding.

Eddie's heart skips a beat, and the tips of his ears start to turn into a burning red as he whispers back, "And if I were your husband, I'd drink it every day."

Carefully he lets his hand run through her soft hair only to stop at her cheek, cupping her face with his calloused hand. He feels the heat of her breath against his neck as she leans further into his touch. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, sealing the unspoken bond that has formed between them. The enemies-turned-lovers have found their harmony, a fusion of metal and classical music that was as unique as their love story.

“You know I hate you, right?”, he whispers out of breath between kisses.

“Hell yeah,”, she answers, smiling against his lips. “As much as I hate you too.”

In Hawkins, where strange things always seem to happen, the most unexpected love has blossomed between a Metalhead and a Cello player, proving that even the fiercest enemies could become the sweetest of lovers.

xxx

Thank you for reading! 🫶 If you want to be tagged in coming fanfics or if you want to request something, feel free to send me a dm or an ask. 🥰 Likes, comments and especially reblogs are always welcome. 🤗

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #eddie munson enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #eddie munson request #eddie fanfiction #corroded coffin #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fluff

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 8 months ago

Text

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Space Oddity, Part 1

In my ongoing quest to write more self indulgent reader inserts, I present to you: Weird Reader.

Sorry guys, but in school I played with the girls who pretended to be Warrior Cats, and ate lunch with guys who unironically did the Naruto run. The only thing separating me from this reader in this story is the fact that I mask in public and unmask at home.

[Chapter Two]

***

“You want me to play D&D with you guys?”

You watched with suspicious eyes as Mike Wheeler and Dustin Henderson nodded frantically, stirring the sweet, syrupy dessert of fruit cocktail in your lunch tray compartment. Staring at you was like staring at a taxidermy raccoon: you were dead eyed, but still positioned as though you could jump out and give someone rabies.

If he had been asked at gunpoint, Mike would have admitted that you were a last resort choice.

“Yeah…” Mike said cautiously, trying not to stare directly into your eyes.

Dustin smiled, leaning forward.

“You like D&D, right?” He tried, hopeful.

Everyone they had asked in Hawkins High had so far said no to subbing in for Lucas Sinclair, and Mike had balked at the idea of even thinking of asking you when they got rejected for the fifth time. You were even worse than the freaks of Hawkins High. The collective student body had come together as one to declare that you were a weird, mean bitch.

“I like what I’ve heard of it…” you mumbled, “I never played it before…”

Dustin’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Really?” He asked, his geometric pattern button up nearly dipping into his open can of chocolate pudding, “Never ever? So you’d need to be taught?”

Before you could venture an answer, Mike pulled him back.

“Could you-… Could you just excuse us please? Thank you.”

You nodded slowly while Mike dragged Dustin away to a corner of the bustling lunchroom. While they conversed in hushed whispers, you sat there alone, the students sharing your space giving you a wide berth at the head of the lunch table.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Mike hissed at Dustin, “You’re going to ask The Bitch to play, and she’s never even played D&D before?!”

Mike knew the stories. Robin had once asked to borrow a pencil from your jubilee of pens you kept in the pocket of your shortalls. Reluctantly you agreed, and then you had a meltdown when she took the flat contractor’s pencil with the He-Man sticker on it. Steve had told any of The Party who would listen about his encounter: even Eleven could perfectly recite the story about the weird girl who had flat tired Steve in the hall every day at 9am when he walked by Mrs. Click’s class, ruining the backs of his brown suede moccasins so often that his mom stopped replacing them after a while. His description of the perp matched you exactly.

Even Mike on his first day of school had been subject to your oddities. A casual lunchtime stroll found him tripping over a trap, made of plastic milk crates and dead branches you’d constructed by the football field. The encounter ended with him being subjected to your twenty minute screaming lecture on why it was rude of him to wreck the “houses” you’d made for the skinks that darted around the concrete walkways.

Mike Wheeler hated you because of reputation, but Dustin knew better than to fall victim to heresy. He had seen the drawings of dragons, daleks, dinosaurs, wolves and mermaids on xerox paper you had left behind once in the lunchroom. When he found you to give them back (you didn’t say thank you), he’d been gifted with a drawing a day later in his locker: a very detailed Spock giving the Vulcan salute, “Live Long and Prosper” written underneath in bubble letters above your loopy cursive signature. He still kept it taped to his Geometry folder.

“Dude, yes! Chill out!” Dustin hissed back, looking at you fondly from a distance, “You remember what Eddie said? ‘Find the little lost sheepies that need us’. Look at her, man. Doesn’t that scream little lost sheep to you?”

They turned to look at you simultaneously. After looking both ways to check the coast was clear, you commandeered Dustin’s abandoned chocolate pudding. Spooning the syrupy peaches, pears, pineapple, and single half of maraschino cherry of your fruit cocktail inside, you mixed the chocolate and fruit together. Lathing up the leftover pudding with your tongue, the spoon was licked clean before you tossed it vaguely into an indignant girl’s creamed corn, but she was too afraid to yell at you while you were armed with chocolate.

With great relish you began eating your concoction with your fingers.

Mike grimaced while Dustin just laughed.

“She’s perfect.” Dustin gushed, “And you should see her drawings, they’re badass!”

“Just because she’s a gross weirdo who’s good at drawing doesn’t mean she knows jackshit about tabletop games!” Mike growled, nearly gagging when he saw you mop up the leftover pudding in the can with your bread roll, “You bring a beginner into Hellfire Club, Eddie’s gonna blow a goddamn gasket! He’s already on the warpath because of Lucas’ championship game tonight, can you imagine what he’ll do when we bring in The Bitch?!”

“Mike, relax. Eddie’s not going to know she’s a novice. Everyone still flips through the handbook, they won’t notice if she does it. We’ll give her a crash course, I’ll even let her borrow my Player’s Handbook so she can come in looking like she at least knows the basics. And if Eddie does get pissed we can just… ease him into the idea that a succulent babe wants to play with him.”

Dustin made the shape of a curved figure with his hands, while Mike looked ready to punch him in the groin.

“You think he’s going to fold for a fat girl?” Mike snarled.

“… Shut up Mike,” Dustin said, immediately protective of you, “He’s going to fold for a cute girl. Look at her! Soft arms, round face, thick thighs… Eddie’s gonna lose his goddamn mind, man! That’s like his ideal type.”

They continued to argue back and forth, finally coming to a grudging resolution when Dustin dragged Mike back by the shirt to your lunch table.

“If this goes to shit, I know where you live.” Mike hissed quietly.

“Shhhh!” Dustin slapped Mike’s arm before looking back at you with a dopey grin.

You were staring down both of them, eyes flicking from Dustin to Mike. The empty pudding cup can was sitting exactly where it had been once full before, but the pop top was gone, and you were pretending like you hadn’t just gone to town on an unholy concoction.

“I made a decision.” You said suddenly.

The two freshmen looked at one another, before leaning in closer. Mike looked skeptical, but Dustin’s grin was nearly splitting his face in half.

“I’ll play with you guys.” You said after a few seconds.

Dustin couldn’t help but fist pump into the air, nearly tipping over backwards on his chair while Mike just grimaced like he was about to puke. An imperfect smile with chocolate teeth flashed at the boys, and you were just about to speak when Mike stopped the party.

“Okay, listen… if you’re going to play, you’re going to have to put in the work, it’s not like playing Monopoly.” He said, staring you down, “This is serious shit.”

You closed your mouth, head tilting to the side.

“Oh… I thought it was like, making your own characters and pretending to be them and stuff.” You said.

“It is, but it’s a lot more nuanced than that. Our Advanced D&D campaigns are different. We play very combat heavy sessions, we use actual strategy in battle. It’s not a goddamn tea party.”

“And Eddie takes the rules very seriously…” Dustin chimed in, “So we’ll have to familiarize you with the basics.”

“Eddie!?”

Both boys jumped back as you banged your hands on the table, getting up close and nearly crawling on top over to them. The students sitting next to you collectively jumped, the metal legs of their chairs scraping and making a horrid screech against the linoleum flooring.

“You mean… you’re talking about Eddie The Freak, right?” You hissed under your breath.

“Eddie Munson.” Dustin corrected, frowning when you called him a freak, “He’s the dungeon master of our club… of Hellfire Club.”

Your eyes widened, and your chest began to rise and fall rapidly.

“You’re right though. That is the very same freak.” Mike cut in, lowering his pitch hoping that feeding into the negativity would scare you away, “He’s a dick to newcomers. You might get the boot if he finds out we brought you in without having any background knowledge of D&D.”

His words made you shrink back, looking at your lunch tray and the little mess of chocolate you’d unknowingly splattered on your clothes. Dustin could have killed Mike, while the latter just looked smug.

And then… you began to giggle.

“Okay…” you smiled.

“Okay?!” Mike and Dustin repeated.

Mike managed to speak up while Dustin was still picking his smiling jaw up off the floor.

“You’re sure you still want to play?” Mike asked, panicking as he pulled out all the stops to get you to quit, “Eddie is not a patient guy with new players, he’s going to rip you to pieces and sacrifice you to the devil!”

You nodded quickly, breathlessly hyperventilating.

“Yeah…! I… If Eddie Munson is running the game… I really wanna play.”

Dustin gave a high pitched giggle of his own and shook Mike’s shoulder, absolutely loving the way your face broke out into a goofy grin. You didn’t even flinch at Mike’s attempts to scare you.

“You got a thing for him or something?” Mike ventured cautiously.

“Yes.”

You answered so unabashedly, with no hesitation, that for a minute it actually endeared you to Mike. Who knew that The Bitch of Hawkins High was actually a human being with wants and needs?

“Wait… are you serious?” Mike asked.

“Uh huh…”

You giggled, biting your lower lip and covering your burning face.

“I think… I think he’s really hot…”

If they had been drinking Tab, they would have spit the liquid out all over you.

“You think Eddie’s hot?” Dustin wheezed.

“Yeah… um… I’ve had this like monster crush on Eddie since I was in fifth grade. He did like this talent show and played the guitar real good, and he’s all loud and funny and crazy and I think he’s got a real charming smile…”

The cadence in your already deep contralto was lilting into a mezzo soprano the more you talked about their sadistic dungeon master, and you were rocking side to side in your plastic chair while Dustin and Mike just watched you make a complete ass of yourself.

This probably would have turned into two hours of blabbing, had not Mike refocused you and Dustin and begun to actually lay out the basics of TSR’s Advanced Dungeons and Dragons. No time to lose, back to business. If you were going to play with Eddie you had a lot of catching up to do. They had a spare set of dice, and Mike helped you roll for stats as Dustin began to write out a crude character sheet for you based on your imaginative ideas.

“We can probably make you a character very quickly.” Mike said, flipping through his own Mead Composition notebook as he checked past characters that had died valiantly in battle, “I have one you can use. Barbarians are stupid easy for first timers since you’re just hitting shit with a sword-...”

“I want a character based on my story I’m writing!” You exclaimed, and then you subjected Mike to your brief (lie) synopsis of one of many witchy characters who was cursed by a dark goddess.

It took a lot of adjusting and words that held no meaning to you, like “Domain of Trickery” and “Cleric of Shar”. The two freshmen helped you settle on a character that would be deemed useful for Hellfire’s campaign, and made sure to force feed you every rule and spell that Gygax and Arneson had conceived for your chosen class. True to his word, Dustin let you borrow the Player’s Handbook he carried with him at all times when the bell to conclude lunch rang out. You took it with promises that you’d give it back when you met them outside of the drama room later after school, already burying your nose in the pages when you walked off to your class.

The boys saw a different side of you that possibly no one else in the school ever had: a familiar side, a human side. A side that was brutally honest and sometimes a little mean, but just as vulnerable and relatable as anyone else. A consensus had been reached during their shared English class: you were definitely weird, but actually pretty smart and imaginative. Possibilities of keeping you on as a permanent member were being discussed when Dustin and Mike found you hiding behind the lockers just outside the drama room around three pm.

“What are you doing?” Mike asked.

You shook your head, clutching your fat trapper keeper to your chest and handing Dustin back his Player’s Handbook.

“Eddie’s in there…” you muttered, chewing on the spine of your trapper keeper covered in duct tape

“Yeah, he usually gets there with Jeff, Gareth and Frank really early, to set up the map and the dice towers.” Mike nodded.

From the rectangular slat of a window, one could see Gareth and Frank meticulously setting up Jenga pieces and miniatures on top of a slab of butcher paper marked in sharpie, janky cindrilical tubes painted to look like castle towers were set up at each place at the table (the dice towers, fashioned from Pringles cans, cardboard, glue and paint). Eddie and Jeff were deep in conversation, plugging in lamps and electric candelabras left over from the drama club’s last production of ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Inside the mood was almost holy, reverent (or like Eddie liked to call it: a softcore porn on Valentine’s day mood), and the boys couldn’t help the eagerness as they went to the door.

You, however, stayed firmly planted behind the lockers.

“What are you doing?!” Mike hissed, “Come on! We’re gonna be late because of you!”

“I don’t wanna go in…!” You snapped back, suddenly shy.

Mike looked at Dustin, ready to destroy him, while Dustin tried to talk you down.

“Hey, hey! Come on, it’s okay. Don’t worry! You have a good character, and if you need help you can just sit with me and Mike-…”

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” You protested.

“I swear to you on my mother that Eddie is going to love you.” Dustin said, trying to calm you down, “You’re great. You actually came with a character to play, and he’s going to be so happy that a girl is showing interest in his hobbies.”

You were about to turn tail and leave when you felt an iron grip around the meat of your bicep, pulling you forward with an unnatural strength born entirely of Nerd Rage.

“Oh hell no!” Mike said, pulling you kicking and protesting towards the door, “You’re not doing this to me right now god dammit! You’re going to get your ass in there, and you’re going to play! I didn’t sit through lunch listening to your weird edgy character backstory just so you could pussy out at the last minute! Now get your ass. In. NOW!”

With a harsh shove, you flew into the drama room – tripping on your own two feet trying to catch yourself – and spilling the contents of your trapper keeper all over the ground. Strong hands caught you before you face planted into the floor, holding you steady.

“Easy, easy!” Called out a familiar voice, “Goddamn... What the hell was that for, Mike?! You could’ve broken her nos-…”

Eddie Munson’s voice trailed off, and the boys watched as their fearless leader, their metalhead bard, began to stare open mouthed slack jawed at you.

“You told us to find a lost sheep.” Mike snarled, “So here she is.”

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