#WE GET A MILITARY EDDIE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queenimmadolla · 1 month

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort.

Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door.

“Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it.

Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you.

Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

“Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

“Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

“So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

Interesting.

“No brains?”

Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

“Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.”

Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

Why you? What did he want with you?

You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

“What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you.

It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

“That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans.

While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals.

You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive.

“UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm.

With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

“Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering.

Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

“So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up.

Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

“Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

“Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

You’d made him cry.

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate.

“MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall.

You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

“There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

“SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

“Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers.

“Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

“You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you.

You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

“You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

“Uunngh.”

You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

“That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

“UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

“What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

“They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

He just blinked, almost owlishly.

Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

“The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

“Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact.

“Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

“You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

“You tryna knock me dead, too?”

When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound.

With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

“Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror.

“Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

“Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound.

“Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

“I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

“WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name.

“I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

“I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

“You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

“Me?! I didn’t do this!”

“Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

“The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

“Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

“Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

“Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

“Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

“I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

“She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

“Daddy…”

“Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!”

You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself.

“Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward.

Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

“She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

“No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.

You’d have a loving parent.

You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do.

Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it.

The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life.

Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

“I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

“Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

“We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

“Dang—anything else?”

“Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside.

Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

You were wrong.

The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous.

You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

“Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

“You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors.

You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance.

He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering.

Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You found him.

Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

He understood the sentiment all too well.

Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead.

And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

I wish I was with you.

You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave.

Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple.

No sign of his uncle.

It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct.

He knew where to go after.

Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all.

Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him.

He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests.

So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be.

The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you.

He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery.

FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze.

It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left.

Eddie heard a scoff.

“How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself.

Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around.

The fuck was she doing in here?

It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through.

Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings.

She was invading your privacy.

If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling.

He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either.

Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse.

If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip.

Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made.

Bitch.

Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day.

See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of. Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

“Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned.

He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

“Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

“Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure.

“Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

“I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her.

Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

Served the hag right.

With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream.

That one was for you.

Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision.

While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did.

You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive.

Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

“You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

Oh, god. Just play it cool.

“Just some tampons and some chips.”

Leave. Walk out. Save face.

“No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk.

You were going for it.

“Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

“I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve.

You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

“Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

“I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

“That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

“And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

“I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

“Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.”

Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

“You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

“And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off.

She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

“She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV.

You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life.

“Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed.

At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you.

You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

But it was yours.

When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs.

You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

“Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

“Uuungh?”

You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

“I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

“Unngh.” He grunted in thanks.

As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

“Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

“He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling.

“You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions.

“There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population.

“Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand.

“What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

“I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

“MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

“Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

Laura.

“SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

And for once, she scared you.

“Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

Stepmother from hell, indeed.

“Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured.

You took a small step back. She took one forward.

“I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick.

“Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

“ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction.

“Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

“Ignorant people, and yet—you still don’t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

“Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life.

Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

“I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed.

“No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

“It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

THUNK.

Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red.

Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet.

You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

“Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

“Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs.

Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it.

After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it.

“Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you.

He shook his head.

“Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work.

Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head.

“Mm-mm.”

You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice.

He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even.

It felt…like you mattered to someone.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs.

“At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.”

He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way.

“Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

“Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand.

“What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb.

Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger.

“Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you.

Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle.

A lightning bolt.

Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

And then it hit you. Lightning.

“OH.”

Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

“But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it.

It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure.

You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual.

The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

“Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

“Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

No reaction.

“EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

“Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!”

You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad.

The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

Well, you’d already started.

“I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Freak like me #lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein inspo #Zombie!eddie munson #dead!eddie munson #undead!eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson au #Eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #Steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x black!reader

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lesservillain · 2 months

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inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

cw: drinking, explicit fantasies

September 16th,1994

The idea to you was asinine from the moment Principal Williams brought you into her office to explain the program details to you. How no one else thought that the idea of thirteen-year-olds becoming “pen pals” with prisoners wasn’t insane baffled you. It was dangerous at worst and inappropriate at best, but, despite your best efforts to reason with her, your opinion as a “newer” teacher was dismissed.

Now here you are listening to the speech of the prison rep, Mr. Bridges, as he explained the program to your 7th grade class. Not like you had a lesson planned for them today.

Mr. Bridges stands a whole 5 feet and 6 inches with a short stack military fade and the most unsettling sunny disposition. He reads as incredibly fake, like a snake oil salesman, and his shiny, white, slightly too big for his mouth veneers not doing him any favors. It doesn’t surprise you that your newly divorced principal was able to be persuaded by this guy's charms, but thankfully you’re used to his kind of tactics from your own previous relationship.

Before leaving, Mr.Bridges approaches you at your desk. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he starts, leaning too far into your space. One of his thick fingers points at a paper he had given you before he started his speech, “but is a student absent today? We have an unassigned inmate—”

“We had a student move,” you say shortly, keeping your voice monotone and not bothering to glance at his paper, “so I’m short one student in this class.”

Bridges nodded, clearly deep in thought. His brows furrowed for a moment before perking up.

“Maybe you’d like to take on a pen pal?’” He proposes, his chipper disposition coxing on the migraine that wants to break through behind your eye.

The look on your face must have said it all as he tried to convince you further. “The inmates that signed up are all trying to better themselves before being re-released into society, ya’know?” His eye’s shift, landing on the floor with a solemn look. “We thought talking to kids that grew up while they were incarcerated would help them get in touch with the times, be able to cope with time they’ve lost. Give them something to look forward to when they get out.”

The pads of your fingers dig into your temples, eyes rolling to the back of your head before finally giving him the eye contact he so desperately craved from you.

“Fine, I’ll take whoever you have left, I guess. What’s his name?”

“Perfect!” Bridges hands clap together next to your ear, “The leftover inmate wants to go by The Banished One and he—”

“Banished what?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, The Banished One! It’s his nickname for the project. We have all the inmates disguise their names just in case the kids may be related to one of them.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your head in your hand, “Okay, fine, sure I guess that makes sense.”

Bridges continued to assure you that all the letters are anonymous and would be vetted both ways, adding that only ‘good behavior’ inmates were allowed to take part in the program as a last push for your participation, you reluctantly agreed. Mostly just to get him to leave your classroom before your head explodes, but not without the stipulation that if you thought it was too much for your kids that you would pull them out. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

October 7th, 1994

The first writing session took place on a Friday, the soft sound of music from your mixtape playing for the kids to help them relax. It had been a long week of testing and you felt like an easy day was in order for both you and the kids, most of your other classes would just be doing free work.

You grabbed the stack of letters from your desk, Pictures of You by The Cure filling the air as you hand each student their respective letter.

“Don’t forget to keep personal information like names and where you live out of your letters. Once you’re done, bring them to my desk.”

Once the kids were settled, you returned to your desk and grabbed your own letter. The envelope before you had “Teach” written across the front, the pen name you chose to go by. The handwriting was like chicken scratch. Not much different from the 13 year old boys whose papers you grade, though, so you were confident in your ability to decipher the rest of the letter. But still had a roughness, an edge to it.

As you opened your letter, unfolding the paper to it’s full state, the first thing to catch your attention was the graffiti like drawings along the margins of the paper. It reminded you of a flash sheet at the tattoo shop your friends took you to for your 21st birthday, a permanent reminder of that day on your inner ankle in the form of a small butterfly that was already starting to fade. There was nothing too offensive; a rose, a sailor ship, a dove with an olive branch, all impressively done for just being pen on paper.

Once you got past the artwork, you began to take in the letter's contents. The single page was filled from front to back, barely any room for the signature at the bottom.

“Hey there, “Teach”... if that is your real name…” the letter starts. The lame opener makes you crack a small smile that you quickly cover with your hand. You read on, taking in each sentence, and you start to get the idea that your pen pal doesn’t take this pen pal assignment too seriously.

The letter is casual, a few puns here and there, with some Tolkien references that would have been missed if one wasn’t familiar with his work. It’s clear that this person is young, or at least young at heart, which saddens you to think about, but you try not to dwell on it.

Getting into the meat of the letter, your pal explains that went to prison in 1989 for drug related charges, but is set to get out in about a year if he keeps up his good behavior.

“I’m ready to get out of this place and get back to my hometown in Hawkins.”

A shiver goes down your spine for a moment when you read that he’s from Hawkins. Bridges assured you that the inmates wouldn’t know what school the kids would be from, but you weren’t expecting to be talking to someone from this small town. You wonder if Bridges knows more than he’s letting on with his comment about the kids being related to the inmates.

Once the creepy feeling dissipates you continue to read on. The details your pal gives about himself tell you that he’s very different from the people you usually hang out with. His favorite genre of music is metal and he used to play guitar and do vocals for a band every week before he started working as a mechanic full time. They’d have a crowd of 20 or so some nights, but it was usually just the regulars at the place they would play at.

The final paragraph of the letter consists of a seemingly scripted warning about the dangers of drugs and that no one should make the same mistake he did. You wondered if this was obligatory for the project. At the bottom of the page your pal signs with his chosen moniker “The Banished One.” When thinking about it, you find that it’s very fitting for an inmate.

After taking a moment to check in on your class, Morrissey’s somber voice serenading them as “I Know It’s Over” plays from the small radio’s speakers, you pull out your own pen and paper to start your response.

As you ponder on where to start, a thought that crosses your mind; does your pen pal even know they’re talking to an adult? The pen name you chose might be on the nose but you didn’t want to assume. Granted, your handwriting itself may be a dead giveaway if you were to compare it to a teens.

It took you a couple of tries to start your letter. Instinctively, you wanted to be formal, but the longer you thought about it the more you didn’t want to come off as a boring writing companion. You tried and failed to come up with something witty to match the vibe of your pal, but comedy wasn’t your strong point, though you’d argue that it wasn’t his either. Instead, you approached it as if you were writing to a friend.

“Hello! Nice to meet you “Banished One." Though, it sounds like you won't be banished much longer.”

Erring on the side of caution you chose to only respond directly to things he wrote, slipping in that you also enjoyed the works of Tolkien with your own reference. You mention that you listen to metal from time to time, more into radio rock at the moment, but you’d really listen to anything.

It took you a minute to calculate how to respond to the reveal of his dealings in drugs, ultimately deciding to lightly say that you hoped he learned his lesson unless he saw himself returning to prison in the future. You shared that you were familiar with Hawkins, noting that you loved the milkshakes from the old diner in town, but left it at that. As you closed the letter you complimented his artwork, informing him that the rose was your favorite and that you looked forward to seeing his artwork on future letters.

You’d manage to write enough to cover the majority of the back of your lined paper, signing your pen name a few lines away from the bottom. Going over your letter again, you can't help feeling like it’s a bit dull. Safe, but that’s what it's supposed to be.

October 24th,1994

It only took two weeks for Mr. Bridges to return with new letters for your class. Truthfully, you had almost forgotten about the letters entirely while trying to keep your students on track as the holiday season approaches. The emotional whiplash of seeing your ex out with his new, younger girlfriend while you were out looking for Halloween decor for your apartment wasn't helping either. It felt like no matter what you did, how much your friends tried to help, you just couldn’t catch a break. At least the manager of the local liquor store was nice to you.

When your students seemed too preoccupied with the stack of letters on your desk to pay attention to your lecture, you decided to call it a day and give all of you a break. You click on your small stereo and let the tune of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah take over the room while you pass out letters.

Once the letters were distributed, you settled at your desk where your eyes met with the same chicken scratch handwriting as before. It was tempting to reach for it… until you glanced at the pile of ungraded papers that sat next to it, taunting you. You desperately needed to go over them, the deadline to turn in grades fast approaching.

You deliberated on what to do. You had to admit you were curious about the letter. Part of you wondered if you’d even get one back. You didn’t want to give any personal information away, so you couldn’t blame the random man in prison for not responding if he thought he was talking to an old lady teacher.

But the stack of papers is practically glaring at you.

A thought; you could always finish your papers later at home. But you did tell yourself you would be better at bringing so much work home with you this year…Your friends had an influence on that decision, making sure you took at least every other weekend to go out and do something — anything to keep you from shutting yourself in again.

With a sigh, you tuck the letter into your work bag, grabbing your pen to start grading.

“Damn it, why can’t I find one stupid pen!”

Slamming drawers and stomping around, the red liquid of your cup sloshing around in your glass as you grew more and more frustrated in your search for a pen to write out the checks for the coming month’s bills.

After searching the kitchen, you make your way to the living room and spot your school bag on the coffee table. In your rage, you slam the glass on the table and begin haphazardly pulling the contents out of the bag, praying you still had a pen that hadn’t been “borrowed” to never be returned by one of your students.

The feeling of plastic on the tips of your finger almost brought you to tears of joy. Pulling out a purple ink pen you decided that it would have to be good enough if your landlord wanted your rent on time.

After finishing with the checks, you return to your bag to put the envelopes inside to drop off tomorrow at the post office. As you lift the bag, your eyes meet with chicken scratch again away. A burst of buzzed excitement runs through you at the sight, even if for just a moment before you shook it off. It was just an envelope from some random man sitting in a jail cell, why are you getting so excited? Is it because you’re at home and not feeling the pressure to be uptight and rigid?

Or maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time you received a letter that wasn’t a bill. It sort of gave you a feeling of nostalgia, taking you back to a time when you wrote letters to your mom when you were at camp, or when you would write to your grandparents around the holidays. It even reminded you a bit of writing in your diary, if your diary could write back that is. It’s not like he would have room to judge you from his jail cell, right?

You snatch the letter from the bag and walk back into the kitchen, grabbing the dark bottle of wine to refill your glass and plopping down at the table. Ripping open the envelope, you pull out the letter and immediately notice that it is covered in artwork just as the last one was.

This time you notice a 20-sided dice with a banner that read “critical hit”, a very detailed dragon head, and a stylized version of the skeleton guy that you’ve seen on the cover of Iron Maiden albums. The biggest piece was of another rose, but in the fully bloomed center was an eye. It was…interesting. Well done, but not what you were expecting. Not that you were expecting anything anyway.

Getting the artwork out of the way, you take a large sip of your drink and begin reading.

“Hello again, Teach,” the letter starts, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room before I can write anything else.” Your brow quirks up, a slight nervousness begins to creep in your mind.

“I was already suspicious when I was told the person I was writing to wanted to go by Teach. And no seventh grader I’ve ever known can write as nicely as you. Not that I know a lot of seventh graders...Anyway, can I ask how I ended up being pen pals with the class teacher? I know I could ask Bridges, but I think it would be more fun to hear it from you.”

Your lips tug into a smile, but this time you don’t feel the need to cover it. Why did it feel like a game he won or a riddle he solved? It wasn’t exactly like you were hiding it. But something about him figuring out something about you was…exciting.

As you get into the meat of the letter itself he goes on to ask you what subject you teach and how long you have been teaching. He asks if you like working with kids and if they ever made you want to pull your hair out. The phrasing of his words make you giggle.

“I was never good in school,” he states. “It took me three tries of my senior year to graduate. I used to blame my teachers saying that they didn’t like the way I dressed or my taste in music. I guess now I have to admit that it was probably because I didn’t bother to show up to class or do any of my homework…”

A full laugh shook you in your chair. Was he actually funnier in this letter? And why did it come off feeling so personal? The air about it was different, like you were talking to a long-distance friend rather than a felon, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling as you continue read his sketchy handwriting.

He went on to ask more about you, like what your favorite band was since you “liked rock so much more than metal,” with a little frowny face to punctuate his disagreement. He says the prison lets them watch MTV sometimes, which has been his main exposure to new music. Sometimes he gets a hold of new music every once and a while, but usually just listens to his old cassettes on his Walkman that his uncle gave him when he first entered the system.

“Some people have tried to steal it from me, but they learned pretty quickly that I have my ways to get things back, and that I'm not one to be messed with.”

That left you curious. A small glimpse into the inner workings of prison. You never really thought about what a person in prison could or couldn’t have. It was nice that he could have at least a small luxury, an item of value if it was under constant threat of being taken. You also couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by not being messed with.

Before you know it you’ve hit the end of the letter. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It felt like there could have been so much more to say, but his pen name barely fit at the bottom of the paper as it is. You take a piece of paper out of your notebook, pulling the frayed pieces off the edge and replacing the one in front of you with it. Hopefully your pal won't mind the purple pen or the probable lack of coherence compared to your first letter as you feel the wine really start to kick in.

Referring back to the paper like a student answering a question in class, you make sure to answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.

“Hello again, Mr. Banished. I see you have uncovered my secret that I am, in fact, a grown woman and not a 13-year-old. I hope that doesn’t bother you. I have been teaching English since I graduated college, coincidentally in 1989. It's like we traded places; I got to leave the prison of being a student in college and you went to prison for whatever drug related charges you acquired.” You laughed at your own joke as you continued.

“As for why you are stuck with writing a late 20’s school teacher rather than one of my students, that would be because of the aforementioned Mr.Bridges. We had a student move a few weeks into the school year and Bridges practically got on his knees and begged me to take on a pen pal.” You left out the detail of not being totally comfortable with the program. Not that you weren’t still hesitant, but the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by insinuating anything about the type of person he was for being in jail. The wine had rationalized with you that sometimes good people do bad things when they’re in dark places.

Continuing on, you wrote that he was probably right in both his opinions on why his teachers failed him. The older teachers at your school were stuck in their ways and judged students before really trying to help them. You did your best not to be the same way, hoping to be a teacher that your students could trust and come to if they needed help. It was a passion of yours since you were small, wanting to help people learn and grow, so what better way to do that than to teach?

“I am interested in what you wore that would call for such harsh judgment. I try to be as unbiased as I can with all my kids. If you asked them, they would say that I’m stuffy or rigid most of the time, but it’s mostly because I care about their education. And partly because being a new teacher is…really freaking tough if I’m being honest. These older teachers don’t take half of the things I say seriously because their own kids are older than me. It’s kind of bullshit, actually, but I just deal with it until I can get more experience under my belt.”

A sigh slips through your lips, pen tapping against the kitchen table as you feel the frustration bubbling. It’s not fair to dump these feelings on him, but the anonymity made it so easy to just put everything out there. He doesn’t know anything about you, and if you were to weird him out by getting a little real, then he could just not write back, right?

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you decided to just move on to a different topic.

“Sorry, that was a lot of feelings on my part. Is it too personal to ask what you do in prison? You mentioned getting to listen to music, but what else do you do? I’ve seen in movies that inmates work out a lot and play basketball outside. Is that real or made up for the audience? If it is real, does that mean you are super buff from working out all the time? Do you beat people up if they try and take your Walkman, or do you stab them? I’ve seen people do that in movies, too. I hope you don’t stab them, that would be scary.”

You can feel yourself getting a bit rambley in your tired state, so you decide it’s time to call it a night. You wrap up the letter by telling him that you’re going to go to sleep and that you were looking forward to his next letter. You sign your name and draw a small doodle of a flower next to it.

November 18th,1994

It was 3 am when you woke up the first time. A nightmare had you shooting up from your pillow, cold sweat drenched the collar of your sleep shirt, chest heaving as you caught your breath.

He had been knocking at your door, your pen pal. You never saw his face, but heard the anger in his voice as he yelled for you to let him in. You remember sitting in front of the door begging for him to leave you alone, telling him it was too soon. That you weren’t ready.

The nightmare became reoccurring, waking you at least 2 or 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s your ex, but most of the time it’s your pen pal. Even though you have no inkling of what he looks like, you just know it’s him on the other side.

The disturbance in your sleep was starting to affect your daily life, one of your coworkers asking if you were okay after over pouring a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Are you okay?” Mr.Clarke asks, helping you mop up the spilled coffee with some paper towels.

“Yes, I’m sorry, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to reassure him.

“Hey, I know that midterms can be rough with the holidays coming up. But, try not to stress out about it too much. I’ve heard good things about you from the kids in my classes that have you this year. You’re doing a good job, so don't kill yourself, okay?”

It was damn near impossible not to burst into tears at your coworkers words, but you held it together until you could hide in the faculty restroom.

The dreams didn’t stop though. Even Mr.Bridges felt the need to comment.

“Holidays stressing you out?” he asked with an energy that seemed inhuman to you, his sunny disposition could make the snow outside melt.

“No.” You stated shortly as you looked through your lesson plan for the day.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a nod, “This is the most wonderful time of the year after all. We try to stay busy at the prison, keep the morale high and what not.”

He placed the stack of letters on your desk, along with a small box that read “Greeting Cards” with a wintery scene displayed on the front.

“These are for the students to give to the inmates.” You look at him with “no shit” written on your face. He cleared his throat, “But, uh, I’m sure you could figure that out. I know this time of year can be hectic for everyone, but we all deserve some holiday cheer, right?” Your expression remains unchanged as he continues on.

“Right, well, I’ll be giving the inmates their own cards to send to the kids with their letters. It might be a bit difficult for me to come back before Christmas, family affairs to attend to and all that. So, I went ahead and wrote the address and stamped the envelopes for the cards. If I don’t come back by, oh, let's say the 15th? Just go ahead and stick those in the mail and I’ll make sure the inmates get them!”

Before you could protest having to go out of your way to do his job, Mr.Bridges quickly made his exit as the warning bell rang, wishing you a happy holiday as he disappeared.

With the lack of free class time as you all crammed for test week, you decided to let the kids take their letters and cards home for the weekend to work on. As you passed them out, keeping the addressed envelopes in the box, you told the kids to write something nice in their cards.

“This may be the only card some of these men get, so think about that when you’re writing them this weekend.”

Getting to the last letter, you feel your stomach twist as you read your actual government first name in the familiar chicken scratch handwriting instead of your pen name. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks until the sound of the bell brought you back to your body.

“U-uh, ge--get your letters done by the end of class Tuesday!” You yell over your class as they begin migrating out of the room.

Quickly, you return to your desk and rip open the letter. Unsurprisingly, it’s once again covered in artwork. The pumpkins and bats and other Halloween inspired art felt out of place, putting in perspective how long it had been since your last letter. But before you could look much further into the writing your next class began to file in, forcing you to set the letter aside for later.

You’d felt nauseous the rest of your morning classes, You wracked your brain about how the hell your pen pal could have figured out your actual name. You may have been...a little tipsy when you wrote that letter a month ago, but you’re sure you didn’t say anything personal enough that he would know who you were. Could he have asked someone on the outside to look into you? No, Mr.Bridges assured you that the inmates don’t know what school they are writing to. Maybe Bridges said your name to someone at the jail and the inmate overheard?

As soon as the bell rang for your lunch period, you practically rushed your students out the door and closed it. Throwing yourself into your chair, you grab the letter and begin reading.

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to be getting more lore in your newest letter! You have a very cute name by the way…Sorry I hope that wasn’t weird. Anyway! I guess I can tell you my name, too. Call me Eddie.”

Eddie.

So you had included your own name in your letter somewhere. You sigh with relief, though it still makes you a little uncomfortable that this stranger knows something personal about you. Sure he’s been nice, but he was still a felon. Though knowing his name made you feel a little better. Made him feel a tad more human to not use silly nicknames.

“Can I start by saying I loved reading your last letter?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.“The purple pen was a nice touch. Something about a teacher complaining about other teachers is really funny to me, too. Nice to know the torment of some teachers isn’t just limited to students! And I doubt your kids think you’re stiff or whatever. You seem pretty cool to me. Even if I’ve only gotten to talk to you through a couple letters, you talk to me a lot nicer than I probably deserve.”

The smile that had made its home on your lips from his sentiments dropped into a frown. You felt yourself wanting to get defensive, wanting to tell him that he shouldn’t think that way about himself. That even if he was a felon, he still deserves respect.

“Being a younger teacher must be hard. You did all the college stuff to be a teacher so that should be enough to get their respect in my opinion. I don’t think I had a teacher who wasn’t at least in their 50s so they probably can’t see anyone under 30 as anything other than a kid I guess.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” you say to yourself with an airy chuckle.

As you keep reading, he changes the subject to something you don’t remember asking in your previous letter.

“So you wanna know what I look like, huh? Well back before I was in here I would wear my band shirts, Metallica and Judas Priest and all the bands that make the old ladies cringe. My jeans had holes in them, too. And I have this battle vest that I’ve put together with some patches of my favorite bands on it. My uncle Wayne says he’s keeping it safe for me at home. It’s not much, but I learned how to stitch patches on by myself, so it means something to me. Gives me something to look forward to when I get out.”

Your mind paints an image of a gangely teen trying to look cool to impress his friends or scare off the old ladies at the mall. Sounds like the kind of guy you had crushes on in high school. There may have been a picture or 2 of Kirk Hammit or Vince Neil or Eddie Van Halen tapped to the inside of your locker door in high school, but you’d never admit that now.

“I also had long hair when I was younger. Can’t call yourself a metal head without having long hair ya know. But I’ve had to cut it since I’ve been in here. I’ve got pretty curly hair and it was getting hard to keep up with it. It’s short enough to keep out of my face most of the time. I’m actually due for a haircut, so thanks for reminding me! Hair cuts are free in prison so I get it done way more than I ever did on the outside. You gotta tip your barber though or else they might “accidentally” shave all your hair off next time. Learned that one the hard way.”

He goes on to answer some of your questions about the inner workings of the jail. They do get to work out a lot, but says he’s not a “big meat head” like some of the other inmates. He doesn’t like basketball for “personal reasons” so he prefers to run laps. “When you’re trying to get out of a big fight it’s better to be faster than stronger.”

“I am also proud to admit that I have never stabbed someone. Almost been stabbed myself, but I used to get my shit rocked in high school so I’ve learned to dodge over the years.” Your hand comes to your face, almost forgetting that you asked such a stupid question. Of course he hasn’t stabbed anyone. You could excuse it if it was out of self defense maybe. But then you recall him saying before that he doesn’t get “messed with”, so what is he doing that people aren’t bothering him if not stabbing them? Your head spins with possibilities as you think about it more.

As you are about to read on, you are interrupted by a knock on your door, the sound causing you to jump in your seat. Quickly closing the letter and shoving it into your bag, you rush to the door to find a student from your 3rd period class, a shy one at that, needing clarification on the newest assignment. You let her in, forgetting the letter for the rest of the period.

The rest of the period then turns into the rest of the day. It goes by like a blur as everyone seems to be getting last minute things turned in for the week. Grades for the upcoming report cards would be due by the end of next Tuesday, so you told your classes to get any missing work in by today and you would give them partial credit. It was setting yourself up for a busy weekend, but anything to keep your mind off the upcoming holiday was welcomed.

It would be your first Thanksgiving single in almost 10 years, and your 4th since your mom passed. Your soon to be ex-husband, Henry, had convinced you to move to his hometown of Hawkins after your mother died to be closer to his family and to help his dad’s business as his accountant. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, and after looking back on the situation, you realized that he had used your vulnerability to get a lot of what he wanted.

Things seemed fine at first. His parents bought your house and he had a good paying job. All you had to do was cling to his arm and keep quiet. You were kept well manicured, your appearance catered to his liking as he paraded you around at office parties.

The not so hushed whispers from the women in his office always talking about how lucky you were to bag an older man reached your ears. But you kept your tongue against your cheek. They could be jealous all they want, because if they knew what happened behind closed doors they wouldn’t be singing the same tune.

Waking up early in the morning, way before he ever did, just to put on your face. God forbid you weren’t presentable to him always. Afterwards you’d iron his white button ups and khaki slacks, make him a huge breakfast, present his clothes to him, and be waiting by the door on your knees for him to use your mouth before he walked out the door.

At the time, you felt like you had a purpose. That being a housewife was what you were meant to be. But the degree you had worked so hard on stared at you as you cleaned the house everyday. Your passion was just in reach, boring you every day.

That is, until fate, and the well timed retirement of your predecessor, gave you the opportunity to start teaching that year. When you got the call, you were over the moon. Henry even said he was proud of you.

Until you forgot to iron his clothes. It was just a stern talking to the first time, an anger in his eyes like you’d never seen before had you on edge the entire first day of class. You made it up to him by waking up extra early, using your mouth to start his day since you couldn’t be at the door for him anymore.

But, then you started falling behind on chores during the week as grading papers took up most of your free time when you weren’t tending to his needs. It’s not that you didn’t clean, it just wasn't the only thing you had to do every day anymore. Passive comments about becoming lazy were brushed to the side until they collectively spilled over into your first big argument. You told him he could help, too. He smacked you across the face.

Too busy juggling work and cleaning the house full time caused you to miss the signs that things were declining. It started when Henry had to start staying late for work, claiming that they had a “big project” that was going to require him to stay over longer. He made it seem like a temporary arrangement that ended up becoming a pattern for months. But, he assured you that a raise could come from his hard work. So you continued to sit at home, a cold, untouched plate sitting across from you as you finished another bottle of wine. At least he wasn’t there to put his hands on you.

Then it was the pair of panties that you didn’t recognize when you did his laundry. When you confronted him, he told you that it must be a pair you owned back in high school that was mixed in with his clothes somehow when you moved. When you pressed on, he gave you a black eye.

Then it was the perfume you didn’t recognize on your pillow case when you came home from a weekend trip to see your new nephew. He told you it smelled like your perfume, you just hadn’t been home all weekend to smell it. You didn’t argue this time.

Then it was his father’s secretary, Missy, calling your home and telling you that she was sleeping with your husband. She had been nice at last year's Christmas party when you first met her. Nineteen, dumb as a box of rocks.

“Are you and Henry still married?” she had asked with her valley girl accent, “Because when I stayed over I saw that he still had pictures of you two at his house.”

Now you’re stuck in this tiny town, your closest relative being your brother who has his own family out in Chicago. Thankfully, you had made friends with the ever charming Steve Harrington, who’s father also worked with Henry. He came as a package deal with his roommate Robin Buckley, and the two of them quickly became your best friends. They were as blindsided as you about Henry’s affair and helped you move into your new apartment. Steve offered to let you live with him and Robin, but you didn’t want to live in the same house as your ex’s coworker, even if he was never there.

“We should make a grocery list for next week.” Robin called from the kitchen to where you and Steve were sat in the living room. “Do we want to bother making a turkey or should we do something easier?”

“Do you know how to make a turkey?” you asked looking over the top of your wine glass as she taps a pen to paper scowling.

“She can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, d’ya really think she can make a turkey?” You watch as a roll of paper towels is launched from the kitchen into the side of Steve’s head and your laugh erupts.

“Well, then were fucked,” you say between giggles, “because I can’t make a turkey, and I know Steve “grabs a pan without a mitt” Harrington also can’t cook one.”

“Oh, that was ONE TIME!”

Steve goes to throw the paper towel roll at you, but you dodge, “One time is enough to never let you live it down, Steven. Maybe we should get some chicken instead.”

“Oh, I can make us some potato salad!”

After some back and forth about what to make for your “Friendsgiving” as Robin had been calling it, claiming inspiration from a new episode of Friends, Steve was begging to talk about anything else.

“School seems to be better this year,” he looks at you carefully, “You haven’t been talking about it as much lately. Not negatively at least.”

“Yeah the only thing you’ve complained about is that prison thing your class was supposed to be doing.” She looked at you with a look of curiosity, “How’s that going?”

You blink and suddenly remember the letter that you had gotten earlier. It was sitting in your bag back home where you had left it on your coffee table again. You were so busy getting ready to go to Steve’s that you had forgotten to finish it.

“It’s going okay. Hey, did you guys go to high school here?”

They both look at each other, then back to you. “Yep, graduated a year after dingus, though. Class of ‘86.”

Steve gave Robin an annoyed look at the nickname before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask?”

You pondered for a moment if it would be okay to tell them about Eddie. The program was supposed to be anonymous, but that was just to protect the kids. If he wasn’t allowed to give you his name they would have confiscated the letter, right? Bridges said the letters were vetted both ways, so if it was a problem he would have told you. But this seemed like a breach of privacy. You only had a first name to go off of and a vague description. He never said his age, so could be older than even you, or younger than Robin.

“Um, do you guys know anyone that goes by Eddie?”

They both perked up at the name, giving each other a look that you couldn’t read. You swore they could communicate telepathically.

Steve was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “Yeah, we know an Eddie. Why?” His tone was curious as he side eyed you.

“Oh, well my pen pal from the, uh, the prison thing. See his name is Eddie, and he told me that he’s from Hawkins. I don’t know much about him, but I think he may be close to my age and maybe he was in school with you guys-”

Robins laugh caught you off guard. “If it’s the same Eddie we know, then yes he was in school with us. Way longer than he was supposed to be, and we didn’t really get close until the end of my senior year.”

The look on your face prompted Steve to elaborate, “Eddie was -- is, a friend of ours that we got to know better through a mutual friend. He did go to prison a few years ago, but it was because he was scapegoated by a guy he bought weed from. We thought he was gonna go to jail for, like, the rest of his life or something. I had to convince my dad to get our lawyer that he keeps on retainer to represent him in court. The guy owed my dad a favor and he did it, Eddie only got five years.”

“There’s no way,” you said incredulously. Your jaw had to be on the floor. You knew this town was small, but was it really this small? Robin and Steve would be the type to forget to mention they had a friend in prison, too.

“What’s his last name?”

“Munson. Eddie Munson. We still talk to him on the phone every once in a while. Usually his uncle gets a hold of us, tells us that he’s going to call at a certain time so we can stay by the phone. Oh!” Steve stands up from his spot on the couch, clapping his hands, “I have my senior year book up stairs. He should be in it as long as he showed up to picture day.”

As Steve walks away, you turn to Robin, who has an amused look on her face.

“What?” You laugh, still in disbelief at the information that has been given to you. She shrugs, lips turned in a downward smile, “Nothing. So what do you and Eddie talk about?”

“What do we talk about? Not much really. We’ve only sent maybe two letters to each other. He always covers the letters in artwork though. They look like little tattoos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely our Eddie,” She shakes her head, “His notebooks that he would carry around with him are covered in art. He told us he’s given himself some tattoos while he’s been there. We keep telling him he’s going to look like a felon when he comes out.”

“Isn’t he a felon, though?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like it!”

“Found it!” Steve yells as he comes back into the living room, blowing the dust off the book. He plops down on the couch between you and Robin and starts to look through the pages. “See, the funny thing about Eddie, he was supposed to graduate in ‘84, but he kept fucking around and ended up repeating his senior year -- three times.”

“Holy shit,” you were in absolute disbelief, “he told me that in one of his letters. He said he was because the teachers didn’t like him, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say,” Robin chuckles.

“Ah-ha, He did show up! Here he is right here!”

Your eyes snapped to where Steve’s fingers pointed to the tiny black and white square. Eddie wasn’t kidding when he said his hair was super curly. The close up of his face makes his hair almost completely take the background out of the picture. You can barely see it but it looks like he’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt under a leather jacket and what you suspect to be the leather jacket he seems to treasure so much. When you finally let yourself focus on his face you’re met with a bright smile and dimples on either side. Dark eyes scrunched up from how high his cheeks were. You definitely would have had a crush on him if you had gone to the same school.

“Soooo…what do you think?” Robin sing-songs with an expectant look on her face.

You can feel yourself smiling and try to reign it in, “Well, he’s not a 40 year old biker looking guy with a beard so that makes me feel better. He looks nice, actually.”

“He’s a good guy,” Steve starts flipping through the pages of the book, “but everyone gave him shit because…of…this.” Stopping on another page in the book, you see a picture of a group of students leaning up against a wall, all of them wearing matching shirts.

“Hellfire Club?” You look between Steve and Robin.

“He hasn’t mentioned Hellfire Club?” Robin was baffled. “That’s like, his whole thing!”

You shake your head, brows furrowed,“What is it?”

“His D&D club? He’s seriously never brought it up?”

“No, not yet at least.” Taking the book from Steve, you get a better look at the picture. “Like I said, we've only sent a few letters back and forth. I wouldn’t say we’ve exhausted all of our topics for discussion yet.”

“You’ll never run out of things to talk about with Eddie,” Steve states sarcastically, “You’d think prison would have had an effect on his social skills, but that guy could talk for an hour about a crack he saw in the sidewalk.”

Hearing that made you wonder if he ever held back when writing to you. His letters were usually front and back all the way to the bottom of the pages. You wonder if they only allow him one page or if has to pay for the paper. Hopefully he wasn’t wasting his money to talk to you.

“When was the last time you guys talked to him?”

“Uh-“ Robin starts.

“It was still hot outside I think,” Steve interjects, “Like early September?”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, eyes wide, “September sounds about right.”

“Hmm, that’s around when we started writing to each other. I guess he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t know about me yet.”

“If it’s been that long we’re definitely due for a call from him.” Robin looks to Steve, you miss the mischief in her eyes, nor do you see the look he gives her back. “Maybe you could talk to him next time he calls us?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide meeting Robin’s gaze. You saw the look now and immediately started shaking your head in protest.

“No, no, Robin I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stand up from your spot on the couch, handing the yearbook back to Steve. Taking a few steps back to look at them, you bite one of your nails, thinking about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. “Actually, if he does call, I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t tell him you knew me either. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but…”

“Hey,” Steve stood up and placed a hand on your arm, “It’s cool. You didn’t know Eddie before, and you barely know him now. I think Robin just meant that you could get to know him more since he is our friend. He’s gonna get out of prison eventually and we promised him that we’d just continue on like how things were before.”

“But,” you look at Steve with worry in your expression, “being in prison that long can change a person.”

“Eddie is too stubborn to let anything break him of being himself. He didn’t repeat his senior year twice because he’s dumb. He did it because he was too busy with what he wanted to do to bother with his schoolwork.”

“Actually,” Robin says, “he said prison is easier because he gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to do math, so…”

“But,” Steve gets your attention again, “My point is that you don’t have to go out of your comfort zone to be his friend for our sake if you don’t want to. Just keep talking to him on your own and see how you feel.”

You swear these two really were the only good people in Hawkins.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded,” I’ll keep writing him, but I won’t mention that I know you two. Not yet at least.”

November 27th, 1994

Ever since your talk with Robin and Steve, your nightmares have changed. Now that you have a face to the name they’re not really nightmares anymore. Instead of a nameless, faceless voice at your door, you can see him through the peephole. He’s not knocking on your door with rage, but out of desperation. Still begging to be let in, but the lock is on his side. You hold the key in your hand, you just have to slide it under the door…

A sharp, grating ring wakes you from your sleep, eyes shooting open and taking in the room around you. The sun peaks from behind your bedroom curtains, the light just bright enough to pester the hangover migraine that’s already in full effect. You have to strain to get your eyes to focus on the numbers on your alarm clock that read just past noon.

The continuous ringing of the phone finally throttles you out of bed and into your kitchen. When you pick up the phone you hear Steve on the other end.

“Oh, good, you lived,” he exclaims, “Robin, she’s still alive!”

A muffled, “oh thank god” comes from the background in the receiver. You hadn’t anticipated being so emotional the night before, thinking you were past feeling sorry for yourself that you were alone on a holiday while your bastard ex had someone keeping your side of the bed warm every night.

All the emotions came up at Steve’s during dinner. It was just the three of you there, all with broken families. They had other friends who were home for the holidays, but they were doing their own thing this weekend. Robin and Steve insisted that you join in on the festivities but you declined, using not knowing them as an excuse.

Really you just wanted some alone time. Time to yourself, to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel without having to mask in front of strangers, brush off any awkwardness if the topic of your failed marriage were to arise.

You think Robin and Steve could tell that you were in your own head. They suggested taking you out to the only dive bar in town still open on the holiday, and assuming the place would be pretty dead, you said fuck it and all piled into Steve’s car. Sharing drinks and playing pool while metal music that made you think of your pen pal. You wondered what he was doing as you stepped outside to smoke a cigarette you bummed off an older, balding guy sitting at the bar.

After drinking so much that Robin had to drive your car home for you, their phone call really didn’t come as a surprise to you.

“Yes, god, I’m alive. Don’t yell into the phone, please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve some of the tension. The phone call is brief, Steve just wanting to check in on you and confirm that you didn’t want to participate in their outing.

“We’re going ice skating! And if you can’t skate, our friend Max would enjoy having someone sit on the sidelines with her.”

“Sorry, Steve,” you press your forehead against the cool wood of the door frame, “I’m sure everyone is very nice, but I’m just not feeling up to it.”

After a few cups of coffee and a long shower, you settle on your couch, flipping through the channels on the tv for something to watch and settling on a Beverly Hills: 90210 rerun marathon. It didn’t take you long to lose interest and you began fidgeting for something else to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your work bag on the floor at the end of your couch. The memory of tripping and knocking the bag over last night comes back to you, making you internally cringe at yourself. You grab the bag and see that the contents were an unorganized mess compared to how you normally keep it. The longer you looked the crazier it made you feel, so you carefully took the papers and folders out, laying them in front of you.

When you picked up your first period folder, the familiar envelope that you had forgotten a week ago fell out, landing in your lap. You quickly pick it up and open it, remembering that you hadn't even had the chance to properly finish reading it.

Something about seeing the letter again made you feel good. As you look at the artwork, you see the picture of the shirts his club members wore and smile as you realize he made the shirts himself.

You reread the description of himself and can laugh because he must have worn the same thing every day, recalling the holes in his jeans and his battle vest from his pictures. It was hard to imagine the wild mane of hair he had being cut short. Do they get conditioner in prison? Because his hair must be a mess without it.

Finally, you get to the part of the letter you hadn’t read. You felt your heart beating in your chest, an anxiousness building that you couldn’t explain.

“I’m running low on space to write and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you again, but I just wanted to ask-“

You’re thrown off when you see two lines of the letter have been blacked out with a black marker or sharpie. There’s no way to make out what was written, and the last line is just him wishing you a “happy whatever holiday you celebrate,” his real signature greeting you at the very bottom of the page. “What the hell?” You asked the empty apartment. The first assumption that comes to mind is that Eddie must have messed up what he was going to write and decided to black it out since he wrote in pen. Or maybe he wanted to write more, but realized he was running out of space? That would go with your theory that they are limited in the paper they can get.

There’s also the possibility he said something inappropriate and whoever checks the letters made him redact it. That was probably the least likely, but it makes you laugh to think about. Robin and Steve brought him up a few times while you were drinking and gave him the highest praises. But, you never know what someone would be willing to say or do when they’ve been touch starved for almost 5 years.

Butterflies invade your stomach when you think about it more. He’s probably had to take care of himself quite a bit while he’s been locked up. Where does one even do that in prison without prying eyes?

Your thighs clench together at the image you’ve conjured in your head. Steve had shown you some pictures of Eddie that he found from not too long before he went to prison. Sure, he resembled his yearbook picture, thin and lanky he once was. But the picture of him and Steve at a lake, both of them shirtless and clearly soaking wet, displayed muscles that he had likely gained from the mechanic job Robin mentioned he had. The tattoos that he had on his body were taking over, almost covering one of his arms completely.

The image of soaked curly hairs clinging to his face as he’s leaning into a shower wall comes to the forefront of your mind. Toned arms flexing as he holds himself against the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. You imagined his hands were rough and calloused from playing guitar and working on cars. He was long and hard as he pumped himself, water dripping off the tip with each down stroke. God, you can only imagine his face as he cums, a loud groan falling from his lips as he spills onto the shower floor, calling your name…

You throw yourself into the couch cushion next to you and physically cringe. Where the hell did that come from? Was this the result of your dry spell since you left Henry? A guy that you’ve never even met before gives you a little attention and your brain automatically goes into the gutter. Sitting up, you rub your face in your hands in an attempt to keep the scenario from replaying in your mind. At least you had successfully distracted yourself from the self pity you were wallowing in.

You roll onto your back, holding up the letter in your hand. You admire the artwork, the sloppy handwriting. A person wrote this letter. Someone who did something illegal and paid the price for it. Someone who is very loved and has an uncle waiting for him somewhere in this town, and friends who would do anything for him. And now, he’s writing you letters, and you wonder if he is feeling the same way that you are starting to feel…what are you feeling, exactly?

Sitting up from the couch, you grab a pen and paper from your bag.

“Hello Eddie” no.

“Hey, stranger” no.

“What’s up!” definitely not.

Another balled up paper tossed to the ground.

“Dear Eddie,” sure why not, “I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season yourself. Hopefully your uncle can come and see you for whatever you celebrate. If not, at least a phone call would be nice. Does the prison give you anything special for the holidays? Like a turkey for Thanksgiving, ham for Christmas, the traditional stuff. I spent the holiday with-”

Steve and Robin. You know them! I know who you are, too. Totally not weird, right?

“-my friends. They called it “Friendsgiving,” I think it had something to do with a TV show. None of us like to cook, so we ended up just picking up stuff at the store and then going out to a local bar. I’m writing this letter the next day, a little hungover I have to admit. But, writing this letter has helped distract me from the migraine I’m trying to stave off. It’s been very busy at school lately with projects, exams, a choir…thing? All that means for me is that I have mountains of paperwork to grade, and I spent the last month trying to get kids to turn in anything missing. It’s like trying to get squirrels to stay in a basket.

Winter break is just around the corner, though. Which means two weeks of getting to sleep in late, watching terrible TV reruns, and using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside. Although, I think my friends will manage to get me out of my apartment one way or another. I feel like a cat who was adopted by two dogs who share the same brain cell. But, they have helped me a lot over the last couple of months so I owe it to them to be their voice of reason sometimes.”

You pause and have a laugh to yourself. You think about all the ridiculous adventures the two of them have taken you on in the last few months, doing things that you would never have done before Henry. They’ve taken the hard metal bones out of your binding and started loosening the strings. You wonder if you would have even said yes to doing this letter thing if you hadn’t already had your boundaries pushed a little.

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but do you have any big plans for when you get out? Places you want to go? Food you want to try? People you want to see?”

You smile when you dot the last question mark. It feels sneaky to ask when you know that your meeting is inevitable, and there is a small voice in your ear telling you that he wouldn’t want to meet you. You’re boring. Simple. Dull. Only shades of grey fill your wardrobe, your heart, where there was once colour. Broken.

The new bottle of wine you got at the gas station stares at you from the kitchen.

Anyway.

“Hopefully you’re able to get out in time for the summer. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk outside as a free man and get to feel the sun on your skin? I think Hawkins is having a Rose festival again next year. There could be some inspiration there for you for your art, and if not, the funnel cakes are worth the admission price. Everything else is overpriced, but what isn’t nowadays?”

Filling the last bit of the back of the page, you felt it only fair to give a few details about yourself. Just a general description, nothing too revealing. Not that there was much to give away since becoming a professional educator has taken any creative freedom from your sense of style. You did tell him that on the weekends you treated yourself by wearing comfy clothes all day. You didn’t tell him that you only felt okay to do that recently, since your ex husband always expected you to look your best.

As you reached the bottom, you remembered the redacted section of his last letter. Do should you ask about it? Would he even be able to tell you? You went ahead and brought it up.

“Before I close this letter, I am curious to know why the last bit of your letter had been marked out. I can only imagine what you could have asked that it had to be taken out. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate, Mr.Banished.” You added a little “ha ha” in parentheses so he knew you were just joking, careful once again not to offend.

“Looking forward to your next letter,”

You signed your name, fighting the urge to draw a heart next to it like the girls in your class writing notes to their crush. There was no way that feeling like this for someone that you’ve only had correspondence through letters and the bit of hype from your mutual friends can be healthy. Grabbing the box of greeting cards that you had sat on the coffee table, you wrote some well wishes and folded your letter to fit within the confines of the red envelope. You took a look at it for the first time since Bridges had handed them over and your heart dropped.

In one of the ethics classes you took in college a classmate did a presentation on Pendleton Prison. It had just come out the year before that there had been an abuse of power and prisoners were basically being tortured. It was hard to observe but informative. You couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to Eddie. You wondered if the reason they were participating in this program to begin with was to help with their reputation. We’ll let them talk to some kids and it will seem like we’re not abusing our inmates.

You look at the wine bottle again.

It’s fine. If Eddie was going through something like that, surely he would have told Steve and Robin, his uncle. But you wanted to be sure. You walk into your kitchen.

December 25th, 1994

“…You can say hello when you see me. You don't have to be afraid. There's a lot of things going around about me, but none of it's true. Okay?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly close them when the harsh light of your tv playing Home Alone was too bright. Another dream about Eddie had taken over your mind in your sleep. You sit back to the door, the key in your hand. He doesn’t push you anymore, says to only give the key if you want to. That he enjoys your company no matter what.

Sigh.

As you sit up from the couch where you had dozed off the night before, you decide to make a cup of coffee and ring your brother.

“I could have come to get you. And brought you back. You know I don’t mind-“

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You have your own family now, I don’t want to dampen the mood,” you say as if you mean it. Coffee swishes around in your mug as you talk. It was true that your brother had a family of his own and was living the American dream. You liked that he invited you to be part of that, but you just couldn’t get past the notion that everyone would just look at you with pity. You’d rather be alone

Steve and Robin also invited you to Colorado with them. Steve’s parents had a house in Aspen where they were hosting Christmas this year. Steve insisted his parents wouldn’t care if you tagged along since they started to become fond of Robin. As much as seeing the beautiful snow covered mountains of Colorado sounds like a great reprieve for your mind, you still lied and told them you were going to your brothers. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The sound of Kevin McCallister’s hijinks in New York got your attention. The movie distracted you for a while, until it didn’t. You watched the tv -- well, rather you looked at it for until you stood up, deciding to get out of the house, even if just to drive around.

The movie-esque scenery of small town Hawkins covered in snow was quiet and still, say for the few cars that you passed likely on the way to see family, traveling between houses. Something you and Henry did to make things fair for both of you. Your mom’s house first, then his parents.

Cars sat outside the Hideout, piquing your interest as you watched a man get out of a pick up truck and walk inside. It was close enough to five o'clock that you decided to pull into the lot, pulling into a spot by the door. Inside you were surprised to see it fairly occupied, mostly by men who looked like they worked at the factory in town or drove the big rig that was parked on the side of the building. The patrons seemed to talk amongst themselves, some semblance of holiday cheer keeping their spirits alive as their glasses clanked and boisterous laughs filled the air.

Sliding into an empty bar stool, you grabbed your purse to get your ID and some cash.

“Ain’t ya little young to be sittin’ alone at a bar on Christmas?”

You looked up from your purse at the man sitting next to you at the bar. He sipped from his glass, cigarette smoke seeping from his lips, attention set on nothing in particular. He was an older man, bald on top and plenty of aging on his face, but you had the feeling he was younger than he looked. Some of his features felt familiar to you but you weren’t sure why.

“Um, well, I guess so,” you stutter as you set your purse down between your feet. “But, uh, I really didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

A hum and a nod, “I guess loneliness knows no age.” He huffed a laugh before getting the bartender's attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, no, please, you don’t-” you begin to protest, but he puts his hand up and waves you off.

“Trust me,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “I would be buying it for someone else if they could be here.”

Ah. You tell the bartender your order and the man tells him to put it on his tab.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile, turning towards him to speak as the bar patrons become louder. You paused for a beat before speaking again, “I’m sorry you’re alone today.”

“Makes no difference to me really, just another day to me,” he takes a sip of his beer. You almost miss it, but you see the flash of a smile on his face.

“Just another day, huh,” you say smugly, dipping your head into his line of vision. He must have realized he was smiling because he covered his hand with his mouth shyly, the motion a contradiction to his hard exterior. Clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat, opening from his hunched position to talk with you properly.

“It’s just another day, always been to me, but,” He looks at you for a moment, then back down into his beer, “I used to celebrate, for my boy. Haven’t gotten to do that properly in a while. I’m hopin’ this year will be the last, that next year will be different.”

His endearment made your eyes misty. “That’s so sweet,” you coo, putting a hand on coat covered arm, “I’m sure things will work out.” You pull back when your drink is dropped off, quickly taking a few sips.

The man watches you, his head shaking in your peripherals. “So, what’s really got ya out here celebrating with Hawkins finest? Besides the, uh,” he gestures vaguely, “cheerful atmosphere.”

You stay quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the straw floating in your drink. Deep breath in, and out. “Do you want the half truth or the full truth?”

His body bounces from a chuckle, “I got a little time.”

Pouring your heart out to a stranger over drinks felt therapeutic, and not in the same way as talking to Robin and Steve. He just listened, nodded his head, grunted in what you assume to be agreement. This man, who looks like he hasn’t taken a day off in his life, made you feel more valid with no words at all than anyone else has in your entire life besides your own mother.

“And now I’m, like, kinda into this guy, but he doesn’t know I exist,” your words are a little slurred as you take down another drink. “Sorry, no, he knows I exist, but he knows nothing about me. Like, he knows some things, but he doesn’t really know me, ya know?”

His head bobs up and down, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I feel weird feeling this way, because I would never have even considered a guy like him before. Henry, I told you about Henry, he was super uppity, snotty. A real tight ass. But, this guy is funny. Genuine, and his friends talk him up. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? Even if he is rough around the edges.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out with you and this guy, I outta introduce you to my nephew. He was always picked on in school for being different, but he’s a good kid. Just got into the wrong stuff,” the mans face sunk a bit, “My fault really.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “How so?”

“Heart attack. Had one while at work. Stayed in the hospital for a few, got the bill and almost had another one,” he chuckles at that. “I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘em, but he came over to visit and I forgot about it. Saw it sittin’ on the counter. Next thing I know he’s callin’ me sayin’ he’s booked on ‘possession with intent to distribute’. Buncha bull for some grass.” He put his cigarette out with a harsh stab. “But, he’ll be good soon. My deadbeat brother’s been keepin’ an eye on him in there and he’s been keeping his good behavior streak.”

“He sounds like a good kid,” you rest your cheek against the cool counter as you smile up at him.

“Yeah, he is.” His smile reaches his eyes, and so does yours.

“Well, gotta go, darlin’,” he slaps a couple bills on the counter and nods to the bartender, “Excpectin’ a call here soon. Get you some pretzels or somethin’ before ya take off.”

“Thank you,” your brows come together, “sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Names Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Wayne.”

thanks for reading.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson x yn #inmate!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson x reader #inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader #oto!eddie #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson st

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formosusiniquis · 1 year

Text

inspired by this post by @ruelogy

ao3

Eddie knows he got to Hawkins a little later than everyone else. He wasn't born and raised in the six miles of town with the same eight people his whole life. There was a whole social services kerfuffle that meant he didn't land in this small town hell hole until he was the ancient age of thirteen. He knows he's destined to forever be the freaky new kid with the shaved head and the group home eyes who joined in the eighth grade. But even without all that he is fucking positive that there was no Henderson in any of his three graduating classes.

Yet here Henderson the supposed younger sits painting him a mystery week after week. Steve said this, Steve did that, Steve may very well be a delusion if the way the others giggle and sigh every time he gets brought up is any indication. Cause it goes like this: Henderson comma Dustin is a fellow Hawkins transplant. Son of a single mother -- divorced or widowed, Eddie knows enough now to be sure that fueled the Hawkins gossip mill for weeks -- who brought her young son with her. Son, singular. Dustin joined the first grade class of Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and William Byers and that is as they say history. If there had been sons, plural, this mysterious older brother should have by all of Eddie's figurings joined Hawkins junior high right around the same time as a miserable Eddie. There should have been whispers about two new kids, there should have been someone for him to commiserate with, befriend.

Yet week after week young Dustin sits at Hellfire spinning yarns of a brother who was, what, homeschooled? Sent to a private military academy? Boarding school? Stayed at home with the mysterious father that Dustin doesn't mention -- and Eddie knows enough about fathers that go unmentioned not to break the silence -- but suddenly decided after he graduated to come join his mother and brother in Hawkins? Cause the thing is, Hawkins isn't that big. If pressed he's pretty sure he could name at least 90% of both of the classes he was supposed to graduate with and at least 75% of the group he's stuck with this year. He'd at the very least recognize them on sight, and not just cause he's dealt to the greater portion of the high school. Eddie pays attention, there are only like 400 students at the high school at any time, he should by all accounts be able to say, "Oh yeah that scrawny, bespectacled loser is Steve Henderson."

Except maybe there is no Steve Henderson, he's already faintly sure there's no Suzie so what's one more fictional friend from Dustin Henderson. Maybe this Steve is just the product of a fractured mind brought on by too much hands on parenting. Eddie knows people think all of his bad behavior is the product of underparenting, but if the opposite causes imaginary siblings he'll take the hand he got thank you very much.

Cause, sure he's doing his best to be third time lucky with this whole high school thing. He does know that compared to the should be starry eyed, but actually unsettlingly wary freshmen he is an ancient being of chaos. Yes, he feels every ounce of the five year gap between 19 and 14 when he speaks to them. But beyond all of that, he is still young. Still capable of swooning now and then; and the now is when Dustin describes his big brother and the then was all the other times Henderson the older has been detailed.

"Well that's cause I'm not really sorry, Mike," Henderson is on a tear already when he makes it to Hellfire, "I told you I have plans already."

"It's not that big a deal," Lucas placates, "we can do it another day."

"My parents won't be out of town another day," Mike sneers, "Will, you wouldn't ditch out on an all night Nintendo marathon for a date with Steve would you?" He says it like Will is the voice of the populace or something.

Maybe he is, and going by the way Will flushes a bright pink up to his bowlcut the voice of the people would in fact rather go out with Steve Henderson than hang out in a basement playing video games.

"It's not a date, he's my brother, and yeah dude I'm gonna skip out on watching you scream at Mario to go to an all night Stephen King movie marathon." Dustin says.

And swoon. That sounds like a dream.

"Like Steve would ever do something that cool, you can just say your mom won't let you come over cause my parents aren't gonna be home." Mike is surlier than usual, a trait he has noticed happens a lot when Henderson the elder gets broached. Eddie's theories range from misplaced sibling jealousy to repressed queer crush on Steve.

"C'mon kiddies save the tantrums for your mommies," he doesn't have a taste for it regardless of the answer, puberty is a bitch he's glad to be seeing the back of and Wheeler can go from being an angel to the kind of brat you do want to narc on just a little. "The rest of us have hoards to slay, maidens to save, things that don't involve listening to your play date fall apart."

He desperately wants to ask Henderson where they're movie night is taking place, because it sounds amazing and not at all because he wants to finally see this mysterious brother.

“It wasn’t even mine!” Henderson is moaning by the time Eddie makes it from O’Donnells to the cafeteria. He wasn’t that late, five minutes to plead his case for his grade at most, but Henderson could monologue with the best of them and it took about as much to get the kid going as it did Eddie, which was saying something.

“And you and Erica made fun of what was under my bed.” Lucas says with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.

“What was under your bed?” Will asks.

“We are not going to let Dustin get out of the fact that his Mom found his Star Trek porn that easily,” Mike shrieks, he sounds like he’s trying to mind his volume but it’s still too loud for a public venue, “You gave me shit for weeks about that Penthouse you found under my bed.”

“We gave you shit because you stole it from your dad,” Lucas corrects, not that anyone but Eddie hears it.

Cause as Lucas speaks Dustin is shouting, “It wasn’t fucking mine! It has to be Steve’s but try telling my mom anything about her favorite son.”

Three sets of disbeliving eyes look over at Dustin, but it’s Mike who says, “There’s no fucking way anyone is gonna believe it was Steve’s dude, just give it up.”

“I don’t even like Star Trek that much!”

Eddie has been having dreams of a mystery boy with a gorgeous head of hair and Dustin’s sweet smile. He likes horror but will pretend to get scared so he has a reason to hide his face in Eddie’s neck, and when he gets there he’s a biter. “Now, now Henderson, what kind of self-respecting nerd doesn’t enjoy the dulcet tones of Mr. Spock.”

Henderson wrinkles his little nose, what a twerp or maybe he’s thinking of his brother’s zine again, “It’s okay, but who goes to sci-fi for philosophy when you could watch space battles and deathstars.”

Eddie spares a prayer for Dustin’s English grade. “Well at least one Henderson has taste.”

He’s never had a younger sibling in Hellfire before, Gareth and Joey are only children and Jeff is way older than his miracle baby sister, so it is a treat to watch the way Henderson goes red, white, and then green as he cycles through a series of emotions surrounding his brother so fast it gives Eddie a headache.

“Dude, he probably bought it for you not knowing what it was,” Mike says, “it’s not like Steve is watching Star Trek.”

"You didn't see it."

"Maybe it was a prank?"

Eddie tunes them out, returning to the Steve in his imagination. They're slipping out of the movie they just finished, the one they bought tickets for, Steve giggles -- Eddie thinks he'd have a nice laugh, thinks he makes his brother laugh a lot -- and tugs him into The Voyage Home. "You gonna think of your favorite captain while we hide in the back row, Stevie?"

"Kirk is an Admiral now, he has been for three movies. Some fan you are."

He wonders if it’s creepy, this mental file he’s compiling on Henderson’s brother. It’s not like he knows the guy, truly a backwards fucking miracle in this two stoplight nothing of a town, but Eddies’ always liked something that he can sink his teeth into and pull apart. That’s what Steve Henderson feels like to him, like if a rubix cube was also a steak. He’s lost track of the metaphor in his own head, it’s whatever.

Cause Steve Henderson loves horror movies, but watches sappy romance flicks with his mom when they both have the same day off. Steve Henderson’s favorite color is yellow, but he only wears it on days that he can barely get out of bed; Dustin says that like it’s a warning sign for the others “Steve has his yellow sweater on today,” explaining away his absence at the arcade that afternoon. Steve Henderson could have any girl he wants -- this factoid Eddie takes with a salt, lime, and tequila -- but he never goes on dates anymore and only hangs out with his best friend and coworker. Steve Henderson baked a brownie so good Jeff moaned in the middle of Hellfire but can only over or undercook pasta when he tries.

Dustin loves his brother. Dustin thinks he’s the worst person to ever grace this side of the planet.

That Eddie thinks is at least typical for siblings, barring the Byers who seem to be so close knit they’d put the Bradys to shame.

“Henderson, my man, why the long face? We’re about to begin the most dangerous leg of your quest yet!” Hellfire was getting a delayed start -- the drama club was actually using their prop closet, go figure -- it was just him and Henderson lurking outside so Eddie did have to find his fun where he could get it.

“Steve and Robin went up to Indianapolis and they’re gonna be gone the whole weekend.” And yeah, he probably could have guessed it was about big brother Henderson. Dusty has the cutest case of hero worship when he wasn’t wishing big brother dead. “They say they aren’t dating, and it’s just for her birthday, but a weekend trip seriously it screams romance.”

“And you’re mad they didn’t bring you?”

“I could have been out of the way! Do you know the kind of specialty tech shops they have up there? I need some things you can't get in Hawkins to improve Cerebro and it's twice as much to get them mail order. I could make myself scarce for a couple hours so they can get it on.

He smacks the bill of Dustin’s cap, knocking it down over his eyes, but nobly refrains from giving him a noogie, “Dusty if you ever want to pop your little Mormon girl’s cherry, maybe don’t say shit like ‘get it on.’”

“Suzie is an angel, don’t be crude, man.” Dustin’s hands are quick as they smack him away, that must be another little brother trait.

“An angel, huh, another point in the ‘girlfriend isn’t real’ category. How many imaginary friends do you have, kid? A girlfriend in Utah and a brother that no one but your party has seen.”

The rest of Hellfire starts to trickle in, having used their time waiting for their table more wisely than Eddie has. Dustin’s comment is delayed only momentarily as he says hi to the rest of the freshmen that he definitely saw only a few minutes ago. “For the record, Suzie is very real. And you…” It’s the way he trails off that makes Eddie nervous, the way a light goes on in his eyes that sets the hair at the back of his neck on end. His danger instincts are finely honed and that's the same, 'I'm smarter than you look' Henderson was wearing when he managed to sniff out half the traps Eddie had laid out last session. "You should meet Steve, I bet I could get him to pick us up next week instead of Nancy."

He thinks this must be what the raccoons behind the trailer park feel like. The obvious trap of the shiny silver cage that's been baited so sweet it's hard to resist walking in anyway. "Sure, Henderson, tell the mysterious brother to stop by. Have him bring one of those zines that definitely belongs to him."

Dustin is especially vicious as dispatches with every creature that Eddie throws at him that day. It’s hard to be that upset, he’s feeling pretty fat and happy sitting in whatever animal control rodent trap Henderson thinks he’s got him in.

The next week’s session comes in a haze of vague daydreams and intense session prep. He’s had Steve Henderson on the brain for so long that he all but forgot about his little tête-à-tête with Dustin the week before. Forgot if not for the way that Baby Henderson is vibrating at the Hellfire lunch table when Eddie arrives.

“Steve is coming to get us from Hellfire today!” Eddie personally thinks this doesn’t quite deserve the level of reaction that it’s getting, but Henderson is so worked up no one even needs to prompt him to keep him going. “He had to leave right after his weekend trip to go deal with lawyers and shit.”

“Are they still..?” Lucas trails off, he’s clearly concerned but for all that Eddie hates that the kid is looking down the barrel of jock life he is extremely emotionally adept.

“Mom and Steve both said it was handled now. They won’t answer me when I ask any questions.”

Ominous, everything about Steve Henderson was so fucking weird. A kid who didn’t exist all through high school, that he’s never seen in town, who has lawyers now?

“Maybe Hop could,” the kid started to ask, hopeful.

“Mom says that it’s Steve’s business and we should all stay out of it unless he asks for our help.” Will responds by rote, something he’s clearly already tried before.

“So the infamous Steve Henderson is going to grace us with his presence today?” Eddie knows the answer already, but like most of his vices he can't resist indulging.

"He's taking us all out for ice cream after," Dustin agrees, "you could come too Eddie, I'm sure Steve wouldn't mind!"

"Steve minds everything," Mike grouses.

"Steve always buys your triple scoop sundae."

Eddie thinks Steve Henderson would have elegant fingers. He thinks about how they might toy with the straw of his milkshake while he smiles, coy and teasing, at Eddie, who he's charmed by. This Steve lets Eddie snatch the cherry from his drink, blushes when he gets his stem returned tied in a knot by Eddie's tongue.

"Well if Steve is buying, who am I to refuse an invitation?"

He does not end Hellfire early because Steve Henderson is coming.

He does, by pure coincidence, need to piss 15 minutes before things are set to wrap up. If that gives him enough time to clean himself up a bit that's just luck. This isn't for Steve Henderson.

His bathroom break, and definitely not pre-date primp session, puts him at the back of the pack when Steve Harrington's maroon beemer pulls into the lot. It feels a little bit like sophomore year again. When his hair was in another awkward stage of growing out and curled around his ears, he didn't have his mom to help him with the curls anymore and he didn't know what to do with them now that they seemed to twist and turn in new directions post-buzz. He caught the sweetest looking boy with puppy dog eyes staring and he'd been so embarrassed about getting caught he'd touched his own locks. Hairsprayed into oblivion and locked firmly into place the touch was ripped away and a shy, 'what can you do' smile was shared between the two of them. It feels a bit like junior year when Steve Harrington broke the keg stand record as a sophomore. Rounding the corner from tipsy into drunk or maybe bypassing it altogether for blackout, he wandered over into Eddie's domain. He had that same shy little wave, but a stronger confidence. He sidled up to Eddie and wrapped a curl around a finger. He tugged, just a bit, the way kids do when they want to see if it'll bounce back. "Yknow you'd be pretty if you were a girl." The slip slide of his definitely drunk tone didn't take Eddie out at the knees any less.

The car curves up closer to the front steps and Henderson is shaking like a rocket leaving Canaveral. He actually starts to take a step toward the still moving car when four hands clamp down on him saving Steve last-name-to-be-determined from a vehicular manslaughter charge. Eddie is the last to release him when he hears that car slide into park. The engine has barely had time to rumble to a stop before Steve Harrington is out of it. A toothy smile splits his face and, hidden behind Byers and Wheeler, Eddie watches as Steve Harrington proceeds to engage in the nerdiest fucking handshake he's ever seen. Steve Harrington finishes dying by what seems to be lethal lightsaber disembowelment and waves at the other three teens.

"Alright let's rock n roll if you twerps want ice cream before I drop you off. Joyce will kill me if you're late."

"Steve, can Eddie come with us?"

As Henderson asks Eddie now sees the exact size and shape of the trap he is in. The actually dweeby, dungeon master and drug dealer forced to watch the hot, once cool older brother bow to the obligation of Midwestern courtesy now that he's been ambushed with Eddie's existence. Or worse he'll have to stand there and pretend to be unbothered while King Steve shoots both Hendersons hopes and Eddie's dreams in the face with one curled lip.

He never could have imagined the furrow of confusion between his brows. The way lips wrap themselves around his name, tasting it. He hadn't, in his many fantasies, pictured golden brown eyes though he often thought of them snapping up to him like they were now.

A rosy blush blooms across Steve's face. He has the same shy finger wave he did as a freshman. "Depends, Dust, are you gonna give up your shotgun dibs or are you gonna make your troop leader sit in the back with the rest of the Party.”

He watches as if in slow motion as Henderson lunges for Steve, the elder is laughing as the younger wraps his arms around his neck. There is something very intensely attractive about the lingering jock of it all. How Steve is still upright even as his teenage brother dangles from his neck. “You know it’s Dungeon Master, you get it right with Erica!”

“I have a lot of respect for Erica, the things she does with goblins and kobolds is masterful. You asked me about the lead up to a trap so obvious it felt like an eagle scout showing his little cubbies poison ivy." It's bitchy and nerdy in all the best ways, and then Steve H- Steve looks up at him and winks, "No offense, Munson."

"None taken, Stevie." That seems to catch them both by surprise, the lack of a certain last name to fall back to -- and weeks of imagining what it might be like to interact with the guy who is and isn't right in front of him -- has Eddie overly familiar. "I drove here though." His van stands like a monolith alone in the middle of an empty parking lot.

"Oh."

"But I could meet you there? Are you going to the Dairy Queen by the library or the haunted one?"

"It's not actually haunted," Byers pipes in with frightening sincerity.

"But yeah, the haunted one," Steve says with a boy next door grin.

"Then I will meet you and your charges there Sir Henderson." He bows and only immediately regrets it, now that the once Harrington lord of the school is out of his line of sight. His brain feels like it could short out, faulty wires sparking against memories and daydreams and general hormones.

A sheepie he saved from the slaughter snorts, another - probably Mike - whispers "Gross." There's a grunt that Eddie hopes is the traitor catching an elbow from one of the others.

But it doesn't. fucking. matter because Steve Whatever laughs, practically giggles at Eddie and his antics.

And Dustin's rocket has come in for a rough landing, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Steve's hand envelopes the top of Dustin's head, he nearly palms it. It's not quite a noogie, more like he shakes his head for him. "Dusty-bun, why would you regret introducing me to your Dork Mother?"

"I'm gonna tell Ma you're being a bitch again."

"She won't believe you, I'm her favorite." He shoots another wink toward Eddie, a joke he's being allowed in on.

Level headed Dustin Henderson, who explained to him, in depth, how getting overly emotional impairs higher level critical thinking, stomps his foot. "You're so full of shit."

"I am. She chose me, she got stuck with you."

"Steve!"

He laughs at the despair he's caused, ruffling cap covered hair again until Dustin stomps out of reaching distance to climb in the Beemer with the other boys. Brown eyes are bright with mischief when he looks to Eddie, and he's struck by a thought. He was right, he hadn't ever met Steve Henderson before today. This is not the same boy who sat in the cafeteria with a closed mouth smile listening to Tommy H. and Carol. "Let me walk you to your car?" He asks.

"It's right there, Stevie, and do you really want to leave that band of miscreants alone with your car?" He's playing with fire, but the fear of getting burned has never stopped him before. He leans in close, whispers, "They might steal it."

Steve pales, a haunted look in his eye. He shakes it off, squeezing his eyes shut tight, and that soft smile slips across his face again. "Let me watch you leave then." That smile slides into a smirk, as he looks Eddie up and down.

He was right about getting burned, his face feels like it's on fire as he flees the scene. His tail is definitely not tucked between his legs because Steve is absolutely staring at his ass right now. He doesn't remember how walking is supposed to feel, but it's probably not like this. It would be embarrassing, the fact that he probably looks like a baby deer discovering he has knees for the first time, if it weren't more important that he makes sure each foot is planted so he doesn't acquaint himself with the ground below him. Safely encased in the van, he chances a look through the windshield and confirms that Steve is watching him.

He waves, and yeah it is gratifying to see the guy who at one point had half the girls in school fawning over him duck his head like he's embarrassed at getting caught staring. Sinclair leans up from the back seat, Eddie watches him clap Steve on the shoulder and make a comment on… something, probably him. It makes the rest of the car laugh and Steve thunk his head down on the steering wheel. The horn sounds, an echoing burst of noise that cuts off just as quickly as it starts when Steve jumps in his seat. The seat belt stops his jump short, and he sends another flustered wave Eddie's way when he notices him still watching.

Maybe he'll mention this to Little Red, his new neighbor has mentioned stealing young Henderson's brother and making him a Mayfield instead. A joke that makes a little more sense now. Sinclair has been making moon eyes at her and baby Hopper at lunch for the last week. That will be a better punishment than anything Eddie could do to him at the table.

He waves back at Steve, gives him his most winning smile -- the one he practiced in the mirror for charming pretty boys if he ever got out of the armpit of Indiana. Mimes driving like he's in a bad movie. Across twenty feet and two windows, he can't hear Steve laugh, needs to get to somewhere where he can. He can see the smile though, the dorky thumbs up.

He lets the Beemer pull out in front of him, watches it for just a moment as reality sets in. Reality. He's going to meet Steve Henderson for soft serve. It's a dream come true.

Arwen shifts into gear, and he slides out behind Steve and the sheepies. A whole new world of daydreaming unlocked.

Maybe next week Steve Henderson will let Nancy pick the kids up next week. He'll slip in the back doors of the school, unnoticed by everyone. Stealth bonus obscene for a fighter class. Eddie is moving slow as he moves minis and graph paper maps into the tackle box Wayne gave him, back to the door he misses his rogue slip through the door until he's already grappled.

"Was it a good game, Munson? You win?"

"It's not like one of your sports, Henderson, the wins aren't as clear cut."

Hands start to wander, "Isn't any time you pull one over on the Party kind of a victory?"

"In which case I do stand victorious, your sweet baby brother lost his brand new axe to a mimic."

"Hmm, you know what we used to do after a victory in my 'sports?'"

A hand has migrated to an especially interesting place. "What?"

"We'd hit the showers."

Eddie shakes himself out of the daydream, easing just the smallest bit harder onto the accelerator. He needs something to cool himself off with. He also really wants to see Steve again, to make up for lost time.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #steve henderson #eddie munson #ruelogy #inspired by another amazing tumblr ficlet #it put worms in my brain and then this happened

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lover-of-mine · 8 months

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I'm here to argue my case about how Eddie fell first and has in fact been semi-aware of his feelings since season 3 and it's currently dealing with the way he thinks he'll have to be the best man on Buck's wedding. So sit down, buckle up, grab your delusional drink of choice (today I'm drinking my delusional tea lol), and let's go.

Okay, given season 6 information, we know Buck and Eddie are roughly the same age and we know Eddie was pursued by Bobby and Bobby wanted a partner for Buck (unrelated but Bobby so hoped the military guy would balance out Buck and for a while there he ended up with two very impulsive firefighters and he definitely had a few what the hell have I done moments lol) so it's kinda safe to assume that Buck was one of the selling points of the 118 because Buck is a very competent firefighter and they would be on the same shift. So Eddie went in with the expectation of someone his age he could befriend. I'm making some assumptions but the internet tells me the academy takes a year, we know Eddie still doesn't have a permanent childcare plan, so this man is interacting outside of the academy exclusively with his 7 yo, his abuela, and tia for a year, so I think that the idea of having a friend his own age was appealing to him. Especially after the army and Shannon leaving him. So much so that with his sharp edges, you can actually read things like "I'd go lower" or "you're in the wrong light, man" as attempts to create a bond, very awkward I haven't tried to make friends in forever attempts but attempts nonetheless because he's trying to be helpful. Buck is being Buck, but even Eddie says I hear you're a good guy, so dude is trying to understand what's happening, what's setting Buck off, and while he matches Buck's energy after the gym conversation, he actually continues to try and bond with Buck with the thing that actually works and the "you're badass under pressure" that is still another attempt to get through to Buck. I have various theories about the way Eddie keeps trying to start something, the one I like the most and the most painful one is about how Eddie has had the weight of the world on his shoulders forever. And he had to grow up really fast, and then there is Buck annoying him about nicknames and discussing his body fat percentage, and with all that really carefree energy season 1 and beginning of season 2 Buck had that he probably wanted to know what it felt like. But Buck is Buck and Buck also wanted a friend so dude imprinted on Eddie like a baby duck. But Eddie doesn't mind, like before Bobby comes in to say who got the spot on the calendar, Eddie looks amused by Buck not annoyed. But up until now, that's casual. They're coworkers.

Then we have the earthquake. We know Christopher is Eddie's whole world and he's very careful about the people he lets into their life, considering the earthquake happened on Maddie's first day on the floor and she must've had some sort of training before that, it's safe to assume that Eddie didn't mention Chris at the firehouse for at least a few weeks and he is very hesitant to tell Buck about him, but again Buck is Buck and he switches into reassurance mode and that's when Eddie actually lets him in. I actually would love it if we had an explanation as to why Buck drove Eddie to Chris' school after the shift, but it's something that he went from being hesitant to even mention he existed to introducing Buck to him. But then we have the moment Buck becomes his ride-or-die, you imprinted on me but now I'm hanging on to you, with the whole going to the hospital with him because of abuela and also the way that Buck clears Chris staying at the firehouse before Eddie thinks to do it.

This moment right here it's what gets Eddie. He's ready to apologize and justify and he doesn't have to because Buck stepped up to do something simply because he realized Eddie needed help and he could do something about it. Eddie is doing everything alone and he needs help but he doesn't know how or who to ask for it and Buck just steps in and does it before he needs to ask. And then there's Carla. Buck tricks him into showing up and literally hands him the solution to his problems because Buck knows Eddie wouldn't accept it if Buck had said what that was about beforehand, but at no point does Buck make it seem like Eddie is a bad parent for needing help. And I think with the whole thing with his parents trying to take Chris from him, that really does something.

I really like to use the second gif here as a major example of Eddie's heart eyes for Buck, but the first one, when he realizes who Carla is and what she can give him completely changes his demeanor. He was ready to be polite, was probably trying to figure out a way out without saying he was still married, but instead, Buck does something that not only makes Eddie's life easier but makes Christopher's exponentially better. And right then, Eddie is done for. I'm not saying he fell in love with Buck here, I'm just saying right here is when Eddie goes you're stuck with me now dude, and let his guard down with Buck, as much as this Eddie can at least. That's when something starts for him. You can't change my mind on this one. But for now, there's the Shannon of it all, because Eddie does love Shannon but their relationship is beyond complicated.

But Buck is still constant through Shannon and I think that's important, actually, because Eddie is having trouble trusting Shannon and I feel like having Buck around helps him not go straight to the worst-case scenario all the time. I don't have a point in mentioning this, it's just a clear show of how much Eddie already trusts Buck, but to have Buck go with him to take Chris to see Santa is so wild. Who takes their best friend to see Santa with their kid? Like, what?? But Isn't it interesting that Eddie decides to propose again after Buck asks when is the wedding? I find that fascinating really. Then Shannon dies, Buck almost dies, dude goes into move past it mode but the seed is there. Forever thinking about the wistful shot of Eddie saying almost after Hen says things are back to the way they should be. Something else about the finale it's that it's the first in the list of irrationality moments from Eddie regarding Buck. Eddie is a firefighter, he's objectively stronger than Chimney, so the logical thing to be done is to have Eddie helping lift the truck and Chim treating Buck. But no, at that moment he's a medic who's there to hold Buck's hand. He's just holding Buck's hand. He could've left Buck with Hen and go help lift the truck. But no, he's staying by Buck's side.

But season 3 is when things HAPPEN. We start out strong with the sheer excitement on Eddie's face that Buck is going back to work. Then the way Eddie just hands Christopher over to Buck without a single worry. "Oh, you're falling apart? Here's a kid, he will help" and just goes. We focus a lot on Buck's reaction to them finding Chris because it is what the show wants us to focus, this is the moment Buck looks at Chris and goes "shit I really love that kid" but Eddie looking back at Buck as he holds Chris is interesting. Eddie just went through 30 seconds (actually it's 1 minute 4 seconds from the moment Eddie notices Buck to Eddie having Chris in his arms not that it matters) of the worst possible moments in a parent's life and I guess, since Buck didn't have Chris, and Buck was too shaken to explain what had happened, he assumed Buck lost Chris during the first wave and he's looking back because he's shocked he saved not only himself but Chris from the wave, but from his focus to shift to Buck like that it's interesting. Even more, considering the way he barges into the loft to hand Chris over again. "There's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you" I'm sorry, there's no platonic explanation for the wording of this, okay? This is a man who looked at his honest to god wife, the mother of his child, and said "I can forgive you, I'm just not sure I can trust you" and trust is always the thing Eddie struggles with. To trust someone with Christopher is Eddie's ultimate show of love because it's what makes sense with his character, he is loyal until it kills him but nothing goes above Christopher. Also, Mr. Kids are signs hands over his own child to someone and I'm not supposed to look at that and go "huh wonder what he's feeling"? And there's the lawsuit of it all. Eddie gets that mad because he misses Buck and has no idea what to do with it. Because he got used to being a priority to Buck and he cannot handle the idea that maybe he's not. He's struggling, Chris is struggling and he needs Buck to do the thing he does where he fixes the problem without Eddie having to ask. But Buck has no real responsibility to Eddie or Chris, you can't really expect your best friend to base his life decisions on what's best for you. But it is the expectation Eddie has. He needs Buck to consider him. He needs Buck to be there for him no matter what. And at this point, when he's screaming at Buck as if they are a divorced couple, he's aware of something. He's definitely aware of something he doesn't want to look too closely at.

Because being left by Buck leaves him completely off balance. And since Eddie is famous for not dealing with the shit he's feeling, things keep escalating because anger it's easier. Anger he can deal with. But in the end, he just wants Buck back so he forgives him the second he lets Buck speak. Because he wants the Buck that looks right through him, he wants what they have back. And he doesn't hesitate once he does. There are definitely some lingering feelings about how he kept pushing Shannon away and then she died and he "lost" time he could've had if he had let her in after he sought her out, so when Buck apologizes he just goes let's go team and moves on because tomorrow isn't promised to anyone.

But I think there's something important to take into consideration, that it's Eddie's therapy session. He talks about not feeling anything, good or bad, and the his feelings are boxed thing and how he doesn't know what to do with them and yes, that comes back into play later, but it is important that Eddie doesn't name his feelings and he consistently tries to box them and move past them instead of feeling them, and it gets to a point where he's doing this even to positive things. So he is not looking too closely as to why missing Buck throws him off balance. He's all let's go back to the way things were and they do. Forever seeking for a heterosexual explanation to the kitchen scene in 3x09 but I also do think there are different types of tension between them there. Because while Buck is teasingly trying to get Eddie to admit on what had happened and how Buck's absence was a trigger for Eddie's fight club era in his flirty way of his, Eddie is trying to make him stop talking in a real "man don't make me look at what happened too closely" because he doesn't know what he'll find. Or if he's ready to find it. Considering the whole widower who never processed a big emotion in a healthy way he has going on there. But Buck is a really steady presence in Eddie's life, and Buck does his best to not put them in the lawsuit situation again, he's around, he's helping Eddie with parenting issues and then we have the well.

The well is a pivotal moment. Not just because of the sheer amount of Buck in Eddie's I need to keep fighting montage and the way Buck is acting above the ground, but because of the way Eddie changes his will after that and chooses to hide the fact that he did. Eddie has parents who are more than willing to raise Christopher, he has sisters, he has a lot of blood relatives that he could assign as Chris' guardians if something happens, but he chooses Buck. He chooses a firefighter, who is not only a firefighter, it's also his partner so if Eddie ends up in a life-threatening situation, Buck will probably be there too, so it's not the biggest safeguard. Buck is also single and without kids of his own. He also has known Buck for what? 2 years at that point? Eddie's lawyer probably stared at Eddie in disbelief when Eddie explained the situation. But the real thing about the will is that Eddie doesn't talk about it. Dude had some revelations while under all that mud because the only reason he wouldn't tell Buck is if he couldn't tell Buck without talking about himself. That's the only explanation for why he would hide it. Because Buck would ask why him, why now, like he did when Eddie did finally tell him, but right then Eddie can't shift the focus back to Buck. But there's a very subtle change in the way Eddie acts around Buck after the well. And again, sure, you can play off Eddie's reaction to when Buck wants to do something dangerous as he needs Buck to stay alive, but you can't really apply that logic to the way Eddie acts about Abby. Like, Eddie is petty to girls who want Buck, that's a fact. And Eddie is petty about Abby, but he also gets unsure about his place in Buck's life when he sees Buck's reaction to seeing Abby. And they focus on Eddie there. We get Eddie's reaction to that interaction. That means something.

We get Eddie legit feeling insecure about his place in Buck's life over the fact that Abby is there. And Eddie knows Abby as this entity, the one that got away, the person responsible for Buck being the way he is, because that's the way Abby is talked about, and sure, if I was in Eddie's shoes, only seeing the damage someone did to my best friend and then have them risking their life because of whatever lingering feelings are still there, I would also reserve myself the right to hate them, but it's more than that. Like, the way he backs away from the both of them once Buck goes into protector mode.

"Abby, His fiancée's Abby." *stomps away*. Absolutely insane interactions happen there that paint Buck as still hung up on Abby, even more after the whole thing with Red, but if you look at it with the right lenses, it paints Eddie as jealous of the way Buck is willing to put himself in danger to keep someone who broke him happy.

Every reaction from Eddie in the train wreck feels so calculated to give this idea that he's unsure of his place in Buck's life. His face when he realizes who he's talking to, his hand hovering over Buck's shoulder like he wants to comfort him but doesn't know if he can, the way he looks at Buck after Abby and Sam are in the ambulance. He's completely off balance at the sight of the ghost of Buck's great lost love and I'm supposed to believe that man is just experiencing platonic friendship feelings about his best friend? Come on.

Season 4 is complicated. Because of the Ana and Taylor of it all. They do have the easy banter, Eddie being someone Buck can rely on during the whole mess with his parents, a few scenes of Buck completely comfortable in Eddie's space and Eddie just moving around him like he's meant to be there, but we know the Ana of it all happens because of external pressure. Eddie thinks he needs to date, so he grabs onto the first woman he can. The way his whole body relaxes when he realizes Christopher is with Buck is actually insane. But even though he's dating, he's holding on to Buck in a way. Absolutely obsessed with how much he hates Taylor. Dude legit looks like he's fantasizing about running her over with the fire engine while watching Buck and Taylor interact making Buck ignore him.

But then Eddie gets shot. Say whatever the fuck you want Eddie reached for Buck. He thought he was dying. And he reached for Buck.

Eddie's been aware of something he doesn't want to look at too closely since the lawsuit that became harder to ignore after the well that he became fully aware of when he got shot. I know that what we have now says Eddie doesn't remember the shooting but wouldn't it be beautiful if he lied because he can't say what he remembers because everything he remembers is about Buck? The dramatic effect of I'm lying to you because I realized I loved you then but I can't tell you that now? Ugh. Anyway, Eddie got shot, things fell into place when he hit the ground, terrible place to have an oh! moment though. Dude just got shot, he's bleeding out, and the thing he gathers the rest of his energy is to ask if Buck is hurt. Sure, you can look at that as I think I'm dying so one of us has to make it home to Chris, but the possibility of it being an I love you I need to know you're okay before this kills me it's there. But he doesn't die. And when he wakes up Buck tells him it would've been better if he had been shot. You can see it on Eddie's face that he kept rehearsing what he was going to say about the will. Something else is the way that Ali takes Buck home after the truck so it would honestly make sense if Ana took Eddie home but he probably asked Buck to do it. That scene feels like an aborted love confession. "You act like you're expendable but you're wrong" the way he's saying you're not spare parts, you're not less important, you matter so much to me. Eddie knows Buck, he knows Buck associates love with pain. He wouldn't actually say something after he almost died, but it feels like he's working up to something. Sure he needs to break up with Ana, but there's time before he heals and can just, do something about it. But then Taylor fucking Kelly is in his welcome home party. He knew Buck and Taylor were working up to something. He knows Taylor being there means it happened. A violent reminder that Buck is straight (debatable) and doesn't feel the same (also debatable). So back to safety, he goes.

I need to know who decided that having this particular look when they are literally talking about how Eddie is about to meet Ana's whole family was the way to go.

Also, can you believe Eddie needed Buck's approval to break up with the girlfriend he didn't even want to date anyway?

Season 5 is complicated because of Eddie's PTSD, 5A has a lot of Eddie pulling away because of the way he knew when the dam broke it wouldn't be pretty and he didn't want to take down anyone with him. But even when we see Eddie out of the job, we see him making an effort to include Buck and Taylor so Buck would know that he really did mean the whole "you're stuck with us" thing. I can talk about 5x11 to 5x14 and the implications of it to buddie for days, really, (you can read this for some of those thoughts), but the thing here I guess, it's a lot about how when the box exploded, the feelings are all over the place, Eddie sits back and lets Buck in. He talks about the way he's feeling in a way we don't really see Eddie do all that often and he leans on Buck through his recovery and the process of finding out how to not feel like there's no hope for himself and how to feel comfortable in his own skin again. And it's a lot about Buck and the way Buck is constant. Eddie feels like Buck is this steady presence in his life that can and does help Eddie move forward.

But the thing is, the shooting happened, Eddie realized things, Taylor Kelly (derogatory) happened, Taylor Kelly (derogatory) took herself out of the running, Eddie now has the tools to deal with his own emotions, he's single, Buck's single, they're having dinner with Chris at Buck's loft and Eddie is asking Buck about things Chris kept from him, but Eddie is in a fantasy bubble where he can pretend he has the things he wants without actually asking for anything to change. I mean, post therapy Eddie is better with his feelings, but he's still Eddie. He was in his little I have time bubble. That was violently popped. Because Buck died. And he had to save him. "Do more" is such a desperate thing for a first responder and former combat medic to scream at a team of doctors. He knows they always do the best they can. He did the best he could, but there's only so far he can go. The way he follows the gurney hurts me in so many ways. Some real don't go where I can't follow bullshit.

This is a man who watched Buck almost die multiple times. But this is also a man who never contemplated the possibility of Buck actually dying. The thing that drives me crazy about Eddie and everything surrounding Buck's death is that he can't look at it. He can't take his eyes off him, but once he's out of his sight he can't look at him again. He spends the whole time not looking at Buck. He looks away every time someone mentions it. Even when he's in the room with Chris he's not looking. 3 minutes 17 seconds. Look, this number bothers me. Bobby said they were 3 minutes out from the hospital and that it took 3 minutes to start compressions. So Buck was dead for 6 minutes. The rescue took 3 minutes. And Eddie counted. That's the only explanation for this particular number. He counted how long it took to get Buck to Chim and Hen and in the ambulance ready to go.

But Eddie was living comfortably in his bubble, I don't think he was at peace with it, but I do think he accepted it. But Buck wakes up, Buck seeks him out to help deal with the trauma. They look like a family, they act like a family, maybe it's not hopeless after all. Maybe Buck can feel the same and they can talk about it once Buck is not feeling so raw over his own death. Buck is just there all the time, something like that can't be one-sided, can it? But then Buck pulls the rug from under him. I made a very long post about the cemetery, you can read that one if you want, but the thing about that conversation is that it is a reminder that they are not on the same page. Because Buck throws him off balance again, considering the way Eddie was trying his hardest to be there for Buck just for Buck to say he's getting what he wants from a random woman he met a few days before. And it makes Eddie back away so he won't end up hurting his own feelings more. I think at this point Eddie has accepted the fact that he's going to have to be Buck's best man and is trying to find a way to be okay with it. So he's retreating to familiarity again. It explains why he's trying to recreate what he had with Shannon because he loved Shannon, so maybe if he found that again he wouldn't have to cut Buck off to move on. Because he needs Buck on some level but there is a limit on how much he can take while Buck goes around looking for something he already has.

And yes I talked and talked and talked but why does this mean Eddie fell first? Well, Buck will never figure it out on his own. The thing about Buck is that Buck doesn’t know what healthy love is. He thinks love is work, but in a it’s bleeding himself dry for someone way. He thinks love is pain. Eddie is safety. Eddie is home. He never knew home as a place where he can find love.

This is all for today. If you read this I love you. Also the doc I typed it out says it has over 4.3k words so this is long as fuck congratulations for sticking through it 🩷

#shit this is LONG #dont ask how long it took i dont feel comfortable sharing this information aioskoaksoaksoaksoaksoaksasokokasokas #i have no hinges left oasokasokaosk #yes i know i sound crazy its fine tho #911 #buddie #otp: you don't need to pretend with me #911 meta #buddie thoughts #buddie meta #i miss them soaksokasoaksoaks

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stagefoureddiediaz · 16 days

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7x05 promo meta

Thank you 911 for dropping those stills - its save you all from my terrible quality screen shots!

This was supposed to be a costume meta, and it is, but things rather got away from me so its got a bit of a mishmash of spec and the like in it! its probably incoherent but my brain is whirring!

Ok first things first - Firehouse!

Soooo whenever we've had firehouse scenes before between Buck and Eddie, the one not in uniform is the one receiving advice - Buck after he found out about Daniel, Eddie during the Black out etc. So I expect this scene to play to a similar theme.

The green jacket for Buck is an interesting one for me, green is all about growth - especially this shade of green. I think this scene will be the first time Buck and Eddie see one another in person - Buck perhaps re-apologising to Eddie, clearing the air, Eddie offering buck some advice (i don't know exactly what advice, but perhaps along the lines of not bottling things up and talking to him etc!).

The fact its a broadcloth jacket harks back to his shirt jacket from Eddies breakdown - that one was very red, so there's no direct connection to the meaning of that jacket from a colour theory perspective, but there is a wider theme connecting to the broadcloth - broadcloth is a fabric that was historically used for military uniforms (it still is) so the use of broadcloth has this element of going to war - unlike the red jacket that signalled danger and Buck going to 'war' to both get to Eddie and to then help him in the aftermath, this one is more likely to be a war related to Bucks 'bad behaviour' from the basketball game and I think and with the green of the jacket meaning growth, I expect this scene to show them on a more even footing - one where the one doesn't need to go to war for the other, because the 'war' is over, this is the aftermath now and Buck has grown (in the same way that Eddie was in green during and after his breakdown - he grew from that moment)

Date night - for Buck and Tommy

Firstly I want to mention the fact that Check theory is in overdrive for this scene - the check is literally everywhere - floor, tablecloths, walls, windows, the guy sat to the side of Tommy. Something is clearly going to happen that is going to lead to some sort of chaos. My money is on Check shirt guy suddenly becoming ill and interupting both dates (call back to Buck choking on bread would be chefs kiss imo as that was Bucks first proper date!!).

I originally thought his was the same shirt Buck wore when he was trying to donate sperm - however, turns out it isn't it isn't, this is a knit bowling shirt while the one from the sperm donation storyline was a knit polo (no buttons all the way down the front). I do think the remarkable similarity between the two shirts is relevant though. because Buck trying to donate sperm, was Buck trying to start a new life, but it was a false start when he was wearing the similar shirt (because the power was out at the clinic) and he is essentially doing the same thing here - he's on his first 'date with a dude' and is starting a new life as a bisexual man - only it seems he's probably going to try and hide it from Eddie - thus a false start in the same way his first attempt to donate sperm was. thing is, Buck was successful in making his donation in the end, so even if he has a couple of false start in this episode, he'll be successful in the end (see the end of this meta for the reason why!!)

Tommy is in brown (possibly a dark olive green, but it looks more brown to me at this moment in time!). Brown is of course one of Eddies staple colours, so we are continuing with the Tommy Being costumes as a version of Eddie!

But Brown is a colour of stability and strength - its solid ground. It's showing us that Tommy is completely comfortable in his sexuality (whatever denomination of queer he is as we don't know at this point!). Its also a colour of safety support and protection (its why many police and military uniforms around the world are brown - meant to invest a sense of protection - a reflection of what that job is supposed to be!). for me thats playing on the idea that Tommy is going to protect and support Buck on this date - Buck not wanting to come out to Eddie in that moment and Tommy supporting that and protecting Bucks right to chose when and how he gets to come out to the people in his life (and I adore him for that!) is my guess on why he's wearing brown here.

Eddie and Marisol's date night

(as an aside - Bucks face in the still below is hilarious!!)

I already mentioned the pink handbag in my 7x04 meta, but now we also have a pink skirt to add into the mix and its a ditsy print of two shades of pink, which not only further supports my pink and innocence theory about this season, but it also plays into how both Shannon and Ana were costumes as well - in lots of pink and in ditzy prints!!! Marisol (who doesn't even have a last name) is not long for the world of 911 - if it doesn't end in this episode, its gonna be over very very soon! She is going to essentially be an innocent bystander in whatever the hell is going to go down at this date night fun house we're about to see, whether her seemingly naive personality (well what little personality she seems to have!) plays into things as well, we'll have to wait and see!

The other aspect of this outfit that is making me laugh is the fact that the skirt is giving me 1980's/early 1990's teen vibes (not to out myself as old but trust me I had some just like this back then and I wouldn't be caught dead in it now as a grown woman!!) and the baby pink handbag looks like something an 8 year old would have to play dress up with - its all very childish and immature - naive one could say, and its suggesting to me that we're going to see some pretty childish behaviour from her at some point in this episode (we'll have to wait and see if I'm right!). The other aspect oof this childish style we're seeing on her plays into Eddies narrative of looking for magic and trying to recreate what he had with Shannon. Its for me one of the reasons why i think we have s2 Eddies hair back, especially this greased back version in this scene - its a nod to his s2 arc when he tried to recreate the magic with Shannon. Eddies journey is about learning that he cannot recapture or recreate that magic he had when he was young - that the love of youth - in all its innocence is not something that is sustainable or actually what he wants in the present. for me, him figuring this out is an important part of his wider un-repression arc and will allow him to move forward and learn that he needs to build a relationship on a stronger foundation that magic and innocence. That (ghost of a) second chance with Shannon ended up as a literal car crash (sorry to be blunt but it was a metaphor back then too!) so my feeling is that this is going to go the same way - and end in a figurative (at least) car crash.

As for the chain necklace! you can read my 6x15 metas for a fuller run down this one is the most comprehensive one (and theres some stuff lurking on other meta posts as well) but essentially every single one of Buck or Eddies girlfriends have worn a chain necklace (there is also a bracelet too, which I think Marisol wore in 7x01 but her scene was so blink and you'll miss it that I can't get a good still to be sure!) of this style - I never did get to writing the full meta on the chain necklaces I intended - the season 6 finale rather deflated my enthusiasm to do so, but I can talk about it here so, things worked out I guess!

Chains are a representation of incarceration, or of holding something back. they are a huge symbol of slavery and are used in derogatory terms when used to talk about relationships (the old ball and chain etc). This is why we see them on all the women connected to either Buck or Eddie, and never on any of the other female characters in the show - these women are essentially holding Buck and Eddie back, they are chains to be broken free of.

Then we have Eddie in his white shirt! There are a couple of reasons I am completely in love with this choice! firstly is the most obvious, it paints things very black and white for Eddie and Marisol - they are opposites! In this context, the wardrobe department are deliberately creating that opposition between them - and in combo with that pink bag and skirt - things aren't going to end well for them.

Black is a colour that sucks light and colour from things (yes there is the concept of the little black dress etc for dating but thats more about timeless elegance and Marisol is not wearing a black dress!) that absorbs everything around it - you can see in the picture below how the black of her top is absorbing the colour while Eddies white shirt is bouncing it around and glowing with the red - its especially obvious on her sleeve which is partially sheer and partially matt - the sheer parts are picking up the light, making the black non sheer parts still look black.

The other reasons I am living for the Eddie in a white shirt of it all is the fact that it really highlights that red lighting - this use of red - in this setting at that moment - when it doesn't appear to be anywhere else in the scene and certainly not around Buck and Tommy - can only mean danger and anger. Its telling us that Eddie is not happy - jealous definitely (that look is one of jealousy!) its also hinting at underlying anger though. My thoughts on this is that its playing into Eddie having to face up to his feelings for Buck - that he understands them, and perhaps feels like he missed his shot

The other reason I'm obsessed with the choice to put Eddie in a white shirt is this ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Because yes that is Eddie in white and Buck in dark blue, and yes that is the only other time we've seen Eddie in white in the entire show (excepting white shorts in fight club and even they fit the theme we're seeing here). Seeing them in the same colour ways here is very much giving Buck and Eddie divorce era 3.0 (fight club/lawsuit was 1.0 and the one above was 2.0) vibes.

Having dinner with Buck (or in the same space as Buck) and his current partner and the blue and white (and green that Tommy is wearing which matches the green that Taylor was wearing) is definitely a choice. This scene in season 5 was essentially a Buck and Eddie break up - 'move on Buck, I have' - we all know how that spiral ended - with Eddie digging in with his leaving the 118 and excluding himself from the firefam and Buck cheating on Taylor and asking her to move in with him.

thing is Eddie has form for doing dumb things when he feels under stress or pressure (asking Shannon to marry him again, fight club after her death and Buck suing the firehouse, leaving the 118 and not getting the help he needed until he had a major breakdown to name 3!)- so if we saw some kind of parallel to this scene - (this is especially in light of Eddie talking to Bobby about the job in this episode) where Eddie doubles down on a poor decision (don't know what but I'm currently speculating that its maybe asking Marisol to move in with him way way too soon - when he doesn't know her - hello episode title) in the same way Buck did with Taylor (because he is faced with the fact he could've had a chance with Buck after-all and is emotionally cheating on Marisol) and it plays into

I'm not saying we're going to be getting rid of Marisol in 7x05 (unfortunately) but I am saying the writing is on the wall for that relationship - there are too many costuming signs on both Eddie and Marisol for it not to be headed in the direction of ending. My guess from what I'm seeing with these costumes and that lighting, is that 'Ghost of a second chance' is when it will come to a head - it plays into the theming of Shannon redux and car crashes, learning from past mistakes before you repeat them.

And finally we're at Bucks loft!

Not saying this is at the end of the episode - I have zero idea where its going to land - every time I see a new still from it I'm more confused and decide its going to be at a different point of the episode!

Anyway, thats not important! Eddie is in his Buck 'date night' shirt - the one he wears when he has serious talks with Buck in the loft. thing that is different this time, is the fact he's in jeans rather than the green trousers he's worn on every other occasion. Something about that is making me feel like, while this scene is likely to be similar in that its going to be a serious talk, and I'm sure from the way it looks in the stills we're going to see Eddie reassuring Buck as we have in previous scenes, I think we might find this one is going to give us Buck and Eddie on a more even footing that we've seen before.

I'm fascinated that the Christopher watch is not visible in the above still, but it's very visible in the below one, and in the other stills we've got. We don't often see it hidden under eddies sleeves - we usually see it more like we can see it in the date night stills - visible with the shirt slightly tucked underneath. haven't figured out if its going to be significant or not yet - I need to see the scene!

We do have to talk about the looks they are giving each other here though - especially Buck!!! because I mean!!!! its kind of giving me don't keep things from me again vibes!!

I am very much loving that they put Buck in this jumper though! it is the one from the sperm donor storyline - when Buck tells Eddie, Hen and Chim he is 'responsible for creating new life.' I love this specific parallel because there is the play on the fact that Buck is now living a new life - that he's figured something out about himself - that he's creatinga new life forhimself - one where he is bisexual, and openly so (as we know he's going to tell people in this episode and hell he might be telling Eddie in this scene!). the other thing is that this light blue colour, throughout season 6 became a real representation of Buck journey of self discovery - all the way back to Lev at the happiness convention and his year of yes, right through to post Lightning strike Buck who was trying to wrestle with his death and his rebirth - the light blue here really ties all of this together beautifully

Right thats All at this point - I'm sure my brain will conjure up other things once i've hit post, but for right now - I'm off to bed!!

@theladyyavilee @mistmarauder @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @bewilderedbuckley @spotsandsocks @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual@rogerzsteven @wanderingwomanwondering @oneawkwardcookie @leothil @copyninjabuckley @shammers86 @crazyfangirlallert @missmagooglie @katyobsesses @radiation-run @gayandbifiremenofmine @bi-moonlight @crazyaboutotps @princesschez75 @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @sherlocking-out-loud @satashiiwrites @lover-of-mine @yramesoruniverse @extasiswings @favouritealias @pop-kam

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sattlersquarry · 8 months

Text

orange juice (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU) Steve's world changes in the worst way when he loses you. He struggles to move on...but he learns he might not have to when he miraculously gets a second chance with you.

Word Count: ~8k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, death, grief, alcoholism, mentions of sex, mention of alcohol poisoning, and an allusion to a suicide attempt (in a miscommunication!!!! no one actually tried). the reader is presumed dead after the events of season 4. lots of angst and hurt/comfort with a happy ending bc if I ever wrote something without a happy ending my identity has been stolen. inspired by "orange juice" by noah kahan with some other references to his music sprinkled throughout.

a/n: i've been bouncing between this and bloom for the past few months and they are two very different fics tonally, but i hope you enjoy. please let me know if i missed any warnings because this one is kind of heavy.

🍊🍊🍊

ORANGE JUICE

MAY 1986

A ringing phone rouses Steve from a restless sleep.

A near-empty bottle of gin rests on the floor by his bed. He doesn’t remember drinking it, nor does he remember anything else from last night.

It’s been two months since you died. Steve’s not taking it well.

That horrible day, Steve, Nancy, and Robin ran from the Creel House and found Eddie and Dustin sobbing over you, your eyes lifeless and the wounds on your abdomen weeping.

I’m so s-sorry, Steve, Dustin had said through sobs. W-we tried to save her!

An aftershock of the initial gate-opening earthquake caused panic amongst their group. Steve wanted to carry your body back to the real world for a proper burial, but there was no time before the aftershock got much too intense. Dustin and Robin refused to leave the Upside Down without him. He wasn’t going to let them get hurt, so despite the fact it broke his soul in half to do so, he allowed his friends to drag him back to the gate in the Upside Down’s version of the Munson trailer, leaving you behind.

When the dust settled and reality set in that Steve was going to have to move on without you, grief overtook him. He turned to alcohol as a welcome distraction. He’s been consistently ignoring Robin’s desperate pleas for him to talk to a professional, to drink less, to try and really process his pain.

Steve should listen, but he won’t. Instead, he’ll grieve. He’ll wallow. He’d rather wither away into nothing than work on bettering himself, because you died and that’s not fair. To you, to him. To everyone who loves you.

Steve groans, a deep rumbling thing from deep in chest, as he stretches and rubs sleep out of his eyes. He blindly reaches for the phone on his nightstand.

“Hello?” he mumbles.

“Steve, hey.”

Steve sits up like a rocket at the tremble in Robin’s voice.

“Robin? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, kind of. I mean, yes! But no. Sorry, I just—can you come to Hopper’s?”

“What is it?” Steve asks. He staggers to his feet, getting tangled in the phone cord. “Is it Vecna? Shit, who did he take?”

“No one!” Robin says, voice way too high to be believable. “Please just come over when you can.”

Steve drives over to their basecamp at Hopper’s cabin, a million bad scenarios racing through his head. What if Vecna cursed Dustin? Or Nancy, or any of the others?

What if somehow he got El, and the Hawkins’ team was really doomed?

It takes Steve almost forty minutes to get to Hopper’s, due to earthquake damage and military roadblocks all over town. He raises his hand to knock on the door, but it swings open before he can.

Joyce smiles at him, but her eyes are mournful.

“Hi, Steve,” she says warmly. “Please, come inside.”

This isn’t what Steve expected. Hopper, El, Will, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin are sitting on various chairs and couches in the cabin’s main room. Usually, it’s frantic around here: everyone running around with mixtapes, weapons, and crudely drawn maps of the town with markings where the most frequent monster attacks are. It’s never this still.

When Steve and Joyce walk in, everyone looks at him, sympathy in their eyes.

Steve’s first thought: Shit, is this an intervention?

Before he can ask, Hopper says: “The gates are closed, Steve.”

Steve’s mouth twists into a frown, heart pounding in his chest. That wasn’t the plan.

“Wait, what? How?”

“We’re not sure,” Joyce says. “But Will—”

“I can’t feel Vecna anymore,” Will explains. “And El checked this morning, and she found Vecna in the Void and…”

“He’s gone,” El says quietly. “Dead. Finally.”

Steve sinks onto a couch cushion. That should be good news. Steve should be celebrating, toasting to the death of the bastard that ruined his life and took you away by way of the demobats. But—

“We were supposed to go back,” Steve says. The back of his throat burns when he swallows hard, trying to choke down the sensation of nausea that’s either from his hangover or his panic. Or both. “We were going to go back and get Y/N’s body.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Jonathan says, looking down at his feet.

Steve whirls to Hopper, eyes blazing with a flash of anger that never seems to leave him these days.

“You promised!” he yells. “You promised that we’d go back for her!”

“I know,” Hopper says, keeping his voice even. “But something—or someone—killed Vecna in the Upside Down and the gates closed. The fight is done. It’s over.”

Steve’s lip wobbles. He won’t cry in front of them. He won’t. But his head spins.

“What am I going to tell her parents?” Steve says, voice cracking.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Steve,” Nancy says. She reaches a hand to touch his shoulder and Steve bats it away. “Steve—”

“This is such bullshit,” Steve snaps, turning to Hopper again. “If you had let me go back down there before, I could have brought her body back. We could’ve given her a proper funeral. Given her parents closure! But you made me wait!”

“It was the right choice,” Hopper says firmly. “I didn’t want to invoke another Vecna attack on Hawkins until we were ready to fight.”

“Maybe there’s a gate that we missed and—”

“We checked the gates this morning,” Robin says softly. “They’re all closed.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Joyce says. “But it’s over.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. He storms out of the cabin, ignoring Robin’s pleas to come back, to not be alone right now. Steve drives back home, not without stopping at the liquor store first and loading up on various spirits to numb the pain.

Over the next week, you go from declared missing to officially declared dead. Steve can’t let on to your parents that he had known for months, and Hopper doesn’t want him to tell them the truth about Vecna, demobats, and the Upside Down. It kills Steve to lie to their faces, to attend the funeral where they bury an empty casket, knowing what he knows. Knowing that your body is trapped in another dimension. Dead and alone.

🍊🍊🍊

NOVEMBER 1986

“Y/N wouldn’t want this.”

Robin’s words echo in Steve’s mind hours after she’s fallen asleep in the uncomfortable armchair next to his hospital bed.

An overindulgence forced Steve to spend his Thanksgiving in a hospital—not that he had any plans with his family to get ruined anyway. Although he had been invited to Thanksgiving with the Buckleys, Wheelers, Hopper-Byerses, Sinclairs, Hendersons, Mayfields, and Munsons, Steve declined every invitation. He resigned himself to a holiday alone without you, got heavy handed with a bottle of whiskey, and passed out in the neighbor’s lawn.

When he awoke, he was in the hospital. Joyce and Robin were there, the former fretting over him and the latter chewing him out for being such a dingus and scaring her so badly on a holiday.

Like a broken record in his head of the worst song Steve’s ever heard: Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this. Y/N wouldn’t want this.

Robin didn’t say it to be mean. She said it to get him to wake up. To cool it with the drinking, because if he kept going at the rate he was going, he’d meet a worse fate than a pumped stomach.

Joyce quietly reenters the room and smiles.

“Oh, you’re still up!” she says. “I thought for sure you’d try to get some sleep.”

Steve shrugs.

“I can’t stop thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up.”

Joyce settles on the chair next to Robin’s, ignoring the sleeping girl’s loud snores.

“When I can’t stop replaying the past in my mind,” Joyce says, “I try to think about my future instead. What are my aspirations and goals? What can I do differently to achieve them?”

Steve chews his bottom lip.

“Is it bad if I have no goals?” he says, feeling quite sorry for himself.

“Why do you think that is?” Joyce asks gently.

Steve shrugs again, before rubbing his eyes.

“Shit, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve spent the past 3 years on edge thinking I’m going to get killed at any minute?”

Steve barks out a hollow laugh. “Or maybe it’s because 2 years ago I met someone who turned my life completely around, and she did get killed, and I wasn’t there to save her or be with her when she died. And I couldn’t give her or her parents a proper end and every time I close my eyes, I see her laying there. And I don’t know what my future looks like without her. I don’t even think I want one.”

Steve hates crying in front of other people. But when Joyce wraps an arm around his shoulders, he breaks down.

“It’s going to be all right, Steve,” she says. She squeezes him a little tighter. “I know it’s hard moving on from loss, but you do have a future. You have so many people that love you and are going to help you figure it out. And Y/N would want you to keep going. She’d want you to go off and do wonderful things.”

Joyce was right. If roles were reversed, Steve would want you to keep going without him. Not waste away and drink yourself into a coma.

Steve’s life is changing. And despite everything, things might be looking up.

🍊🍊🍊

FEBRUARY 1987

There is a beautiful girl in Steve’s bed and she’s touching him all the ways he likes to be touched—but he can’t even enjoy it because she’s not you.

He tries to clear his mind of all distraction. The girl with him—Molly—is very, very hot. And the feeling of her hands all over him should be sufficient to keep him focused on the moment. But his mind keeps wandering to you.

You were the last person he was truly intimate with. Sure, he’s kissed girls at parties. But that’s different than what’s happening now. Different than being in bed with Molly and her wandering hands, her gentle touches, her salacious whispers.

Steve thinks maybe he’s finally done it. Found a girl that can help him move on from you, the girl to help him feel whole again. To not feel so alone.

But then, overcome with sensation, Steve makes the worst possible faux pas in bed: he moans the wrong name.

Molly ceases kissing him.

“What did you just call me?” she asks, sitting up suddenly with narrowed eyes.

Steve sits up as well, resting against his headboard and floundering for a response that won’t make him sound like a douchebag.

“I just, uh, well—”

“Who is she?” Molly asks. She widens her eyes in horror. “Oh my god, are you seeing someone else? Am I ‘the other woman’?!”

“It’s nothing like that,” Steve rushes to assure her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just got caught up in the moment.”

“Caught up in the moment thinking of someone else when I was about to blow you!” Molly snaps. She stomps off the bed and grumbles as she pulls her jeans and sweatshirt back on.

“Wait, hold on!” Steve says. He struggles to put a pair of sweatpants on, hopping around frantically one-footed to pull them up as Molly grabs her purse and yanks open Steve’s bedroom door. “Please don’t leave, Y/N—ah, Molly!”

“Unbelievable!” Molly scoffs as she stomps down the staircase of the townhome Steve shares with three other students at the University of Indiana.

Molly gets to the front door but stops, whipping around to face Steve as he catches up to her.

“Who is she?” she demands. “An ex-girlfriend?”

“In a sense, yeah, but—”

“If you’re still so hung up on her, maybe you should ask her to blow you instead!”

Steve thinks about being an asshole. About letting the anger that simmers in his bloodstream 24/7 rear its ugly head. About snapping at Molly, telling her that yeah, totally, he’d love to get a blowjob from a corpse stuck in an alternate dimension.

But then Molly would feel bad and give him the pitying look Steve hates. So instead, he says, “Yeah, I’ll do that. See you in class.”

Molly huffs before giving Steve’s cheek a sharp smack! He doesn’t wince. Upset at his lack of reaction, Molly storms out.

Just as well. Remembering how the love of his life is dead is a real mood killer.

Steve rubs his forehead and heads to the kitchen. He eyes the six pack in the fridge. He hasn’t touched alcohol in three months. The temptation causes his hand to graze a beer can, but he quickly pivots to a cartoon of orange juice.

He chugs the drink before stalking up the steps to his room. Steve drops to his knees and blindly reaches in the dusty space under his bed. He grips the corner of a box and drags it to the middle of the floor.

Once opened, two black button eyes stare back up at Steve. It’s Lambchop, a stuffed animal lamb that your parents gave him. After your parents held a small funeral and buried that empty casket, they gave Steve this box of your things.

Lambchop here was her favorite toy, your mother had said at the time, eyes glistening with tears. She always hoped to pass it on to her own children one day. I think she’d want you to have it.

Steve thanked your mother and father, gave his condolences, went home, drank enough whiskey to fell a horse, and passed out.

Shaking himself out of the memory, Steve climbs onto the bed and places the lamb on the pillow next to him. It’s one of few connections to you that he has left, so he’ll cherish it, even if it’s a little silly.

What Steve doesn’t realize is that in another dimension, the very person he’s yearning for lays in the version of her bedroom created by the Upside Down, holds a dirty version of Lambchop, and yearns for Steve right back.

🍊🍊🍊

MAY 1987

You and Steve used to have your futures mapped out: start at U of I together in fall of ’86. Move in together after your freshman year of college. Get engaged by fall of ’89, married in fall of ’90, and have two kids by ’95. Spend the rest of your lives together, happy and healthy, with the horrors of Hawkins far behind you.

That was before Steve’s world changed in the worst way. Before you died in the Upside Down, when you drew the bats away from the gate. You were a hero, trying to keep them from flying into your version of Hawkins and destroying it.

Steve struggled for a long time. He’s still struggling, but in a slightly better place.

He’s sober six months now. He thinks of you often, but he tries to focus less on how he desperately misses you and more on how you wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life miserable and drunk.

But he does miss you so, so desperately. And he would give anything to have you back.

It hurts being reminded of you, so Steve stays away from Hawkins. But he can’t say no when Mrs. Henderson invites him to Dustin’s sweet sixteen birthday party, so he makes the trek back.

“Steve!” Mrs. Henderson coos, opening the front door with a beaming smile. “Welcome!”

“Hi, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve says. She pulls him into a hug and he adds, “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s so lovely to see you too!” Mrs. Henderson says. She leads Steve through the house. “Please, come in! You can put Dusty-Bun’s gift on the dining room table. I have strawberry wine in the kitchen—ah, and orange juice, or lemonade. It’s yours if you want it!”

Mrs. Henderson pivoted to juice awfully fast. She must have found out about Steve’s Thanksgiving Break bender. Steve tamps down the feeling of shame worming its way through his mind and body, instead offering her another small smile before turning to the dining room to drop off Dustin’s gift.

Dustin and the rest of the Hellfire Club are in the den, playing a one-shot campaign that Eddie planned. When Dustin sees Steve, his face lights up.

“Steve! You made it!” he says, rushing over and giving him a bear hug.

“Hey buddy,” Steve says, hugging him back. “Happy birthday, Henderson.”

Dustin grins, and it lifts Steve’s mood immensely.

Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, and Erica greet him next, along with Eddie and his Corroded Coffin buddies. Eddie can barely look Steve in the eye, guilt from not being able to save you eating away at him. Steve’s told him multiple times not to feel bad about it—he knows Eddie and Dustin tried their best.

“Want to join the campaign?” Dustin asks Steve.

“Oh, I don’t know how to play,” Steve says. “I’ll just watch, okay bud?”

A short while later, Robin arrives. Once the campaign ends, Mrs. Henderson brings out the cake, and then gifts are opened.

“He looks really happy, huh?” Robin whispers to Steve, nudging him gently with her elbow.

Steve nods with a smile. Dustin took your death really hard—the two of you had been close ever since you helped him, Steve, Lucas, and Max fight the demodogs in the junkyard. Seeing Dustin smiling and laughing with his closest friends on his birthday makes Steve really, really happy.

Still, Steve’s heart aches. You should be here. You should be smiling as Dustin opens his gifts. You should be getting cake frosting on your nose, playing along with the campaign although you have no clue what’s going on.

Ice grips Steve’s chest. He gets a flashback of you lying on the cold ground, unmoving, and—

“You okay?” Robin whispers, brow furrowed. How the hell can she tell that he’s upset? It’s frightening how observant she is.

“Fine,” Steve says, throat tightening. He’s not. But he isn’t going to let his grief ruin Dustin’s big day.

At the end of the night, Dustin asks Steve when he’ll be back to visit again.

“My summer classes end in August,” Steve says. “I’ll come by then. Maybe we can hit the pool?”

Dustin seems disappointed that it’ll be a while before he sees Steve again, but he doesn’t push.

However, Steve ends up coming back to Hawkins much sooner. Three weeks after Dustin’s birthday party, Eleven calls Steve and tells him something that makes his heart stop:

“Steve, it’s about Y/N.”

🍊🍊🍊

Steve is a frantic mess.

He sits in the Byers-Hopper basement, knee bouncing as he intently watches El try to find you in the Void again.

El had told him that she’d sometimes look for you in the Void, hoping to give him some semblance of closure. However, she claims that a few hours ago, she finally found you for the first time and saw you not as a corpse, but fully alive. It’s a hope that Steve didn’t dare hold onto before, not until now.

As soon as she called, Steve got in his car and drove to Hawkins, going ten over the speed limit the whole time. He picked up Robin and Nancy along the way to El, Will, and Jonathan’s, and (unfortunately) Mike tagged along.

“Do you see her?” Steve asks, voice cracking.

“No talking, please,” El says, tightening her blindfold.

Steve purses his lips. Will gives him an apologetic smile and Robin squeezes his arm to offer a semblance of comfort. Jonathan looks between Steve and El, an uneasy expression on his face.

“I see her,” El whispers after a few minutes.

Nancy gasps. Mike’s eyes widen. Steve staggers to his feet.

“She’s okay?” Steve asks. “Where is she?!”

“I can’t tell,” El says. “But she’s holding a small, white fuzzy animal. Wait, is it dead?”

“Lambchop,” Steve says.

“Come again?” Nancy asks.

“Lambchop is her favorite stuffed animal,” Steve explains. His heart pounds in his chest at the realization that holy shit, you really are alive. “She must be in the Upside Down version of her house.”

“Y/N!” El calls. “Y/N!”

After a few more minutes of calling to you, El pulls off the blindfold and wipes her nosebleed away.

“She can’t hear me,” El says with a sigh.

“Maybe because the gates are closed,” Nancy offers.

“But if you open another gate,” Steve says, “we can get back through and find her. Right?”

“Hold on a minute,” Jonathan says, holding a hand up like a traffic cop. “Is that such a good idea?”

Steve narrows his eyes.

“Is it such a good idea to save my girlfriend’s life? Yeah, I think so, Byers.”

“Steve,” Robin whispers. “It’s okay. Just relax.”

“Relax?” Steve says, voice rising in volume with every word. “Relax?! You want me to relax? What about this fucked-up situation is relaxing! My girlfriend has been stuck in literal hell for over a fucking year! We’re going to rescue her, no matter what!”

“But opening a new gate could have major repercussions!” Mike protests.

“Screw the repercussions,” Steve snaps, glowering. “We can’t just leave Y/N down there to rot!”

“None of us want to do that, Steve,” Nancy says, keeping her voice level and calm. “But what if this is a trick from Vecna?”

“It’s not,” Will says. “If it was, I would feel his presence. I don’t anymore.”

“Boom!” Robin says, snapping her fingers. “If our human monster detector doesn’t sense any bad vibes, then we should be good to proceed.”

“Maybe we should ask El what she wants to do before we make any plans to open new gates,” Jonathan points out.

“Exactly,” Mike says. “El, what do you want to do?”

El looks down at her lap, before looking up. She locks eyes with Steve.

“I’ll do it. I’ll open the gate.”

Relief floods Steve’s whole being. He feels lighter. More hopeful than he has in a long time. But it all comes crashing down when—

“That’s not happening.”

The group turns to see Hopper and Joyce on the basement steps. Joyce looks worried, face twisted into a frown. Hopper looks angry, with his brow furrowed.

“But Dad—” El says.

“No buts,” Hopper says. “You are forbidden to open a new gate. You hear me?”

Joyce places a hand on her husband’s shoulder and says, “Now, Hop…”

Steve interrupts, walking over to the older man with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. “Hopper, please. Y/N is still alive in the Upside Down. We just need one gate so I can go through and bring her back. Please.” Hopper fixes Steve with a sorrowful stare, the smallest bit of guilt etched on his features. Still, he remains steadfast.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hopper says. “I’m not putting my daughter at risk. She won’t do it.”

El, Robin, and Will all try to convince Hopper otherwise, their arguments overlapping into a cacophony. Nancy, Mike, and Jonathan share uneasy looks.

Steve can’t listen to this anymore. He quietly excuses himself, darting past Hopper up the steps and stepping into the backyard.

He sinks on the porch stoop and stares off into the quiet, cool night. He understands Hopper’s reasoning, but he doesn’t have to like it. He’s spent over a year mourning you, only to discover he might be able to get you back—for that hope to be dashed as quickly as it blossomed.

Steve picks a point in the tree line and focuses on it, putting all his energy into watching it so he doesn’t break down or cause any more of a scene than he already has.

He hears the squeak of the back door and Robin’s tentative, “Hey, how you doing?”

Steve shrugs absentmindedly, continuing to stare. Robin lowers herself onto the stoop next to him.

For a few blissful minutes, she doesn’t speak. She just rests her head on his shoulder and lets him stew in silence.

The spell is broken when she blurts out, “You’re not going to break your sobriety, are you?”

“Jesus Christ, Robin,” Steve grumbles, nudging her slightly so she’ll sit up. “You don’t have to ask that every time I’m in a bad mood.”

“Sorry,” she says. She picks at her fingernails. “Sorry. I just worry about you, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says softly. “I worry about you too.”

“Me?” Robin says. “No, no. I’m fine.”

Steve eyes the way her hands fidget. Before he can say anything, she blurts out, “I just don’t want a repeat of Thanksgiving. I mean, you almost died of alcohol poisoning. They pumped your stomach!”

“I know. I was there.”

“No!” Robin snaps, sounding awfully harsh despite the tears welling in her eyes. It breaks Steve’s heart to see. “You were unconscious! And it was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, including all the torture and monsters, because I thought I was going to lose another best friend. I already lost Y/N. I can’t lose you too.”

She sniffles and Steve pulls her in for a hug. He can’t stop a few stray tears from falling down his own face as well.

“You won’t lose me,” Steve says, voice thick. “I promise, Robin. I’m not going to do that again. Okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles, hugging him tighter. “I love you, dingus.”

“I love you, Rob.”

“That’s not fair,” Robin says, pulling away and wiping her tears on her sleeve. “You have to call me a mean nickname back or I just look like an asshole.”

Steve barks out a laugh and shakes his head.

“You are an asshole.”

“Perfect,” Robin says with a small smile. “Now we’re equally jerks. Just the way I like it.”

The back door opens and Will steps out.

“Hopper changed his mind!” he says with a grin.

Hope pumps like blood through Steve’s cold, shrunken heart. He’s going to see you again. Fuck, he’s going to see you again.

🍊🍊🍊

The next day, the group stands in the basement once more, this time making their plan for a rescue mission. Mike squealed to Eddie, Dustin, Lucas, and Max about what’s going on, and they all showed up wanting to help too.

“Not happening!” Hopper barks, a fierce look on his face. “New rule: you have to be 18 to come along.”

Eddie pumps his fist in victory, thrilled that he gets to come and try to make things right after losing you the first time. The younger teens grumble.

“But El is going!” Dustin complains.

“El is going to stay in the Lab with Joyce,” Hopper says. “She’ll open the gate for us and wait.”

“I can keep the gate open for one hour,” El says.

“That’s plenty of time to find Y/N!” Robin says brightly. “We already know she’s probably at her house.”

“And she lives close to Hawkins Lab,” Jonathan says, pointing to a map of Hawkins. “So we’ll be in and out.”

“It’ll be easy!” Eddie says.

“Don’t jinx it,” Hopper warns.

Nancy turns to Steve and pats his shoulder.

“You feeling good about this?” she asks quietly.

He nods. Although, truthfully, he’s terrified. If they come all this way, only for him to lose you again…he’s not sure he’d be able to handle that.

🍊🍊🍊

The Upside Down is not what Steve remembers.

The alternate dimension used to be dank and cold, like an endless winter’s night. Now with Vecna gone, it’s brighter, with a yellow sky and actual green foliage, not the moldy, dry shit from before. It seems less dangerous than last time.

No matter how much it’s changed, the thought that you’ve been here alone for over a year makes Steve’s blood run ice cold.

“This way!” Hopper barks, tracing his finger on his map of Hawkins and leading the group toward your house.

Jonathan and Nancy walk side-by-side with Hopper, glancing around at the tree lines constantly for any sign of danger. Eddie and Robin hang back, Steve walking slightly in front of them. He hears them whispering about something, but when he turns his head to try and listen, they quiet down.

He’s not an idiot. He knows what they’re worrying about: if they can’t find you, will Steve have another breakdown? Go on another bender? Would Steve even survive it?

Steve’s been wondering the same things himself. But for now, he stays positive, his optimism increasing tenfold when the six of them turn onto your street.

He can’t help but pick up speed, jogging past Hopper and causing the older man to snap, “Hey, stay behind me!”

Steve ignores his protests, shouting your name and pushing through the front door of your house.

He’s been here many, many times. He’s walked the pathway from your front door to your bedroom over and over again. Steve walks that path for the first time in over a year, charging up the steps and tuning out the concerned warnings from his friends.

He bursts into your bedroom, calling your name. He doesn’t see you, but maybe you hid when you heard the front door open. So he checks the closet, the ensuite bathroom, under the bed, to no avail.

Steve’s eyes sweep the space for any clues of your whereabouts. Most of the room seems untouched, except for your bed, where the sheets are rumpled and a grimy Lambchop the Stuffed Lamb sits primly on your pillow with her soft hooves crossed over her lap.

Steve picks up the toy, heart stuttering at the sight. You were sleeping here last night. You must have been. But where are you now?

“Steve!” Robin calls from down the hall, bringing him back to the present. “We found something!”

Steve gently places Lambchop back on the pillow—arranging her the way you always do, because anything else seems disrespectful—and heads back downstairs.

Hopper, Jonathan, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin are crowded around the kitchen table. On it is a sheet of paper with a rudimentary sketch of the town.

“Check it out,” Jonathan says. He traces his finger across the drawn lines. “It’s a record of where the gates originally opened.”

Sure enough, there are big stars drawn over Hawkins Lab, Eddie’s trailer, the road by the trailer park, Lover’s Lake, and the Creel House.

“That’s why she’s not here,” Nancy says. “She’s out searching for an opening.”

“We don’t have long,” Hopper barks, glancing at his watch with a grimace. “El can only keep the gate open for an hour. We have forty-one minutes to get back to the Lab.”

“We could split off into teams,” Nancy says. “Jonathan and I can go to Lover’s Lake.”

“Steve and I will hit the trailer park and the highway,” Robin adds. “Eddie and Hop, you can go to the Creel House.”

“We find Y/N,” Hopper says, “and we head back to the Lab. No wasting time. We move fast, we stay vigilant. Got it?”

The younger adults all nod and agree to stay on their walkies in case anyone needs to get in touch. Then, they split off to their destinations.

As Steve and Robin sprint toward the trailer park, Steve can’t stop panic from enveloping him head to toe. What if they’re too late? What if you’re dead—again? What if you don’t remember him somehow. What if—

“Look!” Robin says, throwing out an arm to stop Steve in his tracks. He skids to a stop and sees where she’s pointing.

Behind the closed curtains of the Munson trailer is the beam of a flashlight moving around. Steve’s heartbeat quickens.

“Okay,” she whispers as the duo slinks toward the trailer. “We need to think about this carefully, and make a plan to—wait, Steve!”

He charges into the trailer.

A figure flinches and whips around, hunting knife raised. Steve almost falls to his knees in shock at the sight. It’s really happening.

“Steve?” you whisper, voice cracking. He stands in front of you, hands raised and eyes flicking between your face and your knife. The corners of his eyes burn, tears starting to form.

He says your name, and the look on your face cracks his heart into seventeen pieces. He starts to step toward you, but—

“You’re not real,” you say quietly. “You can’t be.”

“No, I’m real!” Steve says. “It’s me, Y/N. It’s Steve. We’re here to take you home.”

You step back, still pointing your weapon at him.

“Don’t come any closer!” you shout.

“Okay, okay!” Steve says. He steps back, slowly.

“Steve!” Robin shouts from outside. “What’s going on in—”

“Stay outside, Robin!” Steve yells, voice wavering as he eyes your knife.

“But—”

Steve swiftly locks the trailer door without turning away from you.

The two of you ignore Robin’s knocks and protests. Eventually, she gives up, and Steve hears the crackle of her walkie-talkie.

“You can’t be Steve,” you say, shaking your head frantically.

“I am,” Steve begs. “And I’ve missed you so much—”

“You can’t be Steve because there’s no way into the Upside Down!” you say. He notices your arm start to shake. “Trust me, I’ve checked and checked and checked and there’s no gates anymore. And since my Steve isn’t a corpse at the Creel House, I know Vecna didn’t kill him and he’s back in the real world. If you’re not Steve, who the hell are you?”

Steve swallows hard. The back of his throat tastes acidic and he feels desperation wrench its way through every cell in his body. When he imagined his reunion with you, he didn’t anticipate this conversation.

“El reopened a gate for us,” Steve explains patiently. “We thought you were dead. But El looked for you and saw you were still alive, so we came to rescue you.” He glances at his watch and his brows furrow. “But we don’t have a lot of time. We need to head back to the Lab because she can’t keep it open forever.”

“How can I trust you?” you say. “How do I know you aren’t a trick?!”

“I’m really me, I promise,” Steve says. He hesitates before stepping closer to you once more. This time, you don’t move away. “We’re safe now, because Vecna’s dead.”

“I know. I killed him.”

Steve’s eyes widen a fraction.

“You what?”

“I had to,” you say. You shrug and look a little delirious. How much sleep have you gotten in the last year, Steve wonders. “Vecna brought me back. He would've flayed me and sent me to spy on and kill all of you if I didn’t kill him first.”

Steve almost falls over. The haunting fact that you had to fight Vecna alone makes his stomach turn.

The pained look on Steve’s face seems to shake something deep down in you. Any resolve you had crumbles. You heave out a sob, dropping the knife to the ground. Your knees buckle.

In seconds, Steve wraps you in his arms as you sink to the ground.

You cry, limp in his hold. Steve cries too, choking on encouraging words and apologies and everything he’s wanted to say to you since March 1986, when he thought he’d never speak to you again.

The door rattles. You startle and Steve holds you a little tighter.

“HARRINGTON!” Hopper barks. “Get a move on!”

“We have to go,” Steve says, urgent yet gentle. “We can talk more when we’re home. Okay?”

You nod, standing on unsteady legs.

Steve squeezes your hand before leading you out the door.

The whole rescue squad is out there, and you look wholly overwhelmed at seeing everyone after so long alone.

“No time for pleasantries,” Hopper says. “We’ve got less than twenty minutes to get through that gate.”

“Or it’s a slumber party at Y/N’s,” Eddie jokes. He playfully knocks his shoulder against yours and you gasp at the sudden contact. “Oh, sorry—”

“RUN!” Hopper yells, clapping his hands.

Everyone bolts toward the Lab. Steve and you run side-by-side, hands intertwined.

Shock envelops Steve’s senses, but he keeps running. The one thing racing through his mind is to get you back to safety.

The Lab’s gate is not the gaping maw it once was. It’s about the height of a minivan door, but its width is quite smaller—and slowly but surely shrinking.

El and Joyce stand on the gate’s other side, looking relieved to see everyone.

“Hurry!” Joyce says, waving you forward first. You hesitate, but Steve says, “We’re right behind you. Go on.”

You crawl through the gate and stumble to your feet on the right side of the universe. Steve would normally let everyone else go in front of him, but he wastes no time following behind you. Next comes Robin, then Jonathan and Nancy. Eddie and Hopper bring up the rear.

As soon as Hopper’s crawled through the gate, El drops her hand and it sews itself up—for the final time.

Steve and the others swarm you, all speaking too fast and asking a million questions. Joyce opens a first-aid kid and tries to sit you down and asses your various cuts and bruises. They hurt Steve to see.

“Look at her! She needs more than bandaids and alcohol wipes,” Eddie says, nodding in your direction.

“He’s right,” Jonathan says. “Mom, we need to take her to the hospital—”

“No!” you say. You stumble toward the staircase. “I need to go home. I need to see my parents, let them know I’m alive. How long have I been down there? I’ve been keeping track, and it has to be at least ten weeks, right?”

Steve places a hand on your shoulder. You look at him, eyes wild. “Y/N,” he says softly, “it’s been 15 months.”

That seems to be your final straw. Steve catches you as you pass out.

🍊🍊🍊

SIX HOURS LATER

While you get checked over by Dr. Owens and his people, Steve paces the hospital waiting room. Robin chews her thumbnail and watches the doors to the ER. Nancy and Jonathan bend their heads together and whisper, and Eddie attempts to distract Dustin and the other teenagers by juggling snacks from the vending machine.

After you fainted, Steve didn’t want to leave your side, but Hopper said everyone except himself and Joyce had to go home.

If our entire merry band shows up at Hawkins Mercy Hospital with a presumed-dead girl, it’ll look too damn suspicious, Hopper had said. Go home. Clean up. Wait three hours, and then you can come check on her. We’ll keep you updated.

In exactly 180 minutes, Steve and the others charge into the ER asking the nurse on duty about you.

“She’s still being looked over,” the nurse tells them. “Her parents and the Chief are with her now. You can wait over there and we’ll call you when she’s able to have visitors.”

Another 180 minutes go by. Now, everyone’s getting antsy. Steve has half a mind to charge into the ER and find you himself.

“Simmer down, Steve,” Robin says, noticing the way he’s squeezing the lilac teddy bear he bought you at the gift shop. “You’re choking the life out of that thing.”

“Why haven’t we heard anything from Hopper?” Steve asks. He checks his pager for the fiftieth time. “He said he’d keep us updated.”

“She’s probably going through a psych eval or something,” Max says.

“Or an interrogation,” Mike says darkly. “Maybe they think she had something to do with the murders last year.”

“Shut up, Mike!” Nancy hisses.

Steve curses and pinches his nose. Last year, a cruel man named Colonel Sullivan swept into Hawkins, searching for the real culprit behind Vecna’s kills after Eddie was proven innocent (thanks to a bogus alibi cooked up by Owens’ team). Steve was one of the unlucky few questioned, due to his connection as Jason’s former basketball captain. The thought of you, disoriented from so long in that shithole, handcuffed to a hospital bed while Sullivan grills you makes him see red.

Another sinking realization hits Steve: he’s changed since last year. What if you don’t like him anymore, once you realize how much of a mess he became when he lost you?

Hopper emerges through a set of double doors. Steve’s charging over to him in seconds, the rest of his friends piling behind and all talking at once.

Hopper holds up his hands to silence the group.

“Owens wants to run some more tests,” Hopper says. “They’re checking for contaminants in her bloodstream. You all can see her soon.”

He points at Steve. “Except she’s asking for you right now. You ready?”

Steve nods and squeezes your new teddy bear again. He gives Robin a panicked look, and she gives him a quick hug.

“Go get her,” Robin says with an encouraging smile.

Steve smiles back before following Hopper down the hall. Joyce stands outside your hospital room and smiles when she sees Hopper and Steve approach. Steve freezes.

Through the plane of glass in the door, he sees you with your parents. All three of you are crying.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” Steve says, backing away from the door. Before he can fully chicken out, Hopper bursts in and says, “Hey, look who came by.”

You and your parents look up. At the sight of him, your mother and father beam.

“Hello, Steve!” your mother says, sweeping him into a hug. “Can you believe she’s back?!”

“It’s a goddamn miracle,” your dad says, wiping tears on his sleeve. “We’ve been praying for this for so long.”

“Let’s leave these two alone to catch up,” Joyce says. “Grace, Roger, why don’t we pick up some food for Y/N?”

Your parents agree and step out with Joyce and Hopper. When it’s just you and Steve, all either of you can do is stare at each other with awkward smiles.

You clear your throat and point to the teddy bear.

“Is that little guy for me?”

“Yes!” Steve says. “Uh, sorry.”

He hands it to you. When your fingers brush, it feels electric. Still, after so long apart—no matter how much he’s dreamed of what it would be like if he somehow saw you again—everything feels stiff. You’re the love of his life and he can’t think of one thing to say.

“How have you been?” you ask quietly, seemingly just as uncomfortable as Steve.

Steve can’t help but laugh and says, “Terrible. I mean, shit. I know what you went through is way worse—”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you say sharply. Steve recoils and you wince. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just—I’ve been through this like five times with Owens’ guys, and over a cover story two more times with the cops. I don’t want to talk about me. I want to hear about you. What’s been going on?”

Steve wants to know more about what happened. About how you killed Vecna. About how you survived. But he doesn’t. He would never push you to discuss anything you didn’t want to, but he hopes that one day you’ll feel ready to open up to him.

Right now, you want to hear about his life. Where to begin. Steve thinks of sugar-coating the truth but doesn’t when he admits: “For starters, I almost died last year.”

You gasp and sit up a little straighter.

“What? Oh my god, what happened?”

“I’m fine now,” Steve says, waving away your concerns.

“Was it Vecna?”

“No, nothing like that. I really missed you, and I was in a bad place.”

You swallow hard, eyes turning glassy.

“Oh, Steve. Please don’t tell me you tried to—”

“No!” he says quickly. “It was alcohol poisoning. I drank too much being too lonely on Thanksgiving. Had to get my stomach pumped. It wasn’t all bad, though. Robin and I watched ‘A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving’ on the hospital room TV and Joyce snuck in some pie for me.”

You ignore his attempts and lightening the mood and wave him even closer to you. He cautiously approaches and intertwines your fingers when you reach for his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I feel like it’s my fault—”

“Stop it.”

“Steve…”

“No!” Steve says. He shakes his head vehemently. “Don’t think like that. I just…struggled without you. But it’s not your fault that I’m a basket case.”

“You’re not a basket case,” you say. You squeeze his hand. “You’re the hero that crossed dimensions to come rescue me.”

You kiss his palm before scooching over on the hospital bed. You pat the spot next to you.

“What if your parents come back?” Steve asks.

“I’m not trying to hook up right now,” you say with an eye roll. “I just want you to lay with me.”

Steve is happy to oblige. He settles next to you. You rest your head on his shoulder and hug the teddy bear he brought you.

“So, you didn’t move on?” you ask quietly after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “Find a new girlfriend?”

“What?!” Steve asks, looking down at you, jaw dropped. “You really think I found someone else?”

You nod, fidgeting with the bow around your bear’s neck.

“15 months is a long time,” you whisper. “I don’t want to stand in the way if you're with someone else.”

“I couldn’t,” Steve says. He rests a hand on your knee cautiously. When you don’t flinch or move away, he keeps it there. “Y/N, I don’t want anyone else. I only want you, if you’ll still have me.”

You look up at him, noses practically brushing. The close proximity makes Steve’s cheeks flush rosy pink.

“You mean that?” you ask.

Steve nods. It seems to placate you, because in seconds, you’re lifting your chin to kiss him.

It’s a soft, gentle thing. An innocent brush of lips, like the kisses you shared very early in your relationship. Not the passionate “welcome home” kiss that Steve wants to give you, but he understands if you need to take things slow. He’ll move as slow as you need.

For the first time in months, Steve feels hopeful about his future again. Steve’s world is changing once more, in all the right ways.

🍊🍊🍊

EPILOGUE

You and Steve have your futures mapped out: after six months of physical and emotional healing, move in with Steve and join him at U of I in spring of ’88. Get engaged and subsequently married sometime within five years. No kids—at least, not biological ones, because your time in the Upside Down has caused lasting physiological effects that you don’t want to pass on to children. Maybe you’ll adopt a kid, or some dogs.

It's less of a map and more of an amorphous outline of what you two want to happen. All you two know for sure is that you never want to be apart that long ever again.

Steve’s heart and soul have changed, but they belong to you, and yours to him. Always.

🍊🍊🍊

a/n please lmk what you thought 🧡

tag list; @hollandweather @starry-eyed-steve @aloneinthehellfire @tvandfanfic @a-dealwith-god @stevebabey @keerysquinn @spoookysix @inkluvs

#st fic: oj #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic

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exhuastedpigeon · 2 months

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Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec Oct 16 - Nov 15

yet another list full of some of the most amazing fics I've read. It's wild how talented the writers in this fandom are.

0-5k

take control (mind, body, and soul) by honestlydarkprincess / @honestlydarkprincess Explicit | 2k the one where human Buck wants his vampire boyfriend to compel him during sex. They get nasty with it.

think about all the places we could go by hammersmiths / @henswilsons Teen | 2.4k Athena just looks grieved. “Why, then,” she says, “did you get military-grade handcuffs? Were the pink fuzzy ones not macho enough for you?”

blackout by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Explicit | 3.4k Buck wakes up hungover on Eddie's couch, with no memory of the night before. Eddie's at just as much of a loss as he is, but their friends seem to know something they don't.

The One with the Admissions by BekkaChaos / @bekkachaos Mature | 4.4k After an accidental slip up from Eddie, he's forced to admit that he's dating someone, but he and Buck are still determined to keep their relationship between the two of them. Things do not go smoothly, hidden thoughts and feelings are revealed, and Buck and Eddie have a short lived argument about their relationship.

5k-10k

you saw me (i got nowhere to hide) by buckleyseddie / @buckleyseddieTeen | 5.6k while Buck’s in a coma, Maddie finds herself at the loft one afternoon. There, she finds a heartbroken Eddie and they have a moment.

Out Of Order, Still In Line by callmenewbie / @puppyboybuckley Explicit | 6.2k When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue.

if you go down in the woods today by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 6.3k bad things happen bingo—tranquilizer dart (this fic lives rent free in my head. Amanda you’re a genius)

i have dreams where i kiss you and it’s pink by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuckTeen | 6.3k jee-yun buckley-han's third birthday party is in dire need of some fairy tale magic and buck's attempt to save the day might just be the thing that finally kills eddie

swinging for the fences by inbetweenthestacks / @organizedstardust Teen | 6.4k Buck takes Eddie to a baseball game. (this fic has a line “Is baseball just…math?” that make me laugh so hard)

You, all the way down by justhockey Not rated | 8.3k Suddenly, between one moment and the next, there are hands on him. Hands that Buck would know anywhere; hands that Buck knows maybe even better than he knows his own. The touch is exquisitely gentle - tender to the point of devastation, even though the calloused palms scratch against the soft skin of his cheeks.

It’s Eddie, because of course it is. Because who else would it be.

i'd swim to your call on my phone by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz Teen | 8.5k Buck's daughter keeps calling 9-1-1 for help with her homework, Eddie is smitten and apparently 9-1-1 works better than Tinder.

10k-20k

Got Weird by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Explicit | 10.5k Shortly after Buck and Natalia break up, Eddie gets tipsy and makes a rather forward move. Then immediately panics (not that Eddie panics, of course) and backpedals. Eddie spirals, Buck is confused. Lots of spontaneous kissing ensues.

aching for anything by addandsubtract / @postoperation Explicit | 11.3k “Here,” Hen says, holding out a covered paper cup, steam gently wafting from the mouth opening. “It’s lemon ginger tea. I know you said you’re not getting sick, but you don’t sound great.”

Buck takes the cup and holds it up to his nose, saying, “I’m really fine.”

Hen’s pointedly raised eyebrows are all skepticism.

past the curses and cries (there's me and you) by MonsterRae1 / @monsterrae1 Mature | 11.3k Buck's a witch, Eddie's cursed, can I make it any more obvious?

30k +

remember to remember me by Daffi_990_ao3 / @daffi-990 Explicit | 31.4k

Buck and Eddie finally get together only for lightning to strike a few days later, leaving Buck with no memories of them ever becoming a couple.

Don't They Know It's the End of the World? by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Mature | 32.4k After being put in a cryogenic sleep for over a hundred years to wait out an apocalyptic event, Eddie Diaz wakes up, too early, to find his son has been stolen from his cryo-chamber. Scared and alone in a frightening world he doesn't recognize, Eddie is willing to do anything to get his kid back.

blue eyes and bare walls by Underhung_Aura / @eddiebabygirldiaz Explicit | 45.8k Buck and Eddie are newlyweds and looking to paint their new bedroom. What ensues is the butting of heads, some arguing of both the fun and not fun variety, and desperate paint-filled sex on the floor.

Feels Like Magic by 42hrb Teen | 47.8k An urban fantasy AU where most things are the same, except there's magic

the blue house by ProsperDemeter / @prosperdemeter2 Mature | 65k Eddie Diaz wants nothing to do with the paranormal. He would be perfectly happy if the spirits of the world stopped showing themselves altogether, actually. But when Adriana and Sophia come to town to film on location for their popular YouTube ghost hunting channel and the ghosts in Eddie's life start becoming much more loud and frequent, he gets roped into figuring out just why things in the Los Angeles spiritual world are changing, and not for the better. The children are crying, and Eddie might be the only one who can hear them.

Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeelsExplicit | 67.1k When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15)

#buddie #buddie rec list #buddie hiatus rec list #911 #rec list

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madelynraemunson · 8 months

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CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ plz

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

Chapter 002: Wing Man

You start your first night of work. Eddie requests a private show. But not for him; for his friend — a rich and lonely bachelor who can’t seem to get over his ex.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020

word count: 7.2k words

NSFW — lap dance, steve creaming his pants, abusive relationships, talks of trauma, steve and reader trauma dumping lol

pairing: lonely bachelor!steve x fem!exoticdancer!hargrove! reader (and lowkey eddie)

author’s note: yes we get with steve before we get with eddie, but we will get there okay??? 🫣🫣🫦 also don’t tell me you guys wouldn’t homie hop in hawkins because these men are SO FINE

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

“Let me see you dance I love to watch you dance. Take you down another level, and get you dancing with the Devil” -Wicked Games by The Weeknd

♡

A sultry black set.

A hot pink set with bows. Caribbean blue. Army green for the military men. Some cuffs. Personal wet wipes. Sanitizer. And lastly, a stethoscope to play the part.

“I can’t believe you accepted a caregiving job,” Max scoffs as you both make your way out of Scrubs 4 Less. “Do you even have healthcare experience?”

Your stepsister loved to mask her prying with carefully crafted screening questions. Even if they sounded pessimistic.

“Sure I do,” you shrug. “Remember that summer I cared for Great-Aunt Dotty when she had Parkinson’s? Figured maybe it’d be similar.”

“I guess.”

You take it upon yourself to remind Max that you are certified in CPR. And with that cert, you saved numerous people from drowning as a lifeguard. Of course that was for one year during high school, but it was experience nonetheless.

"Well, what about the heavy lifting?"

"Easy. All in the legs." you pat your thighs. Despite being calm on the outside, you are getting nervous now. About everything.

"Takes a lot of core strength too. And upper body."

It's like she knows what you actually will be going to be doing. However, there are parallels between both professions, and you made sure you made a choice like that so you wouldn't have to lie as much about the physicality of things.

"You seemed to have gotten the job pretty fast,” Max notes.

"Nursing homes are really short staffed. Especially with the pandemic and everyone leaving from all the burnout, they’ll take anybody who qualifies."

"Did they even determine if you do?"

"Are you questioning my ability to take care of people?”

You know you’re being manipulative. You can spot a manipulator from a mile away. But this little white lie is for you and Max’s own good. Even if it means selling her a fake story. Even if it means lying. Living a double life.

“An abusive home life and all-timers isn’t comparable.”

“Have you considered that some people with Alzheimer’s are combative as well?”

“And you had to accept the graveyard shift?” she pries further, ignoring all your valid points.

“It pays more,” you answer sharply, readily. “Two dollar shift differential.”

“Oh my god, we’re practically millionaires.”

The sudden change in Max's behavior is really catching you off guard. She was optimistic on her birthday. A little withdrawn when the weekend was approaching. Now the pain is evident it is almost unbearable. Sure, Billy isn't a problem anymore, but with all of his chaos, Max has found solace in using her hobbies as coping mechanisms. Her body needs that adrenaline, and now you have cut off access to all of it.

Max can't go surf. She can't run around freely just yet because she doesn't know good routes and trails. She doesn't have friends in the area besides you, Robin, and Vicky. She misses Donovan.

Max is hurt. You know she is, but you don't blame her. Still, you’ve had it.

“Hey.” you snap.

Max halts. She knows she went too far.

“I know it's sucky... the situation we're in right now," you sigh. "But I'm doing this for us, remember? It’s temporary. We just need a soft place to land, and this is paving the way towards that.”

At least that’s something you didn’t have to lie about: It’s a sacrifice you were making for her.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

Orientation day comes in a blink of an eye.

Eddie is giving you a tour of Hellfire while discussing how his particular ‘system’ works. You’ve got to give him credit. His system makes sense.

“I don’t ask my girls to pay to dance here,” he explains. “I just think that’s bogus. Also, it’s Hawkins. Not that many competitors, so if I let you dance here, you’re automatically staff.”

You two walk down the hall. Eddie shows you where you would clock in and out, promising you your punch-in code by the end of the week. You learn that everyone gets paid out every Friday, because in Eddie’s words, “fuck that biweekly shit”. Tips go home with you every night, but you are expected to help tip out staff members patrons don’t really see or interact with. Therefore: Jonathan’s girlfriend Nancy whose House Mom, Henry, and Argyle. The boys make their money from bussing and serving. Jonathan earns tips from POTIONS.

“I figured as much.”

You graze your hand along the kukris on the wall as Eddie talks. He stops to take note of it and gives you a boastful smile.

“You like ‘em?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”

“That’s the perk of owning your own business,” Eddie says exuding a lazy stretch to graze the kukris himself. “You choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes.”

He ponders for a while longer.

“Most of the time at least.”

Clearly a majority of the money also went to the chicken wings.

Eddie leads you to back of the house where he then proudly showcases his wing menu to you. There’s the Hawkins Hot Chick for Nashville inspired hot chicken. Chicken Strippers for the picky eaters. And the ‘Hot As Cluck’ buffalo wings with spice scales named after Metallica songs: Fuel (mild), Fight Fire with Fire (medium), Creeping Death (hot), and The Unforgiven (Extremely hot). All are served with one’s choice of carrots and celery or crinkle cut fries on the side.

“Crinkle cut fries are the best kind of fries,” Eddie states. “Ain’t that right, chef?”

“Ay ay!”

One chef. For the entire back of the house. Though that seems like the textbook definition of a staff shortage, the friendly Latino man with long, black hair that he concealed with a hairnet and baseball cap most likely had it covered. He flashes you a kind grin with kind, hooded eyes to match, quite possibly revealing to you that he’s likely stoned out of his mind. But if it helps him through the shift…

“Argyle’s the man,” Eddie explains. “Pitched the chicken wing idea to me when we were both blasted.”

Suspicions confirmed.

“Is it just Argyle?” you inquire waving hello to him.

“Sometimes Eds helps out back here too,” Argyle answers for him. “Like when we’re really fucking shlammed, he’ll come back here and help cook.”

Argyle turns to you. You smile at him.

“But most of the time I got it,” he says. “That man’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, Argyle’s a beast,” Eddie confirms. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

While Eddie tidies up back of the house, you and Argyle converse with one another. He’s 28, produces music on the side, and learned how to cook from his mom at the age of three. California native as well. By observing the mini station he has set up, you notice that Argyle keeps a stash of Yerba Mate with him at all times, and some bud in his mini gym bag. You also learn that he and Eddie often take breaks together, hot boxing one another’s vans as if it were some sort of competition. But, as Argyle had mentioned, with how much Eddie currently has on his plate, those joint breaks (no pun intended) have been pushed to the backburner.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Hargrove,” Argyle concludes. “Excited to have you on our team.”

“Likewise!” you shake his hand with a smile. “Looking forward to bugging you for chicken wings.”

“You bug me all you want, mamas,” he insists. “I’ll make you allll the chicken wings in the world.”

“You a flats girl or a drumstick girl?” Eddie questions.

“Flats,” you respond instantly.

You receive a distraught gasp from the cook while Eddie cackles.

“Atta girl,” Eddie smirks patting your back. “I knew I liked you.”

“BLAS.PHE.MY!” Argyle screams. “Drumsticks are where it’s at bro.”

The three of you argue back and forth about chicken for the next couple of minutes, Eddie sticking beside you through and through. Though play-fighting with your new coworkers seems meniscal in the grand scheme of things, you reveled in it. It’s the first time in a while you felt a sense of community outside your sister. You wanted to savor it, especially since you know that this is temporary.

“You’re a red flag, Hargrove,” Argyle jokes, clutching his chest. “You were perfect in my eyes until you said you were a flats girl.”

“Well it’s a good thing she’s mine and not yours,” Eddie jeers.

Your heart flutters. Eddie and chicken wings. You’ve GOT to be in heaven.

“Alright, word,” Argyle calls after Eddie as he pulls you away from the kitchen. “Word. I’m still gonna spoil her with food like she’s mine though.”

“He’s such a flirt,” Eddie says to you once you’re both out of earshot. “Endearing and endangering at the same time.”

“All in good nature right?”

“‘Course!” he exclaims. “We’re all about respecting women at Hellfire. Everything’s lighthearted banter.”

And you’ll revel in that too. Especially since ‘respect’ and ‘lighthearted banter’ weren’t things you were able to experience at home.

“Also!” Eddie adds. “Respectfully… Wear something simple but classy on Friday.”

“Ooh,” you chime. “Simple and classy?”

“Yeah, I’m talking neutral tones. Red lipstick also preferred but you can do whatever you want. I’ve got something I need you to do for me on your very first day.”

I’ll do anything for you, Eddie. Your intrusive thoughts are starting to take over.

———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-

It’s Friday night now and everyone is in their respective stations preparing for the rush. Argyle is prepping the fryer while Chrissy flirts with him for nachos. She waves at you with her fingers and gestures that you can have some too. You smile and mouth a, “thank you” to her.

You really like Chrissy. Of all the dancers you’ve seen so far, she is the most memorable. She is charming and sweet, soft but firm with her boundaries. She has regulars lining up for her daily, all with different types of quirks and interests. But Chrissy somehow fits all of their molds, just by how fast she can switch from doe to siren depending on her audience. You want to be just like her.

You and Eddie stop by the kitchen before heading off to finish orientation. There are chicken wings — flats only, of course — on the line waiting for you with a note scribbled on the back of an old ticket order.

“Shy Girl<3”

“Eat up, mamas,” Argyle encourages you. “Gonna need the energy for tonight.”

“Yeah!” Chrissy cheers. “It’s Fridaaay!”

You thank them before heading out with Eddie once again. Eddie steals a flat from you and flashes a thumbs up to the cook before you two leave.

“Mm,” he approves. “Fight Fire with Fire Buffalo.”

You are just about done with wrapping up orientation training and ready to start the first night on your own. That is until Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s younger brother and bus boy, comes along and interrupts Eddie’s train of thought. You walk with Eddie in silence, munching on your food while Mike relentlessly hounds him about bringing his girlfriend into the club. She is 18 but Eddie is refusing.

“But but-” Mike stammers. “The club is already eighteen plu-”

“But nothing,” Eddie interrupts. “This is Hellfire Club. Not babysitting club.”

“Well I’m 19 and you let me work here. Why does it matter if she’s 18?”

“Because you’re a dude, Wheeler,” Eddie hisses in return. “It’s different for the ladies.”

Not willing to risk any liabilities, he leaves Mike with just that. You follow Eddie, fiddling nervously with your hands as you watch him tsk and shake his head in disapproval.

“I can’t have teenage girls in here,” Eddie mutters. “That’s just blatantly obvious right? Or have I lost it?”

“No, right. Totally!” you agree.

Eddie has another rule. No strippers under the age of 20. Anyone under, including ages of 18 and 19 are children to him. He admits that he gets squeamish when guys bring their younger looking girlfriends into the club. You assume it pertained to his colleague’s girlfriends too.

You walk past the bar with Eddie, waving hi to Jonathan as you did so. Dustin is at the bar as well but is too busy to say hello. You manage to glance over and watch him fix his hair, trying to look his absolute best while FaceTiming his Mormon e-girl from Utah, Suzie. After eavesdropping for the past couple of days, you pick up that she insists on video chatting with Dustin every time he is at Hellfire to ensure his fidelity. Suzie wanted to be his “only wifey” to which ‘Dusty Bun’ assures her that she is.

“Uh oh,” comes a voice ever so soft it sounds eerie when it echoes through the club. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”

Slithering into your periphery is the same tall, lean guy that you ran into earlier last week. Today he's sporting a white tank top that revealed a couple small tattoos scattered around his body, black pants that were tight enough to be yours, a loose wallet chain belt, and chunky work docs. His gorgeous blonde hair looks attainably messy by what you suspect is mousse. He smells of beer and cigarettes tonight, his tired eyes a precursor to his lust-filled gaze. A poster boy for all the men you wouldn’t want to bring home to your parents is none other than,

“Henry Creel,” Eddie says. “Mike’s just picking a bone with me. Have you met Hargrove? She’s our newest dancer.”

It’s seemingly Henry’s first day back. From the first day of orientation to now, you’ve only had run-ins with Jim, the older gentleman who is also a bouncer. Jim spent years with the Hawkins PD, but after a scandal that only Eddie and his peers seem to know about, Jim found a home protecting young women at the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club. The only place that gave him a chance.

You like Jim. You like everyone here. You are also ecstatic to see Henry again, this time as a dancer. You can see the excitement blooming in his eyes, with a steady increase in his pupil size by the second.

“Well, well,” Henry smirks. “Look who decided to join us.”

You two shake hands again.

“Henry’s my other bouncer,” Eddie explains, but you already knew that. “He’s my right hand man. He’s tiny but mighty. Could snap bones in an instant.”

You peer over at Henry with shocked eyes, to which Henry acknowledges with a dramatic bow.

“You’ll see it,” Eddie hovers a hand over your back. “I sure hope not anytime soon, but there’s always that one douchebag.”

“And they always underestimate me too,” Henry says. “I get a nice kick out of it. It’s a win-win.”

Henry is certainly not beefy, but judging by his muscle tone and sharp upright demeanor, he can put up a fight. Dude seems like he does a lot of the dirty work for Eddie. He can get away with it too.

After bidding ‘see you later’ to Henry, you continue walking with Eddie.

“So,” he starts. “Did you put together a cute simple outfit for tonight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Good,” Eddie says. “I can tell it’s gonna look amazing. I dig the red lipstick and the choker.”

Eddie wanted classy so you gave him classy. Underneath the cloak, you are sporting a lacy black set with a matching black choker and classic red lipstick. Your hair is straightened tonight since beach waves are your signature.

“You want a sneak peak?” you smirk.

Eddie quirks up. “Oh man, do I? Let me at it.”

You take off your cloak to reveal what you have underneath.

Eddie stops in his tracks, taking in the sight in front of him. His gaze is both soft, yet lout. Delicate in the brows, yet carnivorous in the eyes. Slowly, his jaw lowers, uttering a silent gasp as he fully processes the sight of the vixen — you — in front of him.

“Jeez…” he strains. “You look…”

You blush. Electricity whirls through you as Eddie continues to relish in your beauty.

“Showstopping,” Eddie finishes.

He reaches his arms out and you take them, letting yourself fall into his chest as he pulls you to him. During the embrace, he sets his lips beside your cheek, brushing against them delicately as he gives you a verbal kiss.

“Mwah!” he exclaims, leaving you longing for a stronger peck. You feel like you’re on a cloud when he spins you to get a full 360 of your look. “I was expecting like a light color, or pastel…but black — black is your color.”

“Yeah?” you reply. “It’s not too edgy? Choker and all?”

“A lil rough around the edges won’t hurt,” the club owner approves. “He’s gonna love it.”

You follow closely behind. “He?”

Your first client. You had a feeling that’s what Eddie had planned for you today, but reality didn’t sit in until right now.

"Ever given a lap dance before?" Eddie inquires.

"Yeah, but not in this setting."

He seems amused with your answer. Eddie smirks as he gives you a nudge. "Perfect."

You two are walking down the corridor now, down to an isolated room at the end masked by a beaded curtain. You’re unsure if the goosebumps that form on your skin is because of the slight chilliness of the club or because you were walking into a seductive hideout with the boss you had the hots for.

You two stop just a yard short of the curtain. Eddie turns to face you.

"I've got a buddy named Steve. Not short for anything, his parents just... loved the 80s." he chuckles. “You’re giving him a private show tonight. One hour.”

Eddie’s buddy. The pressure is on. The name rings a bell, you believe Dustin was talking about him the first day you set foot in Hellfire.

“Oh,” you say. “I think I heard your friend Dustin talking about him last week.”

As if it were some inside joke, Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie mutters. “Don’t even get me started on those two.”

Eddie motions you forward, extending his arm to signal an “after you” gesture as you proceed into the private show room. The beads of the curtain carelessly clash into one another as Eddie saunters in.

"Anyway, Steve has been going through it lately. His lady left him for another dude, he lost his job because the city wanted another basic coffee shop instead of a place to rent cheesy B movies…and the last time he worked in the food industry he had to wear a sailor’s uniform, so he’s since opted out.”

You wander around what was going to be your office for the next hour as Eddie aimlessly takes his own path and furthers his lay-down.

“His folks want nothing to do with him because he doesn't wanna be nepotized by them. When he’s not working, he’s babysitting — you guessed it — Dustin and the rest of the boys when they’re not here or playing D&D with me. Oh yeah, and on the topic of girlfriend, he hasn't gotten laid in a fat minute.”

Eddie pauses.

"It's kinda depressing,” he says. “Now that I say it all out loud.”

He makes a sharp turn and walks toward the boombox he kept in the corner of the room.

"That is depressing," you mumble nonchalantly, as if you yourself had not been laid in a fat minute… contrary to your obnoxious brother’s popular belief.

“How do you sleep at night knowing you’re a fucking slut?” Billy’s voice haunts you.

You’ve only had one real boyfriend and Billy knew that. And that boyfriend, shortly after he left you for the girl he told you not to worry about, admitted that you were simply a placeholder for him. They’re happily married now and it tortures you knowing that being the first choice was never in the cards. Billy knew that too and used that backstory to fuel your insecurities. Billy knew you hated feeling used, yet brought it up every chance he got. Making his victims feel small, that was the source of his power. You shudder it off.

You watch as Eddie plays around with the boombox, ensuring that the aux chord was working along with all its other components.

"Tell you what," Eddie begins to barter. "You give him a good show, you can keep a hundred percent of your tips tonight. Consider it a sign on bonus."

“Wow, Eddie really?” you exclaim. “That…helps me out a lot. Thanks so much.

“Of course, doll,” Eddie grins. “Happy to help.”

Eddie finishes up tidying the room before walking back over to you.

“I can’t get over how amazing you look,” he adds one last time. “You’re gonna knock his socks off.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you thank him one last time.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He lingers for a while longer before going outside to look for Steve. Meanwhile, heart’s-a-fluttering you try to acquaint yourself with the place, choosing a seductive song of your liking before getting prepped.

Wicked Games by The Weeknd.

More ruckus sounds from outside of the show room. You assume your client has arrived.

“That’s the boy,” Eddie confirms. “BRB-right back.”

You excuse your boss as he makes his way over to his friend. While you wait, your mind begins to race. Does your outfit look okay? Does your breath smell? Do you smell? Despite all the wardrobe and wellness checks you’ve done, your mind is insistent that something else was off. To calm your nerves, you decide to take a quick gulp of Bombay Sapphire, a gin Eddie had provided for the room, before Steve walks in.

Liquid courage. May help with the performance too.

“There he is,” Eddie cheers as the two men greet each other outside. “What took you so long?”

“There was uh, traffic,” a softer voice responds.

“I call bull.”

The two talk a bit more, voices too quiet for you to make out what they’re saying. That, or the sound of your heart pounding against your chest drowned out their conversation. Steve sounds friendly. Timid, but friendly nonetheless.

You listen in on Eddie’s spiel about you. He called you stunning, explained that you just moved from California, and that you are exactly Steve’s type. Whatever that could possibly mean. You then hear Eddie go over the rules. No touching you without consent. No verbal or physical harassment. No sexual intercourse. And to tip generously.

“She sounds lovely. Thanks for the run down, Eds.”

“‘Course. She’s all yours, Big Boy.”

The beaded curtains clash once more.

In walks a man around Eddie’s age, late 20s, early 30s with sleek mahogany hair and slight puffy eyes. He’s sporting a gray North Face sleeveless jacket with a plain black shirt underneath and denim blue Levi’s. He’s a lot more preppy than you thought he would be. Steve’s reaction to you was similar to that of Eddie, despite how different they seem from each other.

“Hi,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you smile. “You’re Steve?”

He nods shyly. “You’re who they call Shy Girl?”

“That’s meee.”

It doesn’t take a body language analyst to see that Steve is guarded. It takes another fragile, sullen demeanor to know one.

“Are you one of Eddie’s shy friends?”

The comment earns a laugh from Steve. “You think I’m shy?”

“Just a little.”

He attempts to mask a gulp. “I’ve just never gotten a lap dance before.”

“You think I’m supposed to believe that?”

You stalk towards him and rest a hand on his chest when proximity and Steve himself grants you permission. You sink your palm in deeper when you pick up he’s receptive to it.

Oh yeah, that’s all gin.

“With your handsome self?”

Steve’s blushing now. “Yeah…strip clubs are kinda not my thing. They’re starting to be though, cuz I always come and support Eddie.”

“What a nice boyfriend,” you joke.

“Eddie and I do have a budding bromance,” he admits with a laugh.

“Boy I’d love to be in the middle of that,” you tease him honestly.

Steve is left stunned and speechless while you grab his hand and lead him to the futon in the middle of the room. He attempts to relax, exhaling the tension out of his shoulders and manspreading as he watches you encompass him. You walked in a slow circle around Steve as the music starts and he peers up at you with curious eyes. Alas, you stop in front of him, cupping his face softly in your hands and synchronizing your hip movements to the rhythm of the song.

Relate to your customers. Talk to them. Build a connection with them, you think to yourself.

“So how’s your day been?”

Steve cracks a faint smile. "Good, how's yours?"

"Good," you chime as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap.

Steve sharply inhales, sucking the tension he had just released right back into his body. You shake your head in disapproval and stroke his face calmly.

“No, no,” you coo. “Just sit back, relax. You’re safe with me.”

“I’m safe with you, huh?” he responds in an is-that-so kind of fashion. “You seem like pure danger to me.”

“Oh, please,” you snarkily disregard his comment. “I’m an angel.”

“In a place called Hellfire?” he challenges you. “I find that hard to believe.”

Steve wants to touch you. So bad. But he refrains. You feel it in his levitating palms, resting just inches away from the small of your back. You start to lightly ride his thigh, hoping to catch his palm in passing as you move your hips about. Instead you’re met with something hard at the base of his pants, an outline and protrusion that wasn’t there before.

Steve looks down and acknowledges it with a shrug.

"Sorry," he chuckles. "It has a mind of its own."

You laugh faintly in return. "It's okay. I'd say it's responding appropriately."

"Yeah?"

"Given the circumstances," you say as you grind slower, deeper. "Yeah."

"Well, that's a relief."

Steve is cute. And a polite man who values your consent was sure to receive it. You two lock gazes before one of you dared to speak again. It all feels like a blind date, and you’re two giddy young adults.

"You..." you start. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

"Really?" Steve asks. "Usually dancers don't let you do that."

"It depends who you ask," you smile. "Consent is subjective...and you have mine. C'mon."

He obliges and starts to graze your ass softly with his hands. You run his hands through his hair, then along his neck without lifting them. A muffled moan is slowly released from his mouth.

"Shit," he sputters. "Feels really good."

He tosses his head back.

"You make me feel so good."

"Aww," you grin. "Me?"

"Yeah you," his voice is deeper now. Huskier. "All because of you."

His hand moves upwards towards your bra and he begins to fiddle with the straps, and then the clasps. You continue your steady grinding, rolling your hips to the beat of the music, tossing your head back for the full effect while Steve holds back the urge to cup your perfect breasts in his kneady hands.

A whimper escapes Steve’s mouth when you find the sweet place to roll, resting a palm over his abdomen for leverage.

“Needy, are we?” you tease him. “Needy for me, Stevie?”

“So fucking needy,” he breathes, a nervous gulp swallowing another sneaky groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

I’ve got my heart right here, I’ve got my scars right here.

Suddenly, you cease the grinding, going from cowgirl to reverse. Grabbing a hold of both his knees with the back of both your hands, you sink down to the floor, knees bent, slightly out turned. Your hands move from his knees to encompass his elbows, accommodating the playful headlock he abruptly decided to have you in, watching you squat down beneath him.

“Mmm,” he hums. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

His arms creep from the sides of your face to the front of your face. You crane your head upwards, peering up at him and refrain from shivering when he brings an arm across your neck. His other hand rests on your face, stroking it tenderly.

“Get up here and, ride my thighs again, please.” he pleads. “It was feeling so good.”

“Okay,” you oblige before standing back up.

“Before you do though, let me get a good look at your ass.”

You stand there for him, bending down ever so slightly so he could run his hands across your back. He grabs a fist full of your hair gently with one hand and strokes your ass cheek with the other.

"Wow," Steve hums as he runs his fingers along the birth mark on your lower back. "I like this birthmark."

"Yeah?" you say. "Some people have said it looks like a tramp stamp."

"It's cute," Steve insists, pulling you onto his lap. “It kinda looks like a bat."

He points to where the wings would be and the fangs and you laugh. No one's admired your tramp stamp-esque birthmark the way Steve did.

"Thanks," you reply. "My brother has a matching one."

You pause.

"Sorry, that didn't sound all that sexy."

Steve tosses his head back and chuckles, hand resting firmly on your ass again. "You look sexy talking regardless, so I don’t mind.”

The chemistry between you and Steve feels so natural. You know if your nurturing heart felt like this with all clients you would be in big trouble. This profession isn’t for everyone and you realize that. But you decide to realize everything else later. Meanwhile, your focus right now is pleasing Steve.

You resume the thigh riding per his request, and chase your own subtle high as you did so. Steve whimpers and whines, seeming to long for you even more with every stroke of his hair, every brush against his cheek, every steady and calculated grind against his—

"Woah, are you okay?"

Suddenly you’re cut off by Steve abruptly pushing you off his lap. When you peer over at him, his face has gone completely red.

Did you do something wrong? Did you violate a boundary? Millions of thoughts race through your head. You can’t get fired on the first day of your new job…

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I just..." Steve stammers, flushing a deeper red hue with every word. “I... uh, kinda came in my pants."

"Oh..." you begin.

"I am so sorry," Steve sighs. "Embarrassed is an understatement. I’m such a loser.”

You two start frantically talking over each other, one extremely apologetic, another sympathetic to the concerns. Again, it’s like you two are clumsy young adults on a blind date set up by your bold friends.

"It's been a while... so..." Steve stammers.

"Steve," you stop him.

"And..." he cuts out.

"It's okay," you reassure him. “It’s okay, Steve. If you need a break, we can stop.”

“Sounds good,” he agrees with a resigned sigh, the red colored flush migrating to his ears. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You go to put your cloak back on again and strut towards the gin. Perhaps offering the man a drink would help loosen up his nerves.

"What should we do with the allotted time left?" Steve wonders eyes following you. He’s rubbing his knees anxiously with his palms. “Eddie has this room booked for an hour. He needs to think you're doing splits on my dick or something or else he won't be satisfied."

Laughter erupts from the deepest parts of your belly at Steve's comment. Steve can't help but laugh as well.

"Hm, we can wait a bit and I can give you another lap dance?” you suggest. “Or a strip tease?"

You weren't used to those words coming out of your mouth, so you attempted to make it sound as normal as possible. Wow, you really just gave a lap dance. And someone came from it.

"Do you think..." Steve inquires. "That we can just... talk?"

----

So you and Steve do exactly that. You talk about your families, and your aspirations, your deepest fears, and your core values. Steve Harrington isn’t the loser he thinks he is. He’s a really cool guy. But deeply misunderstood.

“So you and your brother have similar birthmarks?” Steve questions.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Except his is on his belly. We literally took the term identical twins to a whole new level.”

He laughs.

“Your brother sounds cool.”

“He was.”

Steve gasps in astonishment.

“Oh, my god. I’m sorry. Is he…”

“He’s not dead. Just an asshole.”

The color returns to his face. He exhales steadily and shakes his head. You find his reaction funny, despite how twisted that made you sound.

“Dead to you though?”

“Pretty much,” you giggle. “Dead to me.”

You two do a cheers to that with your alcohol-filled glasses and take another painful sip. It burns.

“Tell me about yourself now,” you prompt him.

There’s a dramatic pause.

“Well,” Steve begins. “I’m an only child. So eyes have been on me for as long as I can remember. What’s Stevie up to? This is what we expect of him and this is what happens if he’s not what we make him out to be. It didn’t take til young adulthood to realize that I have been living in my parents’ shadow. I don’t even know what I like.”

Steve spurs on about how he has struggled with his identity, going back and forth between if what he was pursuing was a desire of his or his parents’.

“And for a while I thought I knew who Steve was. Until I lost myself again in a girl named Nancy.”

“Aw,” you pout.

“A girl,” Steve pauses waiting for you to catch on. “Named Nancy.”

Your eyes widen. “House Mom Nancy?!”

Steve nods as you slowly piece things together.

“So Jonathan’s girlfriend is your…”

“Ex girlfriend,” Steve confirms. “Small world, huh?”

You suppose it wasn’t good that Hawkins is so small. You’d hate for someone to recognize you when you’re taking a casual stroll outside.

Nonetheless, you push that concern to the side and continue your conversation with Steve.

“What happened?”

“Some petty high school shit,” he explains. “But it’s always been her. She made me a better me. The closest to Steve that I’ve ever felt.”

“Wow,” you say. “So you saw a future with her?”

“Marriage, kids, everything,” Steve confirms. “Then she decided I wasn’t what — who — she wanted.”

It’s silent for a while. Steve shakes his head bitterly and downs the rest of his drink. You slosh yours around waiting for him to speak again. Besides, if you did, you’d end up ugly crying about your ex. And no one wants their stripper trauma dumping on them when they’re supposed to be performing.

Thankfully, Steve is the first to speak again.

“Yeah, Nance. She looks… she looks happy,” he turns to you with dismal eyes. “I don’t ever wanna get in the way of that.”

“Do you ever see her here?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s in the back being House Mom, making sure all the girls are taken care of and all that. And I’m sure she doesn’t come up front because she knows Eddie has been trying to play wingman.”

You chuckle. “With a stripper?”

“With anyone,” Steve chuckles. “God that sounds awful. I sound like a loser.”

“Would you stop saying that?” you snap. “You are not a loser, Steve.”

“I know I’m not a loser. Just feel like it sometimes. Especially when it dawns on you that you’ve been living life for other people.”

“I kinda know how you feel.”

You two lock eyes again. Steve rests a hand on top of yours, intertwining your fingers briefly before he begins playing with each of your fingers one by one.

"I guess…going back to the previous topic…” he proceeds. “If I could change anything about myself, I would've done more of what Steve wants to do. Not what Todd and Marsha want Steve to do. Or what Tommy H. and Carol want Steve to do. Because maybe then Nancy and I would’ve been endgame. Or maybe Allison. Possibly Tammy? Who knows? See? Everyone’s world but Steve’s.”

"Steve," you start. "I hope you realize that I have no idea who any of these people are. It’s kinda hard to keep up.”

"And that is such a relief to hear that," he sighs again, this time in exasperation. "I just feel so free talking about them to someone who doesn't know who they are. Hawkins is small, you know. And it’s good that the only bias you can form is in my favor since you only know of me."

You offer him a consoling pat atop the hand, to which he responds by leaning his head on your shoulder. With how tender everything has been with Steve, there’s a temptation to plant a delicate kiss on his forehead. But you stop yourself.

"I'd like to know you, know you, though,” you find yourself saying.

He gazes up at you. You two smile at each other.

“I’d like to know you more too, Shy Girl,” he answers. “If you’d let me.”

“Duh, it’s what I just said.”

He chuckles. “You’re not saying that for the tips?”

“No. Just human to human.”

You stroke his cheek longingly, running your hand along his stubble.

"It's also been a while since I've gotten laid too," you admit. "And I've got a lot of pent up stress I need to release. You seem like a trustworthy person to do that with.”

The energy changes. Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.

"Oh yeah?" He rubs your thumb with his and soon you find yourselves holding hands.

"Yeah.”

“Sounds like we have a deal then, Shy Girl.”

Before Steve gets any ideas, you interrupt him.

“I don't wanna have sex at work," you admit. "Especially not on the clock."

"Oh, yeah I didn’t think it’d be now. Some people do find that hot though.”

"It's my first day. I can’t disappoint Eddie this early in the game.”

"You're kidding."

You shake your head.

"Wow, I would've thought you've been doing this a while."

You blush. "Thank you. But nope, you’re my Guinea pig.”

Steve continues to gawk in amazement. Then he reaches for his wallet, grabbing a huge wad of Benjamin Franklins and handing it to you.

"Tell you what," Steve bargains. "You buy yourself something nice, get your bills paid, and come through in a couple days. The roomie won't be home so we'll have the place to ourselves. We can get takeout or something too. Whatever makes you comfortable, of course.”

You bite your lip. "I'd like that."

“Good. I’d like that too.”

———-

"So, how was it?" you hear Eddie ask Steve.

"Dude...I just about creamed my pants," he says as you hold back laughter. "You got yourself a good one."

"Nothing's ever too TMI for you, Harrington," Eddie says. "But thanks for the imagery."

"Yeah. I gotta get going now. I got laundry to put away at home. It's been piling so much I think it's going to tip over."

“Roger,” Eddie says before bidding him goodbye. “Oh, speaking of which, did you tip her good?”

“You bet I did. Woman like her needs to be spoiled rotten.”

————

You make your way back to the dressing room after saying bye to Steve and finishing the flats Argyle had specially made for you. At your locker, you subtly attempt to count the hundreds Steve gave you for his lap dance and talk session. The man left you 10 of them. A whole band.

You were stunned. What did King Steve do for a living anyways? It didn’t matter to you. You had enough for groceries, gas, and a portion of your rent, all earned in an hour’s work, and all yours to keep as Eddie insisted.

The realization makes your heart skip a beat. You and your sister were good for the next few weeks.

Knock, knock.

“Don’t freak out ladies, it’s just me!” Eddie shouts from the other side of the door. “Put your cloaks on I’m coming in!”

You watch as the girls scurry to get their covers back on. The amount of respect Eddie has for his dancers is insane. Perhaps it’s common decency but it was such a striking difference than what you were used to. It warmed your heart in a way, but also made you sad. You deserved this respect all your life.

When Eddie finds you, he starts towards you, a look of approval spread wide across his face. As deeply as you wanted it to be because he found you attractive, you infer that it’s because you’re bringing in good business — and that you’re good, given a small amount of experience with the pole.

You two are face to face now. Eddie speaks up first.

“Steve, uh,” he says. “Steve really likes you.”

“Oh really?” you smile. “I’m glad.”

“You’re just a natural, Shy Girl,” he compliments you. “Everyone’s just raving about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Based on what I’ve seen so far and what Stevie told me, yeah,” he confirms. “But I guess it’s no surprise. Shy girls are almost always the freakiest, huh?”

You try not to laugh while you’re witnessing the imagination of your boss running in the complete opposite direction of what really happened between you and Steve. Nevertheless, you let him. You didn’t mind taking up space in your dashing boss’s mind.

“You should come to work a little early next time you’re on,” Eddie says. “I’d like to take you to lunch.”

Heat spreads across your cheeks. “Really?”

“‘Course! I do it with all my dancers as a welcome thing. I’d like to know more about you. You’re more than just a pretty face and someone who simply works for me.”

‘I do it with all my dancers.’

Your heart sinks. Back to square one.

Eddie clears his throat.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’m gonna head out now. Gonna go see the lady friend. I’ve got Johnny boy, Argyle, and Henry holding down the fort.”

The tinge in your heart intensifies.

“Oh, sounds fun!”

“Yeah, I rarely see her cuz she bartends. Even though we work similar hours we work opposite days. But she got first cut tonight so I’m heading over.”

“Have fun, Eddie.”

“I sure will,” Eddie says. “Goodnight, Shy Girl.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie soon disappears out of sight and now your shift seems ten times longer. Regardless, you stuff your tips into your tote bag and prepare to meander around the club, enticing other bachelors for a dance.

Without Eddie around, it seems less exciting.

“Doing it for Max,” you remind yourself while fixing your hair in the mirror in front of you.

You reach for your phone to see the amount of time that has transpired since the private show with Steve. But the clock wasn’t your concern when your Home Screen lights up.

Your heart nearly sinks to the floor.

Billy Hargrove

1 Missed Call

Billy Hargrove

iMessage: 1 message

You open it.

What the actual fuck.

#the babyboyification of steve harrington #daddy eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson smut #Steve #steve harrington #Steve harrington smut #Steve and reader #Eddie and trader

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