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famwhy · 9 months

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Right Way Up (04)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: omg guys, I came across an account that said their current favourite fic was this one in their bio. I'm acc so happy, tysm

prev part. masterlist.

04. bring unto me peculiarity

trait: e.m.

YOU blinked, jaw hung open and muscles tense as her grip around you tightened—constricting your movements and clogging your airways. Though, breathing was the least of your concerns when it came to tight hugs at the moment, not when you had your dumb arm to worry about.

As if on cue, a sharp rupture of pain spiked your side, and you winced, grunting a little before sucking a breath in through your teeth and asking—albeit with scrunched up features—"...sorry, do I know you?"

"Wha—?" She pulled away at that, and the look she gave you—oh, the look she gave you—it was full of heartbreak, emotional turmoil spanning as far as the eye could see. "It's me, baby, it's mommy."

"Mom?"

You thought you didn't have a mother.

"Yes, baby, it's me. It's mom." She smiled, pupils shaking in—and you could be wrong about this, but—what seemed like... desperation?

What's up with that?

And, if this lady really was your mother, where the hell had she been all these days?

"Y/N? The hell is taking so—?"

A strange sense of déjà vu drenched your form as your eyes followed the new voice, landing on the slightly-parted lips and wide, almost-disbelieving eyes of your second oldest brother—hands still covered by the huge, red gloves he often adorned.

Then, his features scrunched up—though, it wasn't like yours had just done—no—his were harder, more purposeful; his were clouded in a storm consisting purely of loathing so unadulterated, you had half a mind to think he was staring—no, glaring—into the form of his worst enemy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" And as he spoke, venom spat out of his mouth, launching itself straight onto the woman still loosely holding you and causing her face to scrunch up in a pained wince. "Shouldn't you be on one of your fucking five-year-long business trips?"

"Oh honey—"

His glare grew sharper. "Don't call me that."

"I..." she trailed off and you blinked, helpless to the scene that was playing out right before your very eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck got into you but you can't just waltz in here like..." his face scrunched up, brows furrowing as he paused the sentence for one... two... three seconds before continuing, spite still as prevalent as ever, "like you belong!"

You watched as her face dropped even further at that—the barely visible bags under her eyes looking about ten times worse than they did before.

Now, you had no idea what type of past you were meant to have shared with this woman—how horrible it truly was—but surely someone who greeted you so warmly at the door couldn't be too bad?

So with that thought in mind, you narrowed your eyes by the slightest amount—a little... hesitantly—before lightly scolding, "Hey. Curt, maybe tone it down a little?"

His attention averted from the woman—hateful, dark eyes that were once throwing daggers her way, now unapologetically directed towards you. "'Tone it down a little'? Do you hear yourself, Y/N? That woman missed almost every single birthday of yours! Every. Single. One!"

Alright, so, you didn't usually consider yourself to be much of a coward, but being the recipient of that deadly gaze was enough to make you yield just this once—both of your hands flying up to rest in the air beside your head. Hey, you tried, he just didn't listen.

Besides, you were only a mere bystander in this squabble anyway. Sure, you felt bad for the woman, but not bad enough to get socked in the face by a boxer for her.

...okay, now you just sounded like a jerk.

Feeling your heart tighten slightly, you shook your head to rid yourself of those awful, intrusive thoughts and parted your lips in an attempt to redeem yourself.

Keyword: attempt.

Before even a word could breeze past your tongue, another voice entered the fray—one a lot more grounded than any other you'd heard since you opened the door—"What the hell is with all this—? Mom?"

You tilted your head just enough to catch the approaching form of your oldest brother—his figure growing with each step he took—and the closer he grew, the clearer his facial expression became.

His brows were furrowed, but instead of the hostile way that Curt's were, his were more... well, confused?—shocked, perhaps?—or maybe a better word for it would be baffled? Either/or, he didn't look like he was terribly upset with her appearance, further grinding your theory of her not being that bad into reality.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just thought that—" the sudden lack of warmth around your arms had your head whipping back, eyes watching as the same fingers that were once wrapped around you, now awkwardly rubbed the woman's other limb, "—maybe it was about time I spent some quality time with you all?"

Before you could even register what she had said—Curt's voice hastily cut through the air; a tone of finality you hadn't heard him use before laced so deeply within it, "Too little too late."

Though—if you were being entirely honest—you were starting to tune it out—all of it: the apologies, the confusion, the arguing; all of it. A familiar sense of surrealism washed over you as you witnessed the events unfold; as you watched their mouths move soundlessly—your new brothers seemingly arguing with a woman who held the looks of your mother but seemed to act nothing like her.

It was weird, strange. You weren't even sure how to feel. From the looks of things, this... mother of yours seemed to not be around much—and one of your brothers hated her for it, while the other merely seemed to... well, you weren't entirely sure what he felt yet. Hell, you didn't even know what you were supposed to feel.

Should you be sad? Mad? Indifferent?—'cause that's what you felt right now. This world wasn't even meant to have you in it at all. There was no character named Y/N who looked exactly like you and had two older brothers with a seemingly neglectful mother and who-knows-what-happened-to-him father.

Even if you wanted to copy the mannerisms of the Y/N belonging to this world, you couldn't because there wasn't one. She didn't exist.

How the hell were you supposed to react?

You could've asked yourself that question a billion more times, but the sudden rush of air that hit your face crashed you straight back to reality—just in time too, for not even moments later, an abrupt 'slam!' echoed from behind.

Confused, your gaze found Cain's.

"Give him some time. He's probably off to go fuck some chick and get his mind off this."

Slowly, you nodded.

Then, you heard it; the sound of her voice continuing to speak behind you with that broken lilt—the one she just couldn't seem to drop—laced so deeply in her tone.

"I'm so sorry, babies." The woman—your mother—reached out, and you felt her fingers graze you again, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's... alright, mom," Cain responded before you could—voice seeming almost... hesitant, "It's all good."

There was no chatter after that—not a single sound escaped their lips. That was your cue; your cue to either condemn her down to hell or forgive her for this supposed neglect you weren't even around to experience.

"Sweetie..." her voice was shaky—desperate, no doubt, and seeking the forgiveness of a daughter that didn't even belong to her, "please..."

"Uh..." you weren't sure what it was, but something was holding you back from saying anything; from doing something—

—and it looked like she noticed that too.

"It's okay, I understand..."

She seems a bit... what's the word?

With hands that were once hopefully clasped around one another, now pitifully falling by her sides, and eyes that seemed to droop just a tad bit more despite the small, ingenuine quirk of her lips upwards; her whole demeanour almost screamed...

Ah. Forlorn.

Your chest felt heavy at the sight—tight and weighed down. Some type of... guilt was it? ebbed away at you. Though you didn't know why—it wasn't like she was your real mother, after all. In fact, she was a complete stranger to you; someone who you wouldn't even bother sondering over if you passed her by on the street.

How strange.

"Y/N," the soft call of your name caused your ears to perk up, and you turned to your remaining brother, "C'mon, you're due for a change."

"A change?" You tilted your head, eyes still not all there—at least, not until—

"Your bandages."

"Ohhh."

To be honest, you completely forgot about that.

"Bandages?" From the looks of things, though, your mother couldn't pass it off as easily as you. "For what?"

Immediately, Cain's eyes locked with yours—his hues swirling with a query you were able to decipher pretty easily: 'Should we tell her?'

Should you? Well, the fact that he had to ask that question in the first place was concerning, to say the least. Maybe you'd hold off on telling her for now. Just for now. Nothing permanent.

Mind made up and eyes stopping at nothing to avoid her own, you told your mother, "Don't worry about it, it's all good."

Her lips turned down, shoulders sagging and gaze falling to the floor like a glossy river over the edge of a cliff; swift and hopeless to anything wishing to stop it.

She looked so... so...

Defeated.

"Ah, okay."

You wished you could say you forgave her—you desperately prayed to—but how could you when the words refused to come out of your throat?—when they relentlessly fought with your tongue to the point they immobilised it and unfairly rendered you incapable of speech?

You could have stood there hopelessly staring at her for hours if you so wished, but the small tug on your wrist averted your gaze, and you found yourself staring at the loosened expression of your other kin.

"Let's get you wrapped up, Y/N."

You nodded.

He then took to guiding you towards the kitchen, and the whole way there, your gaze didn't leave your mother's form—watching as her figure grew smaller with each step—shorter with each breath—before completely disappearing around the corner.

"Don't feel bad."

Your ears perked up—head turning to face your older brother.

"'Bout mom," he continued, not particularly looking your way, "She hasn't been around for most of our lives, you're allowed to not forgive her."

"What about you?" You asked, "You didn't sound too sure of forgiving her yourself."

He paused.

"I..."—a rough 'ahem'—"I'm trying to."

You tilted your head. "Trying to?"

"It's..." He trailed off and furrowed his brows, as if searching for something in his mind, before continuing, "hard. Really hard. To look after people—I mean. Especially on your own."

It was your turn to furrow your brows, lips tugging down as you took in his words and really—well—thought for a good second.

It was clear that he was trying his best to be empathetic; to sympathise with her situation. And who better than him? You didn't have to be a genius to decipher the fact that he had been the one to take care of both you and Curt for pretty much the majority of your—supposed—'life'. He probably had to grow up a lot faster than 'you' would've. In that case, he could relate to her.

But, on the other hand...

"It's not fair."

"Huh?" He turned your way, blinking twice.

"To compare yourself to her," you continued, lips still curved down, "You're completely different. While she never bothered to be around, you did. You learned how to cook, clean—hell, maybe even change diapers—"

"Maybe even? You were a little shit and you know it—"

Shit, he changed your diapers too? You were just trying to be dramatic but damn.

"Okay—" that came off a little more exasperated than you wanted and clearly he could sense it too, judging by the way he snickered right after, little shit, "—my point is, you were there and she wasn't. And it's not even your responsibility to take care of us. I get that she has her supposed 'five-year-long' business trips, but she could've made time for us. You're her son too, you're allowed to be mad that she wasn't there."

He stayed silent for a few moments, and you found your hands naturally drifting down—fingers digging into your skirt harshly; anxiously. Sweat gathered on your brow and anticipation ate at your insides, chipping away at your organs and clogging your brain with worry; worry for the elongated silence that greeted your words.

Had you said something wrong? Was he going to snap at you?

Goodbye, cruel world, remember—

A chuckle.

Your ears perked up and your eyes widened in disbelief.

"And here I thought I was the one meant to be cheering you up." His shoulders bounced in a pattern you could only describe as uneven, one hand rising up to swipe at his eye.

The sight caused your muscles to loosen up, fingers losing their grip on your skirt and eyes crinkling fondly as you watched him reach up into an open cupboard—arm disappearing within the confines before reappearing not long after with a red, rectangular bag.

The sound of a zip was the next thing you heard—accompanied by his voice as he said, "Alright, let's get you all patched up, worm."

You scrunched up your nose. "Worm?"

"Yeah, annoying little things, aren't they?"

"Rude."

Another snicker had your lips quirking up again, a swirl of warmth gathering in your chest; a hint of fondness and pride. Was this how sibling banter felt?

It's... nice.

Before you could enjoy the moment any longer though, your brain just had to ruin it, giving you a thought that had your ears falling again—stomach dropping into a bottomless pit within the confines of your body.

"Is..." you started, and his ears perked up from behind the arm that slowly tugged at the grey gauze, "Is Curt gonna be okay?"

A scoff. "Yeah. You know him, he'll be super bitchy about it but he'll come running back tomorrow morning so don't worry."

You smiled. "So long as he's—ow! Watch it!"

"My bad."

"You did that on purpose."

"I did that on purpose."

"Asshole."

"D'aww, is wittle sissy's feewings hurt?"

"Shut up, you dick!"

You took it back, sibling banter was so not nice.

But, at least it was somewhat fun—unlike what happened next.

"Sweeties?" You tensed, head turning as Cain backed away—the warmth of his hand leaving you with new, pure white gauze around your arm—and turned with you. "I'm gonna head out for the night and go meet up with some old friends. Are you two going to be okay?"

Maybe if you were actually part of this world, you would've said something petty like 'nothing new there' or 'you've already not been around for most of my life, what's one more night?'—but, you weren't, and so settled with a good old fashioned—"We'll be fine,"—instead.

She was out the door in no less than two seconds.

It quickly grew dark following that—night approaching faster than you could register—and there had yet to be any sign of Curt. Guess Cain was right when he said the younger of the two would be back in the morning.

Speaking of Cain, he had some last minute call from a client regarding car troubles. Apparently, they were stranded and in dire need of assistance, so Cain was required to go to them in order to help—though, he was quite reluctant as he, no doubt, voiced to you.

"Oh my god, Cain, I'll be fine." You rolled your eyes.

"Are you sure? This street isn't exactly known for safety," he responded, expression scrunched up with what you recognised as pure worry.

"God, you're just like Steve. Nothing will happen, don't worry."

When the corner of his lips quirked up in response to your words, you felt something akin to dread claw at your innards. "Oh, I'm just like Steve, am I?"

"Shut up, he has a girlfriend," you were saying that more to yourself than him, to be honest.

"Yeah, that he drops anytime you're within two feet of him."

"I swear to god, Cain."

He snickered.

"Just go! I know you're doing this just to stall, go find that poor person stranded by the phone booth!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going."

And as his shoulders kept jerking up and down, your hand found purchase against the bumpy texture of your wooden door before pushing at full force; a 'slam!' echoing not long after.

"Stupid piece of shit," you grumbled, though, not genuinely.

...okay, maybe just a little genuinely actually, 'cause now he put the stupid thought in your head; the stupid thought of Steve Harrington actually liking you.

Preposterous.

He probably just thought of you as a really close friend—he supposedly knew you since childhood, after all, of course he would value you over Nancy sometimes.

But... theoretically, say he felt more, what would it be like?

Would he hold your hand and pull you in close? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you lay against him in the dead of night?—sinking into his warmth and stuffing your face in his sturdy chest. Would his lips feel soft against the bare skin of your neck?—passionate and sublime as he marked you up as his own, going lower and lower and—

Three knocks against your door.

Ugh.

"Oh my god, Cain, how many times—? Nancy?"

Lo and behold, there stood the very girlfriend of the guy you were just fantasising about.

Honestly, you would've thought it awkward had you not caught a glimpse of her expression; just a glance long enough to bleed you dry of all your previous thoughts and scrunch your face up as a whole new set rushed in—worrisome ones.

Her eyes were bloodshot, red veins visible and bringing out the puffiness to a degree that had your heart clenching and your lips subconsciously parting open to ask, "Are you alright?"

She gulped, voice shaky as she responded with, "Can I come in?"

Slowly, you nodded—palm pushing against the door just enough to allow it to fall slightly more ajar.

"Here, come sit." You gestured to the couch, hands hesitantly ghosting over her shoulders as you guided her there—watching as she gently sat down, the cotton shifting under her weight. "Can I get you anything?"

She didn't respond: head tilted down, shoulders drooped, and overall demeanour looking to be completely put-off. The poor thing.

You figured a cup of water would be fine, she looked like she needed it.

What was she doing here, anyway? From what you gathered based on the very few interactions you'd had with her, the two of you weren't very close. Why, then, would she suddenly show up at your door so late at night?

Those thoughts plagued your mind as you made your way over to the kitchen—bare feet numb to the cool of the floor. They haunted you as you reached for a cup with one hand and twisted the tap with the other—fingers unfeeling of the pressure that rained upon them. They consumed your entire being until you were left with nothing but the husk of a person on autopilot—quietly making your way back to the living room.

It was only when your eyes landed on her form again, that you snapped out of it in a small burst of surprise.

Gone was the once sat-down figure with an air of dismay clouding her form—replaced, instead, by one that stood up straight, brows furrowed and shoulders tensed as she paced back and forth vigorously. Keyword: paced—she stopped as soon as you arrived, much to your own confusion.

"Nancy, what are you—?"

"You're thinking about Barb too, right?"

She looked you dead in the eyes, and you almost found yourself growing fidgety under her intense gaze.

"What?"

"It's just that..." she trailed off, faltering for a moment, "well, Steve mentioned you've been acting off lately—"

Shit. Steve was catching on.

"—and I was wondering if... it was bothering you too."

You blinked, parting your lips to ask for a little more—for some sort of elaboration—but her voice continued before you even had a chance.

"I mean, it's dumb that we have to keep this whole thing a secret!" She exclaimed, hands making wild gestures now. "Her family deserves to know."

You stood there, blinking in a daze that hadn't quite passed since the moment she arrived. It felt like you had just wandered into a confusing maze, with twists and turns spanning as far as the eye could see; each one riddled with its own set of confusing obstacles you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

On one hand, Nancy's words made sense, you saw why she felt that way—you heard her—and it was so much more prominent in person than over a screen.

On the other hand, as a viewer of the show and a victim of unfortunate circumstance, you hadn't a clue where she was going with this. You knew why she was telling you all of this (you were acting strange and she was feeling off so duh she would try and see if you related) but, where was she going with it? What did she want with you? Surely it wasn't just comfort.

"Do you... want to come with me to tell her parents?"

Ah. There it was.

She wanted you to join her. This was certainly quite the twist. Everything that had happened up until now had alluded to the fact that you were going to join Steve for this season—and to be honest, you preferred that over this.

Besides, she was meant to do all of this with Jonathan—if you said yes, you'd just be getting in the way of their romance and, ergo, the plot itself.

"I don't know..." you started, mind already made up but heart trying its best to ease her into it, "the government wouldn't really like that and we could get in a ton of trouble."

She scoffed. "Who gives a fuck what they think?"

You deadpanned. "Well, Nance, they are kinda the government so..."

"There's this guy," she started, cutting you off and handing you a card, "Barb's parents told me about him—if things don't work out, we can go to him."

Sure enough, you recognised the character as soon as she mentioned him—another prominent adult within the series, quite the funny one too. But, not funny enough for you to pass up spending this season helping out Steve instead.

"Look, Nancy, I—"

You were cut off when her gaze hardened, fists clenching and head shaking from side-to-side—almost seeming disappointed.

"God, you're just like him." And when she spoke, it was bitter—plagued with an icky green—"You two are perfect for each other."

The following events happened too quickly for you to register; one second, she was standing before you with desperation clear on her visage—the next?—she had snatched the card right out from your hands and stormed over to your front door, steps heavy and quaking and loud.

"Nance, wait! Nancy!"

A slam.

Well shit.

You bit your lip, brain replaying the events that had just occurred in too rapid of a succession for you to be able to even respond to them.

A small voice prodded at the back of your mind, lulling you into following after her and clearing up... whatever the hell that was.

However, a much larger, more prominent voice said, fuck it. Because—well, you were in Stranger Things for god's sake! Who the hell cared about some teen drama when there were fucking monsters to worry about?—monsters that you sure as hell weren't about to face weaponless.

Nancy could get over whatever was bothering her so much on her own, you had bigger issues to worry about.

Come on, Y/N, get your head out of the clouds and into the game.

Resolve strengthened and distractions now temporarily at the back of your mind, your feet bounded towards a familiar box mounted onto the wall, fingers wrapping around the cool metal before you punched in a number you had long since memorised over your time in this world.

Turned out, this drama was just the push you needed.

"Harrington residence."

"Steve."

It was silent for a few seconds before you were graced with a response. "Y/N? If you're calling about the dinner at Barb's, I swear—"

"No, no. It's not that, don't worry."

Another pause.

"Are you... okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"You sure? You sound a little... tense."

Your lips quirked up. "You can tell?"

"Well, yeah. I've known you since like, birth."

Leave it to Steve Harrington to put a smile on your face where there wasn't one before.

Seriously though, you might not have actually known him since birth but... something about him noticing how you felt from just the sound of your voice made you feel all... tingly inside—like a warm cloud of pure pink coated you within its comfy confines.

"Y/N? You there?"

"Oh." You jolted, fingers halting in their ministrations with the phone wire, since when did you start twirling it around? "Uh, yeah. I just called to let you know I'm skipping tomorrow so don't bother picking me up, okay?"

"You're skipping? What? Why?"

"Just—uh, don't feel like it."

"You know you've already missed seven days, right?"

"Yeah—" you shrugged as though he could see you, "—what's a couple more?"

"...alright, if that's what you want."

"Thanks Stevie, you're the best, love you!"

You slammed the phone back into the wall before he could respond, but you imagined he released quite the long sigh after your words.

Nevermind that though, you should probably head to bed—you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow; one consisting of many preparations for the challenges that lay ahead.

First things first, you needed yourself a weapon—and no, a wrench was not ideal. You got lucky the first time, you'd rather not risk it the second.

A gun; long reach, high chances of actually killing, probably easy to use—it sounded perfect. Just the thing you'd need. The only problem you could possibly see was...

...how would you get one?

You weren't terribly familiar with gun laws—never had the need to look into them—but even if you were, they definitely changed since the 80s so you were pretty much clueless in that regard.

You could ask one of your brothers if they had one, they certainly seemed like the type—at least, Curt definitely did.

Or maybe he's the type to only fight with his fists?

Tricky—that's what this all was. So tricky, in fact, that the rest of the night was spent contemplating how you would go about obtaining the lethal weapon—

—actually, that wasn't entirely true; you sure wished it was though. Unfortunately for you however, your brain rather stupidly refused to focus on the task at hand, randomly flushing you with thoughts of both your... mother and Nancy whenever you least expected it, two huge pieces of drama that you—quite frankly—didn't feel like dealing with.

But apparently, pushing them to the back of your mind was easier said than done.

Come next morning, you figured indulging in those thoughts wouldn't be too big of a headache after being well-rested with a nice cup of coffee to aid you through your day.

Okay, so, Nancy's behaviour last night wasn't too strange; she had that dinner at Barb's—one you knew she cried at since they dedicated a whole scene to her sobbing in the bathroom. That explained why she was quick to jump to aggression you guessed.

Still, it was strange how she snapped at you (basically her acquaintance) like how she had done Steve (her literal boyfriend) in the show. Did you get something wrong? Were you two closer than you thought you were? Perhaps you had some history with her you weren't aware of.

Unfortunately, until you had more information, you were gonna have to leave that trail of thought.

Now, about your mother...

"Morning, sis."

You nodded—eyes clouded—before responding with, "Morning Cain," and then, as if just registering who you were talking to after their name spilled from your lips, your eyes cleared up and you turned to continue with a much more firm voice, "Hey, do you know if we have any guns at home?"

He paused, one hand rested against the handle of the fridge, one floating mid-air. "Guns?"

"Yeah, guns."

He turned to you fully now, eyes narrowing and sturdy arms folding over his chest as the door shut behind him. "Why would you need to know where the guns are?"

The lie was quick to form on your tongue. "For self-defence, duh."

"Uh-huh."

"Please Cain—" you clasped both hands over each other, "—I promise I won't hurt anyone with them."

Not anyone human, at least.

"You do realise they're made for hurting people, right?"

"Yeah, but I won't use them that way."

He deadpanned. "You're not getting a gun."

"Dammit."

Okay, this was fine. You could work with this. He just confirmed to you that you did, in fact, have guns in this house. All you had to do was look for them. And you knew just where to start.

"Uh, where the hell are you going?"

You paused, hand grazing the bumpy, wooden rail as you tilted your head just enough to peek into the kitchen again. "To my room, where else?"

"Don't you have school?"

"Don't you have a job?"

He crossed his arms again. "You're not skipping, shitbird."

"What?"

"I said: you aren't skipping."

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping open and stomach falling with the spoilt remains of your plan—the ashes and dust piling up enough to cause you to splutter and ask, "You serious?"

His gaze was stern, holding no hint of that playful demeanour you acquainted yourself with last night, "Completely. No playing hooky. You've already got enough absents from that injury of yours."

As if suddenly reminded of its own existence, said wound sent a shock down your arm—trailing through your veins to usher a visible wince on your face.

Before you could say anything else though—plead your case and hope to god he'd let you off—his eyes widened a little, mouth forming a circle before he spoke again, saying, "That's why Harrington ain't here, right? You told him you were skipping?"

You said nothing.

A long, highly exasperated sigh. "Just go get ready, I'll drop you off."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

You rushed up the stairs, wasting no time to burst into a room flooded with posters—all holding different expressions with one, huge thing in common; a pair of bright red gloves.

If anyone had a gun, it was definitely Curt.

Tick. Tock. You were on a time constraint so you had to be quick with this. Anything that even remotely seemed to have enough space to hold a gun inside was instantly ripped open—hinges jingling and wood slamming against wood as your hands scurried the area—rummaged through the masses—desperately seeking what they had yet to find.

That was—until, now.

In the midst of multiple hung up pieces of soft materials shrouded in darkness, your fingers grazed something cold and solid; rough and bumpy. Slowly they wound around the thing, noting its shape, before exerting a force—a tug.

Nothing. It didn't budge.

You tried again, pushing this time.

Again. Nothing.

Third time's the charm.

This time, you pushed upwards.

Bingo.

As if by magic, it fell straight into your hands, and you wasted no time to pull it into the light.

Dark, L-shaped, and a lever poking out from one side—yup, there was no doubt about it. Though, it was one of the weaker variants of the lethal weapon—it would have to do.

Now you could—

"What are you doing in my room?"

Curt. Shit.

"Scratch that—what are you doing with a gun?!"

Your wrist was seized at the entrance before you could even attempt to sneak past—his E/C eyes trained on the object in your hand, not at all paying attention to the way your expression shifted into one of unease, smile twitching a little.

"Curt, hey! When did you come in..?"

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed, "Why do you have a gun? Is someone bothering you at school? You know you can say the word and I'll take care of it, right? Like in Freshman year?"

"Freshman year?" What happened in Freshman year?

"That dickhead Senior who kept picking on you? How did you forget that already?"

You parted your lips, an excuse practically begging to be released from your tongue, but he beat you to it.

"Nevermind, just tell me who it is and I'll take care of it. There's no need to bring a gun into it."

There's no need to bring a gun but it's totally okay beating them up? Some scuffed logic there.

"No one's bothering me, Curt. I uh, I just need it to kill the wolf that attacked me the other day."

He rose a brow. "Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day?"

"Uh... yup."

God, this was so stupid. What kind of excuse was that? 'Kill the wolf that attacked you the other day'? Yeah right.

"Atta girl. That's my sister."

A good excuse apparently—it was a good excuse.

You almost couldn't believe it—the way he pulled you in, wrapping his arm around your neck in a half-hug that almost made it seem as though he was proud of you.

Surely he had taken way too many hits to the head in his profession because you had no clue how he bought that.

But, you weren't complaining.

"Hey, uh, do me a favour?"

He rose a brow. "What?"

"Don't tell Cain, yeah?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not, he'd have my head in a heartbeat if he knew I was condoning this."

You grinned, just about ready to give him two thumbs up leaking gratitude and appreciation—when a voice called from downstairs.

"Y/N! Hurry up!"

"A few more minutes!"

That was your cue to go to your room.

Cool air hit your skin as soon as the cotton of your sleepwear was removed—the slight buzz of pain on your arm making itself known once more with another prick, annoying but not unbearable; not like before.

The new bandages looked better than the previous ones; cleaner. Some spots seemed to have given in—allowing red to seep through their snow-white sheets; stain their pure surface. Those parts were stickier than the others, but also, few and far between.

Damn, kinda looks badass.

"I'm not getting any younger here, Y/N!"

"I'm coming! Gheez."

What was that? His catchphrase or something?

With a roll of your eyes, you threw on a top, slipped into a skirt, very quickly touched up on your make-up, and ran down the steps. Nothing too elaborate—you didn't plan on actually going into school anyway.

What? You said you'd skip, so you were gonna skip. You'd just wait 'till he drove off or something.

Actually... this could work out better than you thought.

He was bringing you to school; where one Steve Harrington currently was. And you know what else was at school? Steve's BMW—AKA, the perfect place to store your gun until it was needed.

Yeah, this could work out perfectly.

"Get in, shitbird."

You said nothing, seizing the frigid handle like you had done many a time before, and climbing straight in.

The sky was bleak—the sun invisible; covered by the vast curtain of grey clouds that seemed uninteresting but, for some reason, you couldn't stop looking at.

The pistol you held was tucked under you—out of sight; though not of mind. It felt cool against your skin, sent a shudder through you, up your spine and through your nerves. It kept you rigid.

"I would've let you skip."

You turned, observing the way Cain's gaze stayed trained onto the road ahead, one hand on the wheel, one resting on his lap.

"On any normal circumstance," he continued, shrugging, "but y'know, mom's home and—I don't know if you wanna stick around for that."

"Okay."

"You good?" Now he gave you a bit of a side-eye, one brow raised.

"Yeah, just... thinking about what I'm gonna wear for the Halloween bash at Tina's."

That was a lie, you honestly couldn't care less.

"Party, huh?" He turned his gaze back ahead. "I remember the ragers I used to go to way back when."

"Must've been fun, huh fossil?"

"Watch it, worm."

You snickered.

"Alright, we're here. Get out before I make you."

Older brothers are a piece of work.

You shimmied in your seat, swinging both legs over to the open door, hand firmly around the handle of the weapon beneath your thighs, when—

"What are you doing?"

You froze. "Uh, I don't... I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're getting out of the car weirdly." His tone was pointed—suspicious—and even without having to turn around, you could tell his brow was raised in question.

"No I'm not."

"Uh, yeah you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Slowly, you found yourself able to move your limbs again—annoyance bringing both them and your own brow to life, filtering out any previous fear within an instant. "Don't you have work or something?"

You heard nothing for a few tense moments—though soon, a curt—"Just go,"—made its way to your ears, and the weight on your shoulders was relieved of you.

Once again, you found yourself thinking, he didn't have to tell you twice.

The cool air almost felt relieving against your skin when you finally jumped out—the 'crunch!' of pebbles echoing beneath you—but nothing could compare to the pure amount of genuine solace you were graced with when the sound of the engine starting up again behind you danced into your ears; the sound of wheels skidding across the ground slowly growing farther.

That was a little too close for your liking.

No matter, it was time to find Steve's BMW. While looking for it, though, you might as well review your thoughts.

The events of Season 2 had already kicked off the moment you saw Billy, which meant that while you waited for the next canonical event to occur with the teens, the main group of kids were having their own scenes play out. You were sure by now they were off trying to befriend Billy's stepsister. But, quite frankly, that was irrelevant information to you.

What was relevant, however, was the fact that one of the kids—Dustin Henderson—would end up dragging Steve into quite the predicament. That predicament being one wherein he would end up being surrounded by a bunch of grotesque, man-eating monsters with nothing but a bat to defend himself with—granted, it had nails on the end but it was still not a weapon you'd use.

Now, more likely than not, you would be by his side while it all went down—and you already established that you weren't about to die in this world, so, really, your only option was getting that gun to use in case those demon dogs changed their minds and decided they wanted a taste of fresh, alternative dimension meat.

You had seen first-hand what they were like—held scars they forced onto you on your first day. You felt that chilling fear grip you at the sight of them—chain your limbs up and strangle you enough to almost render you immovable; immobile. Their boney structure, their razor-sharp teeth, their—

"N/N? What are you doing here?"

You jumped, startled out of your thoughts to meet with two pools of brown—familiar in their warmth and softened edges.

"I thought you were playing hooky today."

"Oh, uh—" you cleared your throat, patting down the ruffles of your skirt and avoiding any eye-contact, "—I still am but, Cain caught me and drove me to school so."

He didn't say anything after that, so you took to peering up again. This time, however, you were met with a different set of eyes, ones looking a little bloodshot and inflamed—barely noticeable if you hadn't already seen it the previous night.

They were looking at you through narrowed lenses, pupils shrunk in and gaze heavy with the events of the other night—the distaste of that fateful encounter.

You looked away.

"Oh, uh, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I uh, left some of my lipstick in your car, do you mind if I go grab it?"

You returned your gaze to him just in time to catch the pointed look on his face, hands on his hips in that 'mom' way that just screamed Steve Harrington.

"Really, N/N? This is—what?—like the tenth time already?"

You forced a sheepish look, turning your lips up with nerves that weren't triggered by the sentence you'd just heard, per se—but rather, the pair of eyes still burning a hole through your head.

You ignored them when Steve tossed you the keys with a playful roll of his eyes; when you half-entered the car, stuffing the gun into a compartment you knew he wouldn't open anytime soon; you even ignored them as you made your way back to the duo, handing Steve his keys back and quickly denying his offer to cut class with you.

"You sure?" He pushed, brows scrunched up and lips tugged down.

"Yup!" You rose both thumbs. "Hundred percent!"

He parted his mouth open but you didn't wait for a response, turning around quickly to scurry off with those eyes still refusing to leave your backside.

Why the hell did she have to be there?

You couldn't even enjoy your successful little quest, too tense from Nancy's heavy gaze to do anything. It was as though the moment you saw her, your brain instantly replayed the events of last night—the disdain in her voice—and from the looks of her glare, she had the same problem.

Man, this sucked.

You just wanted to experience the world of Stranger Things as safely and non-dramatically as possible but noooo, you had to deal with freaking monsters and teenage girls who—

"Woah, we have got to stop bumping into each other like this."

Your lashes fluttered, eyes training onto a familiar battle jacket littered with logos a plenty—all of which belonged to heavy metal bands.

"Eddie."

"Hey, sweetheart." His lips quirked up—smile reaching his eyes so much so that they crinkled. "What are you doing here? I thought you were playing hooky?"

You deadpanned. "Does everyone know I'm skipping?"

"Well, you are kinda the Queen Bee, sweetheart." His hair bounced as he shrugged.

A thought occurred to you just then, and you found your eyes widening slightly in alarm. "Even the teachers?!"

"Well, no wastoid is exactly going to tell any teachers that the Queen of Hawkins High is skipping."

Wastoid? Wha—?

"Hey, uh—" you blinked, watching as Eddie took to throwing a hand behind his neck, rubbing against the skin as he continued, tone feigning confidence, "—I was actually planning on skipping too so, if you want, we could hotbox in my car?"

Tempting. With all this stress from Nancy, your mom, and the demodogs—weed seemed like the perfect thing to kick back to.

You deserved some time to relax, no?

"Yeah, sure, let's do it."

He perked up, excitement seeping through the grin on his lips as he dramatically bowed with one hand stretched out. "Right this way, milady."

You giggled, your own hand rising up to rest gently against his as you tried your damndest to keep from squealing because—holy shit, you were holding Eddie Munson's hand. You knew girls who would fucking kill to be in your position right now.

His skin was hot against your own; or maybe that was just your whole body heating up in general. You couldn't deny your attraction to the man—hell, you got literal heart eyes whenever you watched him on TV.

Eddie Munson—the guy who got held back in high-school for two years (well—one year as of right now). Eddie Munson—the guy who held the personality of a fun, playful ray of sunshine despite the way he dressed. Eddie Munson—the guy who sacrificed himself to save a whole town of people who abhorred him.

Yeah, you had a big, fat crush on the man.

He could literally be leading you to your death right now and you'd thank him.

"Alright," the sound of a car door sliding open perked your ears up, "I just got a new batch rolling in from Cali so—"

He cut himself off when he turned back around, jaw falling slack as a streak of red slowly crawled across his face, tinging the tips of his ears and ushering a cough straight out of his mouth.

Now, you would normally wonder why he'd reacted that way but you were too distracted by the ache of your own cheeks to—

Ohhh. The ache of your own cheeks.

You quickly cleared your throat, steeling your expression and cursing yourself for being so obvious. Gushing so blatantly in front of characters was going to get you killed in this world, you really had to get rid of that habit.

Lord knew what type of ridiculous expression you had on your face just then.

"Right, uh, you were saying?" You asked as you climbed in, willing yourself to ignore what had just happened.

"Oh, uh, I just had a new batch come in from Cali."

You perked up, interest piqued. "From Cali?! They have the best stuff."

He grinned with you, blush calming down as he rummaged around, hands digging through the many different boxes that scattered the floor.

Meanwhile, you took to shutting the door of the vehicle. Come to think of it, this van kinda looked a bit like the mystery van from scooby doo, except, without the colour.

It was a mess on the inside; if there weren't boxes of who-knows-what substances lying around, then there were various different instruments instead, nothing differing from the norm associated with a band; and yet, just the fact that Eddie was here—that all of this belonged to him—was enough to make it feel special.

You should really ask Eddie if you could sit in on one of his practices one day.

Speaking of the drug dealer, he finally emerged from the pile of boxes hidden in the corner—a plastic zip bag containing a crushed substance within one of his ring-clad hands.

He flicked it with a grin on his face, head turning up as a pair of excited pools met with your own. "Bag of peaceful bliss right here."

You watched with intrigue as his fingers got to work, rolling up the substance effortlessly, as if he'd done it a million times before—which, granted, he probably had.

"Ladies first."

Your lips quirked up, fingers winding around the roll and, in turn, brushing against his own. It was a light touch—a feathery brush—still, it was enough to run tingles down your arm.

The stick was placed to your mouth with one hand, the other curling in on itself in a gesture that asked Eddie to pass over the lighter.

His large hand slowly came to cup your own, fingers engulfing yours—sending warmth to circulate in your blood; to flood your vision in pink—before lightly moving it away. "Allow me, sweetheart."

You didn't move, staying still as he pulled the metallic box up to your face, thumb flicking against the open lid a few times before the flame jumped to life.

It was hot; unbearably so—his breath across your face. The flame was practically nothing compared to him and his proximity. And it only got hotter as you continued staring at him.

It was because you were staring at him so intensely, in fact, that you caught the way his eyes briefly flickered. It was quick, barely noticeable—but you had noticed, and you had seen where they looked.

Your lips quirked up and you took the roll out of your mouth, puffing smoke straight into his face. "Staring at my lips, huh, pretty boy?"

Your grin only grew when he spluttered.

Before he could respond, though, you had lightly shoved the roll into his mouth—lips still quirked up.

You only withdrew when he rose two fingers to rest the cigar against.

"Hey, Eddie?"

He blinked.

"You're not gonna make me pay for this, are you?"

The roll left his mouth with a puff. "Depends."

As he placed it back inside, you rose a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh."

"Well..." you trailed off, slowly shifting your hips up before plopping them back down—

—straight. onto. his. lap.

His breath audibly hitched; a series of coughs following not long after.

"Careful," you hissed out, plucking the roll from his lips and shifting in your seat—about to climb off—when a warmth snaked its way around your waist, rendering you motionless.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Heat crawled up your spine, invading your senses and hyperfixating your attention on Eddie and the way his lips grazed the lobe of your ear. Any and all previous thoughts were washed away; taking with them your breath.

His hand fell over your own again, ushering the substance back into your mouth and your eyes grew heavy as you took another puff, melting into putty in the arms of the school freak.

The car was quickly fogging up—everywhere you breathed was starting to have that strong, earthy taste to it.

Trippy.

You pulled away, mind hazy and barely able to register the way his lips tugged down.

With just a little wiggle of your hips, his arms fell and his brows scrunched up with worry. You didn't let him voice it though, quickly turning around to lay down and prop your elbows up on his thighs—arms almost immediately going lax once you got comfortable.

Your head now rested on his lap, and you peered up at him through hooded eyes. "Much better."

He smiled down at you again, finger moving to trace your cheek with that same feathery touch from before—the one that elicited a flurry of tingles through your skin.

"Tell me about yourself, Eds."

"Hm?"

"I wanna know you better."

Better than you already did, that was.

"What d'you wanna know?" He asked.

"Anything." You threw your hands up, puffing once more. "I wanna know more 'bout Super Senior Eddie Munson."

He hummed. "I plan to make it big one day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Groupies 'n everything."

You reached up, placing the blunt against his lips as you proclaimed loudly, "I bet they would trip over 'emselves to get a taste of you."

He winked. "That's what 'm planning." Then, he paused for a minute, expression softening before another inquiry left his mouth. "What about you?"

"Me?"

What were you planning? Survival, really. But, to be honest—and this wasn't just the weed speaking (or was it? You couldn't really tell)—you just wanted to experience the show; meet the characters and bond over little things. Kinda like what you were doing right now.

"I plan on..."

The characters from this show were precious, and you loved them all to bits. They didn't deserve any of what happened to them, that was why you planned on...

"...protecting those I love."

Yeah, perfect.

His eyes widened a little—startled, no doubt, and not expecting that kind of response from you. The perfect opportunity to trip him up more.

"Wanna be one of them?"

He already was one but—he didn't know that.

You assumed he must've been too flustered to talk, because he didn't respond to that—only choosing to continuously blink at you.

This weed was sure making your confidence sky rocket.

Speaking of things the weed was doing for you—your vision was tripping majorly.

The ceiling seemed to zoom in, but also zoom out at the same time, and sometimes you swore you could see the detailed wisps of the smoke that flooded the car's inside; the very atoms that made them up.

Colours were hard to register in your mind; their names even harder—but, with how relaxed the fumes were making you and your tensed muscles, you couldn't really bring yourself to care.

And Eddie—oh Eddie—he just looked so pretty to you right now; so jaw-dropping and mesmerising. Even with how red his eyes were and the extent at which his pupils dilated, they still looked tremendously pretty. His lips were so cute, pink and begging for attention.

You couldn't help it; the way your hand reached out to cup his cheek and guide his head down. Luckily, though, you still had enough sense to tilt his head enough so that instead of your lips touching, your noses did.

If you were going to kiss Eddie, it sure as hell wasn't happening while you were high.

"Y'know," Eddie breathed into your eyes, causing them to flutter shut as you hummed, "I used to think you were a huge bitch."

That shot your eyes open.

"I mean, when you stuck around with people like Tommy H and Carol, it was kinda hard not to."

Ah. Steve's former friends.

"Not to mention King Steve. Though, I don't know if I should call him that anymore."

"'Cause of Billy?"

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Have you seen him? It's only, like, his second day and he's got girls wrapped around his finger like it's nothing."

"I'm sure it'll stay that way permanently too."

"Yeah, he seems like the type to like it."

"Hm?"

"The attention."

Your lips tugged down. "Are you implying something, Eddie?"

"...maybe a little."

Your frown grew deeper. "Y'know, Eds, you shouldn't judge people without getting to know them first."

"Oh? And I suppose you know a ton about Hargrove, huh?"

You narrowed your eyes before you spoke again—tone laced in warning—"Eddie."

He rose both hands, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding in.

"My bad."

"It's okay, let's just forget about it," you said, "I came here to relax and enjoy some time away from stress."

"Stress?"

Well, you supposed it wouldn't be the end of the world if you shared a little with the class.

"Nancy said something... weird to me the other night."

"Harrington's girl?"

"Yeah... she sounded bitter."

"Maybe she was jealous."

You moved to sit up but Eddie was quick to push you back down, both hands placed firmly—yet gently—on your shoulders. "Jealous?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she be jealous for?"

He scoffed. "Oh please, you and Harrington are attached at the hip—if I were your boyfriend, I would be jealous."

For a moment, you allowed yourself to ignore the hypothetical scenario of Eddie being your boyfriend, if only to pay more attention to the apparent green creature that held Nancy by the neck.

Could it be? Was she jealous? Was that why she reacted as strongly as she did when you tried to let her down slowly?

"Hey now, whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it." Eddie's finger tapped against your cheek, sending tiny ripples through your skin. "You said it yourself, you're here to relax, not to stress."

He couldn't be more right.

And with that thought in mind, you sank deeper into the warmth of Eddie's lap, pure safety and comfort shrouding your form—blanketing you so nicely in the soothing presence that was Eddie Munson.

And as your eyes fluttered shut, you whispered one last thing with a warm smile, "This was nice. Thank you, Eddie."

@bdudette, @tanyaherondale, @killerqueenfan, @l3xiluve, @thedoubleexposurephotography, @xxqueenofdemonsxx, @briarsheart, @nickey-diano, @uselessbutinteresting, @steeldaisies, @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom, @patheticreative, @majestichugs, @eddiesbitch83, @secretdryrose, @bloodywickedvamp, @charlizekkelly, @sophiaj650, @mfnqueen1, @axionn, @harrysgoldenwatermelon, @simpfo, @adrienette715, @tippyeddy

I've been watching a lot of zombie stuff recently so I was wondering how Steve, Eddie, and Billy would react to a zombie apocalypse. I'm tempted to write an au but I need to focus on the next part 😭

Tell you what, if the masterlist to this series ever reaches 500 notes, I'll write a zombie apocalypse AU (Edit: Holy shit, it's at 400, wtf?)

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simping-overload · 2 years

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𝚌𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗! 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢♡

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚘𝚗, 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚗

𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚢 @vecnacurse [x]

𝚏𝚎𝚖/𝚏𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍,(𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛)(𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢) 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 & 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝙼𝙻𝙼, 𝙽𝙱𝙼𝙻𝙼, 𝚎𝚝𝚌 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒'𝚖 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞♡

𝚓𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 lives for a good cuddle, hes a total cuddle bug it doesn't matter if he's big or little spoon or whatever position yalls are in he is content with whatever. However his favorite cuddles is probably when he's high as a kite curled into you arms, he is in heaven

𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 is the definition of "hold me pls", for him being held makes him feel safe and secure in any position involving him in your arms, doesn't matter if it's you spooning him or him curled up again your chest with your arms wrapped around him. he just feels so happy & safe

𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚢 surprisingly enough loves being held, being the little spoon for him it's a great source of comfort, especially after any fights with his dad. he usually is laying on your chest or tummy as you watch a movie and run your fingers through his hair.

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎 likes when you facing each other, legs intertwine and wrapped up in each other's arms, he likes he can pretty much have access to your lips wherever he wants a kiss or two vice versa, has a weird habit of just staring at you, admiring you thinking about how grateful he is to have you

𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 loves cuddling doesn't matter the position or place he's down to cuddle pretty much anywhere. though he loves curling up in your arms, and if you run your hand(s) through his hair he's out like a light he's just so content and happy, if he happens to be high he will cling onto like an octopus and not let go at all

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hopelessrromantix · 8 months

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kinktober blurbs 2023 masterlist

[send asks to choose kinks from the list and characters <3]

cis women dni

top/dom male reader content

1 — somnophilia | morpheus

4 — overstimulation | marc spector

7 — power imbalance + hate-fucking | miguel o'hara

10 — boot-riding | billy hargrove

13 — dacryphilia + lingerie | steve harrington

16 — phone sex | poly!ghostface

19 — feminization + breeding | steven grant

22 — orgasm denial + thigh riding | steven grant

25 — free use | marc spector

28 — hate-fucking | billy hargrove

31 — photos/video + corruption | steven grant

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denim-devil · 8 months

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⊹ Bad To The Bone ⊹

Week 1 ⊹ Mirror fucking/Hair pulling - FWB!Billy x M!R

Summary - When hearts collide, Billy chooses to chase after the longing thoughts that have only you in the midsts of them all, the biggest halloween party ever hosted in the small town of Hawkins was his best bet to finally entice those very thoughts…

#male reader #x male reader #stranger things #kinktober 2023 #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #smut

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batfleshh · 6 months

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“We Can’t Stop Here, This Is Bat Country.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley ☆

☆ GhostSoap.

☆ Affection.

☆ New Recruit.

☆ Tamed.

☆ Blood.

☆ Out of love.

☆ Patience.

☆ Ghostsoap ||.

☆ Bigger.

☆ Late night visit.

John “Soap” MacTavish ☆

☆ GhostSoap.

☆ Blowjob.

☆ Head down.

☆ Focus.

☆ Dog.

☆ Dog ||.

☆ Ghostsoap ||.

John “Bravo Six” Price ☆

☆ Roles.

☆ Pretty face.

☆ Secret.

☆ Back in place.

☆ Sharing is caring.

☆ Quick.

☆ Taking the time.

☆ Western style.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick ☆

☆ Desperation.

☆ Sharing is caring.

König ☆

☆ Shy.

☆ Tears.

Eddie Munson ✮

✮ Filled.

Steve Harrington ✮

✮ None.

Billy Hargrove ✮

✮ None.

Arthur Morgan ✰

✰ Happy Hour.

Kieran Duffy ✰

✰ None.

John Marston ✰

✰ None.

Charles Smith ✰

✰ None.

Javier Escuella ✰

✰ None.

Jesse Pinkman ★

★ Deal.

Miguel O’Hara ✩

✩ None.

Peter B. Parker ✩

✩ None.

Rick Grimes ✪

✪ None.

Daryl Dixon ✪

✪ None.

127 notes · View notes

icarus-has-falllen · 1 year

Text

Requests 🤨📸

I’m trying to get back into writing

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bullsandthebones · 2 years

Text

Stranger Things x Thick Male Reader

Fem Aligned DNI

please, I love this request- basically they were asking for a male reader with a big ass and big pecs who also rescues baby ducks!

Eddie:

•He loves your ass

•will give it a nice slap whenever you're not paying attention- just to catch you off guard

•You know this man loves cuddles, so he definitely loves shoving his face between your pecs and just relax

•He'd definitely help you care for the baby ducks, giving them food and stuff

•He names them after his favorite bands/band members

•you kinda gotta let him- he'll throw a fit

Billy:

•Man probably has a size kink ngl

•You're taller than him? bigger than him?? wooooo he's swooning

•Loves to watch you flex

•Doesn't really understand why you rescue baby ducks, he thinks it's kinda dumb

•Reluctantly names them and takes care of them

Steve:

•Crazy for you

•Big man with a big ass?? Holy shit

•He likes to grab your ass and your pecs "for comfort"

•He totally helps you rescue the ducks, he loves seeing you so happy

•He names them the dumbest names possible

•"Ooo let's name her Mayonnaise!" "For fucks sake Steve-"

#male reader #x male reader #billy hargrove x male reader #eddie munson x male reader #steve harrington x male reader

2K notes · View notes

quits-writing · 2 years

Text

stranger things x older brother figure! rich! reader

a/n: to celebrate stranger things s4 vol 2 coming out today in a few hours, i’ve decided to give us all masc aligned people a treat before shit goes down, enjoy.

cw: contains some scenes from the series (not enough to spoil), mentioned homophobia & fragile masculinity, bullying scenario, messy cuz i just put whatever random shit pops up to my mind and im also writing this at 1:30 am, NOT PROOFREAD!!

depending on your personality, it’s either the group would see you as the “cool” brother like in the movies or the “annoying” brother in real life

as kids, you’d have to defend them against bullies, seniority scares majority of the kids.

but if they don’t want you to interfere, they’d just ask you on how to defend theirselves

tell them some witty comebacks

yeah i don’t think they can do it without it leading into a physical fight so you’d have to watch their back before it becomes one

spoil them! buy them action figures, comics, new set of dnd miniatures. they’d worship you…for 5 mins before hyper-focusing on that same item you bought for them

you’d be such a big help to joyce and jonathan if you decide to fund and help them with the will situation in s1

jonathan actually talked to you, also joyce’ll treat you as her other son

imagine having a platonic relationship with max, your relationship is the relationship she wishes she has with billy

billy would probably spite you for it (he’s jealous and doesn’t want to admit it lol)

oh, and the group would probably jokingly make you compete with steve for the “best mom older brother” award (dustin would also make eddie compete too if you’ve met each other already)

somehow, they’ll find a way to turn your words against you

okay. imagine s3, the vent scene with erica

m/n: alright. how much do you want, kid? hundred? thousand? a million bucks?

robin: you’re gonna offer, a child, a million? do you even have a million on-hand?

m/n, a rich teen: uh yeah??? 🧍

robin: okay, what the actual fu–!

if you’re part of the LGBTQIA+, and openly into men or in touch with your femininity. mike’s dad would try and tell mike to not be associated with you again (sorry but he reeks of homophobia and fragile masculinity)

remember that one scene in s4 (ep 5, 1:00:52) where he’s so salty at dustin and the gang for hanging out in their house? that but insert m/n there

mr. wheeler: –why not? take us for all we’re worth

dustin: oka–

*slam*

m/n: if you care so much about your money, then here’s a fucking stack. thank you so much for your hospitality”

mr. wheeler: *is baffled by the amount of cash a teen could have* how’d you get this money??

m/n: oh i’m actually am a stripper and i have a sugar daddy– of course, i worked for it, obviously. i have a job.

dustin: *whispering* holy fucking shit, you’re so cool

if you have “old rich” money than “hard earned” money, it’s the same thing but probably less “cooler” in their eyes

if not all of them, at least one would keep bugging you on what job you have to earn a lot of money

some would say, they’re still bugging what you do for a living ‘til today

1K notes · View notes

decadentworld · 1 year

Note

Hi , can i ask for y/n accidentally finding out about the guys hard limits? And then conforting them about it x

Headcanons on accidentally finding out about the boys (Jonathan, Steve, Eddie, Billy)’s hard limits.

※ For male readers only. +18. Minors do not interact.

※ Total wordcount: 2.1k

※ Requested by Anonymous.

※ I will list some of the hard limits I believe they might have and develop one of them for each of the boys.

※ Trigger warnings: Graphic descriptions of panic attacks. Allusions to past child physical abuse.

※ Content & warnings: Hurt/comfort. Crying.

※ Work available only on Tumblr and under ArchiveOfOurOwn pseud of the same name (DecadentWorld). Do not repost, edit, or redistribute. Do not use for TikTok videos.

Steve’s hard limits:

※ Choking.

※ Getting tied up.

※ Edging.

Steve is already hot and bothered against you. You’re all over him, pushing him against the wall as you kiss him heavily, arms around his waist. His tongue meets yours in a sensual dance, always so fervently trying to impose, but realizes how very powerless he is when he’s with you, and lets you overpower him and control the kiss.

He separates to heave in a long breath. He looks up at you with lust in his eyes.

“Wanna take this to the bedroom?”, you drawl next to his ear.

You feel him shiver and purr, and answers with a low, “yeah.”

You can’t resist. He’s simply so delectable like this, him knowing he’s about to be eased into submission and loving every second of it. Your right hand has a life of its own, going up his body and resting atop his throat, not fully choking him, but feeling heavy against him. “Good b—”

It’s like you can see his life leave through his eyes. His face pales, his legs lose their strength and he buckles against you. His hands quickly grab yours and try to pry it off himself, though you take your hand as soon as he does it, and when you do, he all but collapses on the floor.

“Steve?!”

He’s hyperventilating. His hands scratch at his neck, almost as if whatever was choking him is still there. There are tears going down his cheeks. He looks spaced out, almost like he’s having a flashback while his panic attack is wreaking havoc in him.

You crouch next to him, not knowing how to help him. You softly put your hands on his, still on his neck, lightly enough to not spook him more than he is already. “Steve, come back. You’re fine. You’re home. Nothing is hurting you, honey.”

God. The noises he’s making are terrifying. He sounds like he can’t get enough air into his lungs, and this in turn causes him to almost whistle in this desperation, like he’s a wounded animal.

You get in front of him, between his parted legs, noticing his eyes vaguely following your movements. “Nothing is gonna hurt you. Come back. Come back.”

Gradually, he begins to calm down, the tears still going down, but his breathing starting to level out.

Steve looks up at you from his seated position against the wall. His hands finally lowering and holding yours.

He makes a face of distaste and rubs his face with his hands. “God. Sorry. I don’t know wh-why you had to see that—”

You quickly sit next to him, against the wall. “None of that. It was all my fucking fault.” You cradle his head into the crook of your neck and shoulder and rub his hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I didn’t know.”

Steve melts against you. “You couldn’t have known. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” You kiss his forehead. He gives you a happy sigh and rubs circles on your chest. “It’s not,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe… Maybe we should talk about things you’re okay and not okay with, first?”

Steve smiles. “Yeah. Sounds like a solid plan.”

Eddie’s hard limits:

※ Humiliation.

※ Getting called ‘freak’.

※ Sensory deprivation.

Currently, you have Eddie’s lean body pressed against the wall, one thigh between both of his, though not brushing against his clothed erection yet. He gives his all into the kiss, but he knows he’ll always yield to your stronger advances. He makes these small muffled noises that have your heart fluttering every time. He’s so adorable.

Your right hand goes up, and you run your fingers through the hair at his nape. He moans. Melts against you and grabs at whatever part of your shirt he can. He tries to rub himself onto your thigh, but you’re mean, and lower it when you feel him getting closer to you. At the same time, your hand holds a fistful of his hair, softly, only strongly enough for him to feel the slightest pressure on his hair follicles.

He moans like he’s hyperventilating. Eddie withdraws and looks up at you through his lashes. “H-Harder, please?”

You do as you’re asked to, grabbing more of his hair and pulling tighter, so tight that it has to hurt. Even if it does, then it surely looks like he’s enjoying the pain, since his eyes shut and he moans loudly. “You like the pain?”

Eddie moans lowly and nods.

“Ooh, a little bit of a freak, aren’t we?”

All of a sudden, the moment is cut when you feel him tense against you, then feel hands pushing against your chest. “No. No.”

You immediately back off and watch as he walks away. You notice the wetness in his eyes as he does. “Ed?” You follow him, concerned.

“No!” He quickly walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself.

“Ed? What’s wrong?”

Your heart breaks when you hear the first sniffles. You hear his muffled voice behind the door. “I’m not. I’m not a freak.”

“Oh my God.” You lean against the door. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t mean it at all. You’re not… that.”

You keep leaning against the door on one arm for some minutes, giving him apologies and listening to his low sniffles gradually quieten, until they stop. Only his breathing can be heard as you stay still, waiting for his next move.

The doorhandle starts turning slowly, and the door opens a hair’s width at first, then more, until Eddie all but comes crashing out of it, throwing himself around your shoulders. “I’m so s-stupid— I’m so sor—”

“No, no, no. I won’t let you.” You hold him tenderly, letting him whine lowly against your neck. “Why would you think you have anything to be sorry about? Look at me.” He does. “I’m so sorry, baby. You’re not that. You’re an angel. You’re a sweetheart. My honeypot. My little bunny—”

Eddie giggles against your mouth as he kisses you to stop your rambling. “I get it.”

You withdraw with a smile. “But seriously,” you continue. “Whoever’s responsible for giving you that reaction… I’m gonna kill them.”

“It’s fine. I swear.” Eddie nuzzles your neck. “It’s in the past. But…” His face gets so pink now. He hides behind his hair. “I… wouldn’t mind a bit more convincing…?”

You cackle. “My sky, my better half, my obsidian…”

Billy’s hard limits:

※ Face-slapping.

※ Severe painplay.

※ Temperature play.

※ Degradation.

Billy is so needy he vaguely thinks he should be embarrassed, but there’s no room for thought when you’re kissing the life out of him, giving him small bites on his lips in between random amounts of kisses. His moans are so airy. That’s how you understand he’s losing his composure little by little.

A tighter bite under his jaw has him moaning high-pitchedly. Before this, Billy tentatively asked you if you’d be more pushy, if he could experiment with a bit more pain. It’s dangerous territory, what with his history, but you agreed.

Maybe you shouldn’t have, or perhaps you should’ve waited longer into the relationship for it.

Billy’s all for the bites you give him. The scrape of your teeth that go from his jaw to his right nipple is a gentle kind of pain that has him growing heavy and wet in his pants.

But the sudden, forceful grip on the sides of his hips has him thinking otherwise.

Billy tries to enjoy this. He asked for this. He asked for the pain. It’s getting tighter—

It hurts. Your fingers roughly fondle his sides, resting higher up and grabbing onto the sides of his ribcage. They press down.

It hurts. Billy knows he’s going to bruise. There’s going to be fingerprint-shaped bruises on his torso.

It hurts. His mind goes into survival mode.

“Billy?”, you ask, noticing how he’s gone rigid against you.

You lean back, putting some distance while still holding him, softly this time. He does not answer. He looks at you with an expression you’re not familiar with. Nostrils flaring, mouth pinched tight, chin tilting up higher than necessary to look up at you.

Eyes watery. Breathing shaky.

“Billy?”, you ask again, and when he doesn’t answer, you withdraw and take a better look.

Hands trembling.

“Baby… what’s wrong? Talk to me?”

Billy looks at you like he’s holding in his hatred.

“It’s alright. Can I take your hands? Look.” You raise your own to show him, but it seems to do worse than better.

He flinches.

“God, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m not gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna hurt you. Can you put your hands on mine? Can I touch your hands?” You hold your own hands at the height of his own, offering but not pushing.

Many seconds pass before he crumbles. His eyebrows pinch together and the tears he’d been holding back fall down his face. At the same time, he puts his hands on yours.

“That’s it, Blue. Let me make it better. I’m so sorry.”

Billy breaks down. He tentatively gets closer to you, like he thinks he’s not allowed, but when you begin closing the distance, he throws himself on you. You hold him lovingly. “I— B-But I asked for it—”

“That’s okay, angel. It just wasn’t for you. I’m sorry for pushing.” You kiss his face all over, and you know he’s back with you when he looks almost exasperated at all your loving. You tenderly stroke the sides of his torso. “I think I might have bruised you. I’m sorry. Do you want me to rub some cream on you?”

Billy embarrassedly grumbles against your chest. “‘M not gonna say no to that.”

Jonathan’s hard limits:

※ Rough manhandling.

※ Ruined orgasms.

Jonathan looks so tempting like this. Standing at the other side of the room, right after everyone’s left for the day, he gives you the look. He puts his chin to his chest, leers at you from under his lashes, fidgets with the hem of his sweater, practically begging you to ruin him. And you want nothing more than that. To wreck him.

So you approach.

Quickly.

So quickly that it almost gives him whiplash, and he’s not prepared for the roughness with which you grab his wrists, push him against the wall, which wasn’t that close to him in reality, something that makes the impact against his back all the more forceful and.

And.

Hurtful.

The initial shock is eclipsed by how much you tower over him, and how much you’re all up in his space, and how strong you feel against him. Which is something that he usually loves.

But it feels wrong, now.

Because it’s all too familiar to him.

Jonathan’s wrists, which are against the sides of his head, held in your strong grip, thrash into your hold, trying to shake you off, but you just think he’s into this little play. How wrong you are.

Jonathan shakes his head, because unlike his father, you’re a lot stronger, and he’s starting to feel desperate, because you can’t see his face properly like this, so you can’t understand that this is no longer fun to him.

“Get off me!”

You release him like he’s just burnt you. Immediately, he puts some distance between the two of you, no longer standing against the wall. “Jon?”, you ask him, concerned.

Jonathan doesn’t answer you at first, just looking at you like he’s fuming. That alone makes you feel terrible. Some seconds pass, and he seems to deflate a little. “Don’t… Don’t just… go berserk like that.”

“Jonny, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He sighs, starting to fidget with the hem of his sweater as if he feels like he is the one who did something wrong. “It’s fine,” he mumbles.

“No, it’s not.” You slowly approach him, holding your hands out under you. Jonathan bites his lower lip and softly puts his hands on yours. You rub his hands with your thumbs. “I’m sorry.”

Jonathan hums and looks at you from under his lashes. “Okay.”

You bring his hands up to your mouth and kiss them repeatedly, making him giggle.

“Okay, okay. I understand.” His hands hold onto the sides of your face. “I’m not that mad. I’m… kind of into that but also kind of… not?” Jonathan blushes such a pretty pink.

“Maybe we could talk about it first? See what you like the best?”

He nods, meekly.

#steve harrington x male reader #eddie munson x male reader #billy hargrove x male reader #jonathan byers x male reader #dom male reader #stranger things x male reader

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cubicle-eyes · 2 years

Text

How I think the characters on my write list (+a few) would react to you falling asleep on them! (HCs)

This post is a semi-filler. I'm taking a break from my Eddie fic to work on this because my motivation is going DOWN. Rest assured at least two new fics ( not including this one) are coming very soon!

--------

Steve Harrington

- He is stiff as a board.

- He does everything in his power to gently lay you down (if possible) without waking you up.

- He has so many photos of you when you're in deep sleep

- even one where he put yourfinger up your nose

- Dustin liked that one.

--------

Billy Hargrove

- He is also very still.

- He quite likes it, actually

- You're like a weighted blanket to him

- He's not to worried about waking you up

- but he's always sad when you do because he loves you lying on him.

- He has a photo of you asleep in your dinner. Deffo.

-------

Jason Carver

- shoves you to the floor.

- jkjk

- no, he does slide you away though

- it makes him uncomfortable when someone is sleeping on him, so dont be upset if you wake up to him sneaking away

--------

Eddie Munson

- He is also probably asleep

- you not awake = boring

- so, his solution is to sleep too.

- on the rare occasion he isn't sleeping, he often is holding your back/waist

- If he starts getting sore he pinches the end of your nose to wake you up, and always apologizes for doing so but never stops.

- He has a video recording of you sleepwalking and singing to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" while you sweep the couch. You woke up because of how hard he was laughing.

--------

Chrissy Cunningham

- She's always suprised, though it happens quite often

- Usually she sleeps on you, so it's nice

- Her shoulders are a little bony though, so usually you end up cuddled up in the crook of her neck <3

- she holds you very tightly, but not enough to wake you. Shes honestly worried you'll fall off of her!

- (she puts a variety of hats on your head, if she manages to get up without waking you)

- She has a poloraoid wall, and most of them are you and her together, or you sleeping with a bunch of hats stacked on your head

--------

Jim Hopper

- hahshshaha

- He's the best cuddler EVER

- hes so STRONG and holds you in PLACE!

- he has his arms around you and you'd die if you moved

- he loves affection okay he's just mean about it sometimes

- if he has a coat/flannel/OUTERWEAR he takes it off and lays it on you instead of a blanket

- it's nice because it's warm and smells like him, which is sweet

- Will murder if someone wakes you up. There is no joke here. Eleven was grounded for three days.

--------

Joyce Byers

- MAMA

- MAMA ILY HOLD ME TOO PLS 🥺🥺🥺

- Mama bear! MAMA BEAR!

- She is the best cuddler on this LIST!!

- She has three kids, she has EXPERIENCE in CUDDLES!

- Massages your scalp while your sleeping and if she pulls away you wake up, which leads to hilarious interactions between her and Will when she needs something.

- " Stop laughing Will. Just hand me the remote."

- "It's literally beside you!"

- "Shhh! Hand the remote to your poor old mom!"

-------

Dustin Henderson

- hahassddjshs

- when you fall asleep on him he cries.

- not really but he's killed by the pure trust and kind of wants too

- gives you kithes 🥺

- mostly on the top of your head, but the forehead and your cheeks (depending on the way your head is laying) are hotspots too

- its way to quiet when you're asleep so he falls asleep too

- Which leads to the both of you waking up with a huge bright camera flash as his mom cooes at the both of you

- (bottom left drawer of his dresser, there's a collection of photogrpahs where he's put makeup on your face in your sleep. Also includes you sleeping in his hat, you sleeping cuddled up with him, and you literally sleeping face-down on his bed.)

--------

Mike Wheeler

- Sorry people but you never sleep on him.

- Have you seen him? He's a stick and bony and lanky and ADORABLE but not to sleep on

- to sleep with, however, when you're the first asleep...

- He just likes to rub your arms through your shirt (or not, if you arent wearing one, duh)

- Sleeping together like this is a really intimate thing to him, so he finds it very special to watch you sleep

- his hands are naturally freezing, so he finds clever ways to sneakily twine your fingers together to warm them up

- His most creative way to do so is to put his hands behind your neck.

- you always wake up, laughing and gasping for him to move them, but he keeps them there till they're warm, and then you're both asleep again with your foreheads touching <3

--------

Nancy Wheeler

- notice me senp-

- Now in my honest opinion..

- She has never had someone fall asleep on her until you

- Always unprepared and silently freaking out as she sits stiff as a board, hands in her lap twitching slightly as she stares at the wall or TV

- usually when you move around she takes the oppurtunity as well, making sure you're both comfy before settling

- Awkward! With! Her! HANDS!!

- Always everywhere! They're constantly moving

- Her feet do it too as she's also a restless sleeper and very fidgety

- always feels bad if it wakes you up

- sometimes its nice, one hand petting your head and the other rubbing your back..

- but sometimes her feet kick your ankles and sometimes it hurts, okay.

- also she sleeps with socks on. Didn't know how to fit this in. But she does.

- ( in preperation for you falling asleep on her on the couch, she has a basket of blankets next to the cushions, and theres water bottles and a secret stash of chips hidden under them >:} )

--------

Will Byers

- usually doesn't know you're asleep until you stop answering his questions

- and then which he adjusts to hold you and continues talki g to himself.

- sometimes you'll mutter sleepy 'mmm's when he's said something interesting enough, but he shushes you because you're supposed to be asleep

- very good cuddler, but can never fall asleep

- when he gets tired he passes out, yes, but to get tired he'd have to run around the world four times

- well, he'd have to be mentally tired to fall asleep. No matter how sleepy his body is, he can't fall asleep without talking about anything aad everything until the words turn into whispers and then quiet nonsense.

- he has a photobook, and theres a picture of you sleeping so weirdly that it always gets a laugh (peter griffin fall 💀)

--------

Jonathan Byers

- probably high

- so he just keeps on doing what he's doing.

- he probably asks you stupid questions, regardles of if you answer or not.

- "would you still love me if i was a worm?"

- "..cutests fuckin... mm.. worm.. "

- "*sobbing*"

- "woah holy shit, jon, you okay-"

- "Im a CuTe WoRm! *more sobbing*"

- honestly I love him so much idk how to write abt him zhshahah

- if he's asleep too he's probably resting his head on yours, arms lazily wrapped around tour neck as you bury your face in his neck and chest, holding his torso.

--------

Eleven Byers-Hopper

- freaking out verbally

- "Do not laugh at me, Will. They are not dead, right?"

- probably shaking bc sjes so scared that if she accidentally wakes you up you'll be upset with her

- eventually she relaxes, and moves your head (which has undoubtedly fallen to her shoulder) to her lap

- very gentle and sweet

- once she gets even more comfortable, she probably pets your head and baby-talks to you in a one-sided, lovey-dovey conversation.

- "Whos the most adowable S/O? Y/N is. Yeah he is. The best sleeper in the west."

--------

Max Mayfeild

- literally just wakes you up.

- if you DONT wake up she tries to literally "push your buttons"

- squeeze ur cheeks, poke ur nose, poke ur forehead

- She doesn't want to be trapped all day!

- (she really does though. If you don't get up soon she cuddles right up to fall asleep. Pretend to be asleep long enough and you get to hear Max snore. Loudly.)

--------

Robin Buckley (f.reader)

- " :0 omg ive been chosen"

- treats you like a cat, puts you where you need to be so youre both comfy

- couch sleeping >>>>

- lies with her back against the couch and your back pressed against her chest, holding you in place so you don't fall and kissing the back of your neck gently and ajdvrkdvej

- Robin's head > Pillow

--------

Argyle

- bro argyle >>> hottest person alive

- who am I kididng theyre the same person

- anyways (;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`)

- this man doesnt let you sleep whatre you even talking about???? U joking??? hes high you're comin' down with him.

- "...What color is a mirror..?" "Why is pizza round... cut into triangles... and served in a square box?" "Why is it nail polish and not nail paint?" etc etc

- he always falls asleep very quickly. But he also cries really easily when high off his balls. Over everything. He cried yesterday about the color of his shirt. It wasn't yellow enough. He told me himself

- hes the best pillow. Lay on his chest, kiss his face, let him hold ya

- hes very soft and gentle with you at all times, and since most of the time the both of you are high as skyscrapers, it's a bit more wacky but a lot more sentimental.

- lots of "was drunk and fell asleep like this 😤" pictures in the back of the van

- the funniest being the one of argyle standing on the roof of the van with you and attempting to push you onto the hood "long live the king"style, but you were held on tight

- usually jonathan doesn't quite get as high so he taks a lot of pictures

- got off track but oh well lol

--------

Fred Benson

- He probably has prepared for this moment and lured you into a trap :)

- he had music on softly in the background and blankets and everything all planned out

- once he just gains enough actual courage to ask for cuddles it'll be less odd when he asks you to watch the most boring show on the planet with him

- he kithes your head a lot bc he really loves you, but doesn't voice it a whole lot

--------

Peter Ballars

- he moves you, despite how much he wants to stay and make sure you sleep well

- he doesn't move you very far. Usually you fall asleep in the rainbow room, so he just puts you in your own room to rest

- he always sneaks and checks on you, though, because you're still as graceful as a dying baby bird and vunreable all alone

- 4/10 not a good rainbow room cuddle buddy

- (alone, however, he's very sweet, apologizing for dumping you in your room all alone. Kisses all around, gives you a shoulder rub, you know, usual guilty boyfriend tendancies. Will always cuddle before he has to go back to his own room. He may be a lil' evil but you're his sweetheart <3 )

EXTRA/BONUS: OBSCUREISH CHARACTERS

Dr. Brenner/Papa (child reader, around 5-6)

- he isn't quite sure how you ended up so close to him in the rainbow room as he sat and observed the other children, but when he felt the pressure on his upper arm from you, he couldn't help but grinned

- he woke you up gently, offering you a quick nap in your assigned room, and you accepted by yawning and rubbing your eyes, nodding.

- he walked you to your room with an orderly, and tucked you into bed.

- totally down to tell you a story tbh. Just ask.

- the orderly is assigned to wake you up in exactly two hours, so you better get to sleep quick.

- but no matter. Papa is sure to lend you an extra hour if you need it.

--------

Ted Wheeler 👹 (Holly's fraternal twin)

- he's asleep. He fell asleep first. You were just to scared to change the TV channel and fell asleep too on top of him with your sister.

- (he wakes up first too, and puts you both in bed, making sure you're covered and comfy before heading back to his chair. If you wake up in that time, he'lm tell you both some sort of a story, though it's a "tired dad" version. Usually you're the cool dragon, while Holly's the princess in fantasy stories.

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Karen Wheeler 👹 (also Holly's twin)

- she was suprised, of course, when you appeared across from her on the couch and shoved your way into her lap, cuddling close and instantly falling asleep.

- she lets you sit there for awhile, patting your back, before she brings you to her room to let you nap up there. When Holly gets tired she'll join you, but for now you get the big bed!)

Barb Holland

- havfuubeakdvehx

- Hi barb *waves fingers like an idiot*

- she loves cuddles. There's never a time you ever "accidentally" fall asleep on her. Oh no. Youre her hostage now.

- Smooches. Smoochy poochy bwa bwbajettiwvd

- Push her glasses up her nose while you're barely awake, and then proceed to pass out. She will cry of cuteness. No jokes.

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hope you enjoyed! Also I need to add Barb to my write list 👹

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famwhy · 10 months

Text

Right Way Up (03)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

Note: I know Steve's initials are on this chapter but that doesn't mean this chapter is focused on him, just a head's up.

prev part. masterlist. next part.

03. bring unto me altruism

trait: s.h.

"YOU know him?"

Your gaze wandered over the top of the BMW, breaking away from the (very sturdy-looking) back of Billy Hargrove to instead lock eyes with Steve Harrington—the latter of which had his own optics thoroughly narrowed in your direction.

"Huh?"

"The new guy—" he scoffed out, and you watched as his lips tugged down, brows furrowed very harshly, "—do you know him?"

Ah, shit. You have got to stop slipping up, Y/N.

"No." The response came out quick—and you turning around to face Billy again came quicker. He was still walking off—skinny jeans making it almost impossible to ignore his figure, very clearly outlining his... ahem just as they had in the show. "I certainly wouldn't mind getting to know him, though."

"Ew, gross."

"Oh please, like you can talk."

"I can talk, actually, and—hey! Where are you going?"

Midway through his sentence, you had started off towards the school, strutting after the dirty blonde with just as much feigned confidence in your walk as he.

It was rude to walk off halfway through a conversation but that was probably the least of your worries right now. You had a plan and if you wanted to execute it, you couldn't let Billy out of your sight.

"Y/N?"

"Just heading to class, don't worry. Walk Nancy to her first period then head to yours, 'kay? I'll be fine."

What exactly were you doing? Simple—remember the other day when you had no clue where you were going and had to rely on Steve to get you to your classes? Well, today, you could follow Billy Hargrove and, with any luck, you'd end up finding the counselor without having to ask for help and sounding suspicious.

Although, the last of anyone's guesses as to why you were acting peculiar would be that you came from a whole other world; one wherein they were all characters on a screen with almost three-quarters of them being completely irrelevant to the plot and, therefore, not even paid the littlest of attention to by the audience.

Still, better to be safe than sorry.

You had many more worries running rampant in your mind, all loud and overwhelming, grand and all-consuming—almost to the point where you had bumped into the defined back of the 80s bad boy; a defined back which, all of a sudden, wasn't moving like it was just moments ago.

Why did he stop?

The answer to that question was written clearly on the solid plate stuck to the blank, beaten door before you: COUNSELOR.

Your ears perked up as a jingle sounded from the metal knob, a strong, slightly-tanned hand wrapped firmly around it.

The door refused to budge.

"Ah shit," came the steady curse of the broad male. His body had shifted after that, and even an idiot could tell that he was about to turn around, so you did what any sane person would do—you flung yourself to the side and crashed your butt against one of the chairs snugly tucked against the wall.

Ouch... you'd think the chairs next to the guidance counselor's office would be a little more comfy to land on.

If Billy had found your actions at all weird, he showed no signs of it—choosing, instead, to plop himself down on the seat next to you; pink lips pulled into a straight line and ocean-blue gaze as cool as steel. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then Billy's glass panes were sure-as-hell foggy beyond belief because you hadn't grasped a single glance at his soul.

But... you still knew what it looked like, the shattered crystals left behind in the wake of his past, ready to prick whoever dared come near with their razor-sharp edges—and that thought had your heart squeezing painfully, both in sympathy and guilt; sympathy for his unfortunate circumstances and... guilt for knowing so much about this boy who hadn't a single clue that you existed before... well, any of this.

"'S there a reason for your staring, princess?"

You blinked, all of a sudden being the recipient of a grin that didn't quite seem to reach the eyes of the sender.

"Huh?"—damn, caught lost in thought again—"Oh! Uh, you're my new neighbour, right?"

He arched a brow.

"Cherry Lane?" You added. "My brother told me someone moved in and you don't look like anyone I know."

His mouth stayed sewn shut and you chose to keep going.

"I think I saw you get out of your car earlier too, there was a California tag on it, is that where you used to live?"

Again. No words. Though, this time, his lips pulled taut and any sign of that previous expression had vanished.

"I always thought the Golden Coast was pretty." You weren't an idiot, you saw the change in his expression—the shift in his gaze—but you didn't let it stop you, continuing to speak with a small, gentle smile, "I'm thinking of going one day."

His eyes had softened a little at that, and he parted his lips—looking as though he was about to speak—when, all of a sudden, a sound reverberated through the near-empty hall, and he closed them once more, raising a brow before sending a pointed look your way.

You felt it coming, the rumble deep down in the pits of your stomach, but you were helpless in stopping it—in containing it—and it arrived before you could even blink—

—a low growl.

Your fist rose up, a light cough leaving your mouth as your gaze awkwardly drifted to the side. "I, uh, didn't eat this morning."

Silence.

Then—to your utter surprise—soft, mirthful chuckles flooded your ears, causing you to whip your head around so fast, you almost sprained your poor neck. Beside you was a sight for sore eyes; one that resulted in your jaw dropping all the way to the floor and your eyes practically bulging out with how much they'd widened.

Billy Hargrove—the Billy Hargrove—was laughing.

His soft, golden curls bounced with each bout of snickers that left his mouth—beautiful, azure eyes crinkled and barely visible past his squinted lids—and yet—they still looked just as striking as usual, as mesmerising and jaw-dropping as on TV—if not, more so.

And then, it really sank in.

You made Billy Hargrove laugh.

And it wasn't some fake, obligatory giggle—nor was it that little, psychotic laugh he did when hysteria clouded his usually-cold gaze—no, it was full-blown, genuine laughter. And you caused it.

That thought had your chest swelling with a lot more pride than it probably should've—

"What's up with the tattoo?"

The question left his mouth much more comfortably than his previous words, flowing out with a small, slightly-smug quirk of his lips, and it took you a moment to register the fact that he had stopped chuckling, his gaze having drifted down—specifically, towards your wrist.

You trailed his gaze, finding yourself being met with the three, thick lines that had been there since the day you arrived in this world and—unsure of why they were there yourself—you shrugged. "Dunno, I think I got it while blackout drunk once."

Something about your response must've been funny because he officially chuckled for the second time since meeting you. "I didn't know you country folk knew how to party that hard."

Now, you might've not been from Hawkins yourself but... something about the way he said that had your eyes narrowing slightly in his direction, and you sprung up from your seat, the underside of your thighs suddenly being greeted by cold air.

"Watch it. We can party just as hard as you Calis."

Your pupils grew shaky as you stood there, watching the next set of his actions with a tingling feeling deep down in your stomach.

One hand on his denim-clad knee, defined biceps flexing as he slowly rose up—your eyes rising with him. And as he took a step closer to you—lips twitching further up with a glint in his eyes you couldn't quite discern—you found yourself starting to slowly lose your breath, hands growing just the slightest bit clammy with the sudden blaze of active nerves you were struck with.

"Yeah?"

You gulped. "Yeah."

You felt hyper-aware as a rough, sun-kissed hand slid around your waist—fitting perfectly against the curve of your back, slowly dragging you closer, and sending a flurry of pleasant tingles straight up your spine to meet with the group that started to steadily arise in your chest; a chest that was mere millimetres from the thin, cotton material that covered his own.

Then, he leaned towards your ear, lips grazing the lobe as he whispered—a sultry lull bleeding into his tone—"Why don't you show me just how hard you can party, huh?"

Your breath audibly hitched in your throat but—before you could fret over what he'd say next, how he'd respond to your silly, little fumble—a 'click!' sounded from your side, and you threw yourself straight out of his sturdy arms quicker than a bolt of lightning—just in time, too, for the face of an older woman emerged from within the office not even moments later.

"Ah," the lady nodded, "you must be William."

Your eyes flitted over to him just in time to catch the way his jaw ticked.

"It's Billy, actually." And when he responded, his voice came out cold, different to the playful lilt it held just moments before.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the name struck a nerve.

"Ah, my bad. Would you like to come in and grab your schedule, Billy?"

He didn't respond but did as she asked, brushing past you to walk into the smaller room, only sharing a brief few seconds of eye-contact as he walked past—but those brief few seconds were enough to grant you just a tiny glimpse into the thunderous storm hidden within the pools of his irises—

—and as the door shut behind him, your lips tugged down.

You couldn't help but let your mind wander to the way his muscles seemed to tense up at the mention of California, freeze in what you could safely assume was caused by his longing to return to the freedom of his home state.

To be forced to depart from your home was nothing new, but you truly felt for Billy and his circumstances. His dad was more than hard on him—he was downright abusive, and Billy was forced to endure it without a single soul in his corner to help him through it, to guide him down the right path and teach him how to break out of the cycle of abuse he was forced into upon being born.

He was only eighteen. A goddamn child. He shouldn't have had to go through what he did.

He should've had the chance to redeem himself.

But that chance was squandered in Season 3, ripped from him akin to how his life was—a grotesque limb of mixed flesh having pierced through his chest, several other messed-up tentacles latched painfully onto his sides, bleeding him dry, draining the life from his eyes.

He didn't deserve to die.

Officially bummed-out by your own trail of thoughts, you heaved out a sigh before your ears perked up at a familiar 'click!' and your head snapped to the door again.

Out came Billy, the smug twitch of his lips back on his face—it was so comfortably situated there, in fact, that if any other person had seen it, they'd have assumed it was there the whole time.

But, despite him looking perfectly fine as he walked out of the old office, you still felt the urge to fly into his arms and wrap him in an embrace filled to the brim with promises; promises to at least provide him some level of support for what he was going through and what he would go through. Though, unlike with Eddie, you couldn't act upon it.

See, Billy and Eddie were two completely different people—where Eddie had brushed off your sudden hug quite easily—happily welcomed it, even—Billy would definitely question it, especially considering the fact that he didn't even know who you were.

And so, although it took all of your willpower, you refrained from throwing yourself onto him—choosing, instead, to stand still as he sauntered over, fingers rising up to brush against your shoulder gently; teasingly.

"See ya 'round, princess."

Instantly, a flurry of tiny, winged creatures erupted in your stomach, sending tingles through your body—up your spine to seize you at your throat, clawing into your windpipe and rendering you motionless in astonishment and awe and—

Was it just you or was it getting hot in here?

"Y/N?" You blinked, attention turning to the dark-haired female suddenly stood before you. "What are you doing here?"

Forcing yourself to forget that... whatever that was, you let a small, sheepish smile curve onto your lips. "Actually, miss, do you mind if I ask for a reprint of my schedule?"

"A reprint?" She rose a brow, arms slowly folding over her chest. "I thought you already had it memorised."

"Oh, uh,"—cue a small, nervous giggle—"you see, it kinda like... slipped my mind, y'know? And I already lost my old one so... can I have that reprint?"

She stood there for a little while longer—letting you really bask in the glory of her heavy judgement—before finally heaving out a sigh through her nose, sounding like she just aged up another ten years as she spun on her heel, full, brown curls bouncing after her.

The ground was smooth, friction practically non-existant as you rocked on your heels, awaiting the piece of paper with bated breath. The ticks of the clock suddenly didn't seem so much like white noise anymore as impatience furrowed your brows and your teeth jutted out, sinking a little into your bottom lip in anticipation.

Then, with a loud, echoing, "Y/N!"—someone had called out to you, but their voice was too high-pitched to be the one you were looking to hear—not to mention the fact that it came from the hall to your right as opposed to the office in front of you.

Your head whipped around just in time to have your whole body jerk a little as a girl skidded to an abrupt stop right next to you, her brown, soft-looking hair bouncing with an almost unnecessary amount of volume.

In her hands were several pieces of bright orange paper, all inked with a few words you couldn't quite make out—not without squinting at least.

"Hey!"

"Uh, hey..."

Who the hell was this again?

"How have you been? You haven't been to practice for a while now, the girls are pretty worried." As she spoke, she tucked a stray strand behind her ear and you squinted—trying to figure out where you'd seen her in the show.

"Oh, uh, I've just been a little sick, that's all."—seriously, who was this girl?—"I'm fine now though."

"That's great to hear!" She beamed, though her smile didn't quite seem to reach her eyes. "Listen, I'm having this party on Halloween and... I wanted you to be the first invite."

She extended one hand—flyer fit snugly between her fingertips—and you reached out, wrapping your fingers around the other end before she released it.

Eyes falling down, you took in the words written in... well, you didn't even know what font that was: TINA'S HALLOWEEN BASH. Come and get Sheet Faced.

Oh, so this was Tina.

"You'll be there, right?"

Your eyes flew back up and you were met with her intense gaze, swirling with a desperate, expectant plea you were almost saddened to see.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I'll be there."

If anyone saw the way her shoulders fell and the muscles on her face relaxed at your words, they would've assumed you took some sort of heavy anvil off her shoulders, freeing her of some sort of imaginary weight that was supposedly weighing her down.

"Thank you," she breathed out, voice practically inaudible over the air leaving her lungs.

Damn, were you that influential?—so much so that your presence would make or break a party?

"No problem?"

If you were being completely honest, you had no idea what to think of Tina—her character wasn't very explored in the show considering the fact that her role was very minor, the only thing she was really used for was the Halloween bash. But just from these few minutes with her alone, you could tell she was someone who heavily valued reputation.

"Okay, well, I should go," her voice pierced through your thoughts. "I'm thinking of inviting the new kid."

You parted your lips—about to say goodbye—when she twirled around and took off running, not even bothering to spare another glance your way.

Rude.

But as your gaze drifted down to the piece of paper in your hands once more, you found yourself uncaring of her rather unorthodox departure—too busy thinking about... something else.

"Y/N, here's your schedule."

Ah, nevermind the bash, you had your schedule now. You could finally know where you were meant to be for each period—albeit, it would take you a while to actually find the places but at least you knew what subjects you were meant to be in during the week. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Speaking of class, you were long overdue for your first period—

—and your teacher seemed to agree on that too, judging by the harsh glare situated on his face as soon as your sheepish form walked through the door. But hey, could he blame you? No, you were just trying to find your way around this stupid maze of a school.

Luckily, getting to your second class was much easier seeing as you passed it on your way to the first—but that didn't make it any less difficult to have to sit through. You were in Stranger Things—for fuck's sake!—what the hell did Newton's Third Law have to do with it?

You weren't ashamed to admit that you didn't pay attention to any of the other classes leading up to lunch—nor were you opposed to confessing the huge sigh of relief you let out once the long break period finally arrived, because—c'mon—who the hell paid attention to class when they just got transported to another world?

Not you.

So yes, you were currently happily strolling through the halls with your arms crossed over your books as you hugged said items to your chest, no sign of Steve in sight—but, you did catch a glimpse of a very familiar Lion's mane by a set of grey lockers in the corner of your eye.

"Eddie!"

Your voice must've come suddenly because he jumped as soon as you called out to him, head turning your way and one hand situating itself above his heart after he saw you. "Oh, Y/N!"

Your lips twitched up at just the sight of him. "What happened to 'sweetheart'?"

"Oh, uh, you want me to call you that? In front of all these people?"

And just like that, your lips tugged down. "Of course, why would that be a problem? Unless you're uncomfortable with it yourself—in which case, you don't have to call me by it."

Immediately, his head shook from side-to-side, messy hair bouncing crazily along with it. "No, no, not at all... sweetheart."

You'd be lying if you said that the nickname didn't garner a reaction from you; didn't result in your chest swirling with a blazing warmth.

Though, it also seemed to result in the jaw of the person stood next to him dropping to the floor; the same person you had just noticed was there in the first place. He had hair that was just as curly as Eddie's, but—unlike the male you knew—his was cut shorter, barely reaching past his ears really.

You knew this guy, he was one of Eddie's friends.

What was his name again? It started with a G. Let's see... Gavin..? No... Gary..? No...

Oh!

"Gareth right?" Relief washed through your insides when his head nodded, eyes wide and seeming to look through you, almost as if he couldn't even believe you were there, "It's so nice to meet another friend of Eddie's!"

"Another?" He seemed to have shot out of his trance at that, and it wasn't long before he gave you an incredulous look, gaze flickering over from you to Eddie, to you to Eddie, over and over again.

Then, all too suddenly, he pulled on the other male's arm and yanked him to the side—not even 3 feet of you—before resuming, "You're friends with the Queen Bee? How the hell did that happen?"

"You think I know?!"

Eddie's response was enough to garner a chuckle from you, causing both boys to quickly return their gazes to your form. Before they could comment on their fuck-up however, another voice came bellowing down the hall, calling out to you.

"Y/N!"

Unlike with Gareth before, you recognised that pretty face paired with those luscious ginger strands of hair straight away. How could you not? You had practically seen a thousand edits of them along with the 'Chrissy Wake Up' song on TikTok. Kinda hard to forget her after the Internet did its magic.

Though, it wasn't exactly unpleasant to be meeting her, and so, you gave her as bright a smile as you could muster. "Chrissy! Hey!"

"Hi!" She beamed right back at you, but unlike Tina, Chrissy's smile genuinely reached her glinting eyes, even going as far as adorably crinkling them up a little. "Tina said you were feeling fine now, do you mind coming to practice today? Only if you're okay! I know you've been sick so take as much rest as you need and don't feel pressured."

How the hell could you say no to that?

"Yeah, okay, sure! I'll come with you to practice."

You weren't sure how it was possible, but she seemed to light up even further at that, almost blinding you like the little ball of sunshine she was.

In fact, she was so distracting, you almost forgot the presence of the two boys dressed in a completely different colour pallet to you. Keyword: almost.

"Looks like that's my cue." You turned their way—if only to save your eyesight from genuinely deteriorating due to the light that was Chrissy. "It was nice meeting you, Gareth. Good to see you again, Eddie."

Just before departing, you ghosted your fingers over the covered shoulder of Eddie, wiggling them about like you had done to Steve just the day prior; a signature goodbye, if you will.

And as you walked down the halls, you picked up on one last thing coming from Gareth's mouth... one last thing that was enough to drill your feet straight into the ground.

"Eddie? Eddie, wake up!"

That phrase...

Flashes of Season 4 infiltrated your gaze; of the unfortunate victims that had their lives stripped from them; of the very girl stood next to you's body flying up, limbs distorting as they snapped irregularly, eyes not even having the pleasure of losing light with how unjustly they were gauged out from her.

Had you messed up somehow?

Had the events of Season 4 ended up being triggered too early by your mere existence?

The questions overwhelmed you—flooded through your senses and clogged up your airways with their untimely arrival. You were a puppet and they were the strings, ushering you to turn around; to rid yourself of the wool pulled over your eyes—of the blissful ignorance surrounding your form—and, helpless to their influence, you did exactly that.

Slowly, your head reared backwards—the room spinning around you—and your eyes were greeted by a welcome sight; one that breathed life back into your limbs.

Eddie stood there—eyes still very much on his face—with a familiar, light blush spread across his cheeks. Even as his form was being rapidly shook by his dear friend, he remained still, gaze trained on you. He only seemed to have snapped out of it after making proper eye-contact with you.

Two blinks. A small, shy raised hand. And a tiny wave.

False alarm. He was just flustered.

It made sense, your previous actions could be interpreted as flirting after all—and to be honest, you didn't really mind if it was (again, the Eddie Munson)—but, you'd be lying if you said he didn't just give you a bit of a scare there.

The sentence that just came out of Gareth's mouth was the very same, infamous sentence uttered by Eddie's lips just before the first death of Season 4—a rather brutal death involving the very ball of sunshine that was just tasked to retrieve you.

Speaking of that ball of sunshine—

"Y/N, you coming?"

You blinked, quickly returning Eddie's wave before whipping your head back around to face the ginger next to you once again.

You had to admit, it was very surreal coming face-to-face with people from the show who were meant to die—it felt kinda like seeing a ghost, and a part of you (just a teensy-weensy, little part) found it... well... unsettling.

But, that was just a small part.

"Yeah. Let's go."

You shook off the residual fear that lingered from that little moment before finally continuing to follow Chrissy down the hall.

The whole walk was full of her detailing you on the failed practices of the cheerleaders in your absence. Apparently, Heather tried and failed to do a cartwheel into a back-flip as part of one of the routines before dramatically throwing her pompoms to the ground and angrily muttering that you could do it instead.

You had no idea who Heather was but you wished you were there to see it.

Oh, and—with you gone—it seemed as though a lot of the girls had taken to slacking off, opting to gaze longingly at the sweaty boys that played basketball just across the Gym instead of actually being productive.

You doubted that would get any better with Billy around now.

"Well, well, well," a high-pitched voice sliced through your thoughts and you blinked, finally noticing that you arrived at the Gym. "Look who finally decided to show up."

You recognised that puffed-up, blonde hair from the first day of your arrival, the stance she took on being an almost-exact replica of the one back in the infirmary.

"Finally done punching the daylights out of some random freak in school?" She scoffed out.

"Sarah," Chrissy hissed from beside you, "don't say that. Y/N's been sick recently."

"Sick of being just as aggressive as her brother?" Sarah rolled her eyes.

Before you could retort with your own defense, however, someone else had piped in—that person being a brunette with rather short, straight hair, "You're talking like you don't wanna fuck him."

Uh—what?

"Jenny!" Your eyes flitted over to the blonde just in time to catch her reddened cheeks.

"What? It's true, isn't it?"

"Whatever, let's just..."

Sarah trailed off there, jaw hanging open as her eyes seemed to land on something not within your immediate eyesight. And when you found yourself following her gaze—you located the subject of her interest, the lack of words suddenly making sense.

Golden curls you had the pleasure of seeing up close just this morning were farther now, having just barely passed through the entrance. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips as the electricity in his eyes zapped through the Gym before finally landing on you, lips edging up into what you could only call a smirk.

It wasn't long before he sauntered over, practically demanding all of the attention in the room with his walk; attention which was happily handed over to him on a sleek, silver plate.

"All this time I've been calling you princess... when you've really been a queen," as he spoke—voice as husky as ever—a teasing lilt laced into his tone, intensifying his gaze and overwhelming you with his suffocating presence. "Why didn't you say anything, dollface?"

Breathe, Y/N, breathe. Stand your ground.

You tried to, you really did—but, the only way you'd be able to keep your composure right now was by closing your eyes and pretending you didn't see him—

—so you did exactly that.

Your lashes fluttered shut and you envisioned a blank sea of darkness before uttering out a response, "Didn't think it was important."

"Yeah?" Now, while you might not have been able to see him, you could still very well hear him, and his voice was nothing short of the perfect mixture between smooth and rough and—

Stop. It.

For your own sake—and for fear of further falling apart—you chose not to say anything and only nodded.

That was a mistake.

Instant regret hit you square in the face when you felt the gentle touch of a few, rough fingers against your chin, tilting your head just enough to rest at an angle before a surge of warm air tickled your lashes.

And as he spoke—lips almost grazing your closed lids—those familiar flying pests made their home in your stomach, "Where'd those pretty eyes of yours go? Didn't seem to stop wanting to use them this morning."

Damn him and his smoothness.

In an effort to continue to save face, you resorted to squeezing your eyes even further shut—paying no mind to the blissful warmth slowly coating your form or the teasing snickers that left the bad boy's mouth; snickers which you could practically feel the vibrations of.

"What's the matter? Have I rendered Miss Queen Bee speechless?"

Your vision was dark but you could still see the smug smirk on his face. Just wait until you gathered yourself, you were gonna make him ten times more flustered than you—just wait.

The light clearing of a throat suddenly served as a reminder that you two weren't the only ones in the room and you found yourself feeling a little... cold when Billy pulled away.

Cold? Ugh, once again, damn him and his smoothness.

Finally deeming it safe to do so, you opened your eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the light once more before you were finally able to make out the slowly-shrinking figure of Billy Hargrove. But just as he reached the entrance of the Gym once more, he paused, one hand firmly gripping onto the frame as he called out to you over his shoulder.

"Keep your bed nice and warm for me, will ya, dollface?"

Your jaw dropped.

Someone else then said something along the lines of 'oh my god' but—if you were being honest—you were barely able to hear it over the echo of Billy's snickers as he walked away, completely amused by your reaction no doubt.

He was so unequivocally bold, you almost couldn't believe it.

"Uh, guys, I think I'm gonna take a raincheck on practice today." But, it seemed as though the other girls definitely could—judging by how the very girl who said this rushed right after Billy.

"Me too!"

"Yeah, uh, I think I'm feeling a little sick."

"Well, I, for one, am chasing up that boy."

"Not if I get him first!"

And as a majority of them rushed after the handsome male, you found yourself deadpanning.

"Bruh."

You definitely couldn't blame them though, the rest of your day was spent recalling all those scenes with him after all. Even Steve noticed your absent-mindedness in the last period of the day—trying several outlandish things to grab your attention that he only informed you of once the lesson was over.

You didn't even notice him waving his arms wildly in front of your face while the teacher's back was turned.

And even as you walked beside him, Nancy strutting ahead of the two of you after you'd picked her up from class, you still had your head roaming around in the clouds.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You hummed, half-listening, half-not.

Steve then leaned further your way, shoulder brushing your own as he whispered against your ear. "Wish me good luck?"

You blinked up at him, having paid enough attention to scrunch up your nose in confusion and ask, "Good luck for what?"

"The dinner. At Barb's?"

A few more blinks.

And then—

"Ohhhhh."

Nancy turned around at that, and Steve was quick to hush you. He only resumed talking when she faced forward once more—albeit, slower than she turned around.

"What are you doing? Trying to get me in trouble?!" His whisper came out harsh, and you winced a little.

"Alright, alright, gheez."

His attitude seemed to be at an all-time high because he rolled his eyes after that. "I just... don't get why I have to go to this stupid dinner anyway."

"Steve." It was your turn to harshly whisper. "Don't say that. Nancy needs closure, this dinner is exactly that."

You felt for Steve just a tad bit, it wasn't his best friend that died after all (thank god for that) but that didn't mean he got to complain about attending a dinner his girlfriend wanted him to be at because he was there the night of the first attack; of the first murder.

See, Barbara (or Barb) had been Nancy's best friend—the two being practically attached by the hip—so of course the night she died would be one that Nancy deeply regretted, and of course she would want closure with the parents of her best friend. It just made sense.

In fact, the whole reason why she did any of what she did in Season 2 was so that she could inform Barb's parents (who still thought their child was out there somewhere) that their kid was, in fact, dead.

"Y/N, you there?"

Caught in a monologue? Seriously, Y/N? What are you, the main character?

"Yeah, I'm here."

Seeing as you were already outside and stood right by Steve's car—you slotted your hand between the cold of both the handle and the door before pulling it open, leaping straight in, and causing the whole vehicle to jerk in a symphony of loud clangs from sheer force.

"Hey! Careful!" It seemed like your music wasn't appreciated by Steve though.

"Relax. It's not like I broke it or anything—" feeling like messing with him—because duh—a smirk slowly twitched onto your lips, "—besides, it's excited to see me, aren't you, girl?"

Steve let out another hiss when you patted the seat a little too harshly—sounding akin to a pissed off feline which just made him seem less menacing and more adorable.

Ha, you tried, Steve, you tried.

The click of the passenger door drew your eyes over to Nancy's form, watching as her legs entered one at a time before she took a seat and turned your way—"We're dropping you off then heading straight over to Barb's."—then, turning to Steve, "Right, Steve?"

You could already hear the grumbled out 'yes' coming from him and you only sent him a grin seeping with amusement when he met your gaze through the rear-view mirror—your lips stretching further as he mouthed the words 'help me' with anguish in his eyes.

"You two have fun, yeah?"

You said the sentence to piss Steve off even further but when you caught a glimpse of the look on Nance's face, a pang shot straight through your chest.

Her eyes had this far-away look about them as her lips curved up by a very small amount—though there was no joy in it, only grief.

"Hey..." you placed one hand on the shoulder of her seat, using it to pull yourself forward as you furrowed your brows, worry clouding your gaze. "You alright?"

She sniffled a little before waving her hand and nodding in response. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine. Let's go."

Your lips tugged down and you shared a look with your best friend before he started the engine, breathing life into the vehicle as you slowly lowered your body back down onto the leather seat.

She wasn't fine; even without knowledge from the show, you could tell. She might not have been crying but her lip was definitely quivering a little and her eyes... well, they just weren't all... present in the moment.

But, she would be fine. And that was enough.

Besides, though it was cold to say, you had bigger things to worry about. Nancy would get help from Jonathan in order to come to terms with Barb's death—meanwhile, you had no one to help you out with all the spare knowledge you stored in your brain; with all the premonitions (if you could call it that) you were blessed with.

Perhaps it was time you started preparing for another bout with the demodogs—you were Steve's best friend, after all; that probably meant you'd most likely end up facing the dogs together with him later on in the Season.

"Y/N."

You perked up at the call of your name, shaking away the thoughts clinging to your brain.

"We're here."

Lo and behold, so it seemed you were, the familiar sidewalk leading up to your house being visible through the clear glass panes beside you.

Clicking open the door, you took one step out before swinging the rest of your body to follow after, and once you closed the door again, you walked over to the passenger-side window—shoes barely making a sound against the ground—before your knees bent down a little and you tapped lightly against the glass.

"Let the Hollands know I wish them the best, okay?" You offered a gentle smile to the girl sat before you, and she tried her best to muster one up in return.

"Okay..."

"See you guys."

And with a brief wave, you quickly spun around and headed towards the relatively-normal house.

You now—thankfully—had keys of your own so there was no need to knock or anything. Well—it was more like you had them all this time but didn't know where they were and just so happened to find them the other day but—details, details.

After fiddling with the keys a little, you heard a 'click!' and pushed against the handle before entering, one hand moving behind you to carefully shut the door.

"I'm home."

Curt's voice was the first to greet you—albeit, not very genuinely. "Congratulations, want a trophy?"

Uh, yes, actually. You would very much like a trophy after coming back home in one piece in the world of Stranger Things.

"We're having pasta tonight!" Luckily, Cain's words were a lot more welcoming than the other brother.

So, as was your right, you ignored your second oldest brother in favour of responding to the first. "Ooh! Pasta?!"

You had to admit, his cooking the other night was rather good—okay, it was magnificent, you just didn't wanna admit it because you stormed off the other day before being able to properly finish it.

But now that you could—

Before you could finish that train of thought, three loud knocks resounded through the room, no doubt coming from the door behind you.

Huh.

Was that Steve? Did he forget to say something?

You lightly wrapped your palm around the handle, turning it slowly before the door was open once more, a sudden, light breeze hitting you square in the face—

—though, the breeze could never be more sudden than who you saw at the door.

It wasn't your swooshy-haired companion to greet you on the other side—no—but rather, an older woman with barely visible bags underneath her drooping eyes; eyes which seemed to have lost all light, almost appearing chillingly lifeless—

—well, that was until they lit up at the sight of you.

"Oh, Y/N! Baby! I've missed you so much!"

And as she threw herself onto your form—arms engulfing you wholly, emotionally—you found yourself blanking out for once, only one thought popping up in your head:

What. The. Fuck.

Did Billy give you guys butterflies or what? 😏 (Srsly tho, I need to know if I'm writing him well—)

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