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ashes-writing · 2 years

Note

So, I saw you were open for requests right now? I was wondering if you could do a fluff alphabet? For Tommy Hagan, please? 💖

taglist babes || req rules / fandoms+characters || send a ? || masterlist ||

I would absolutely love to do this for you dear!! Thank you for sending me this ask, I've lowkey been dying to try and do more for Tommy, tbh.

Warnings;

None really. This is meant to be fluffy so I focused on the good parts for this.

Taglist;

@aries-arcade @allelitesmut @aurumbelis @cole22ann @chieflawyerpastatoad @ebonybloom @fandomfreakforever @heyaitsklaudia @hcloangcls @hotgirlsshareaccounts @hoeshii @icequeen1371 @krys-orion @letsbedragonstogether @louderfortheback @musichealsscars @oflavenderandevie @scoobiessnacks @suits-and-smirks @secretsicanthideanymore @thechoiceslookgrimm @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @untoldshortsofthefandoms @untitledarea are the only people on my taglist for stranger things presently. if you want on, add yourself via the link at top of post.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

.... This is honestly situational. While I feel inclined to say that he'd be super affectionate, I have to take into account who may or may not be present and the relationship to the person giving affection. If he's with you / knows you well, he'd definitely be affectionate in public / private / anywhere. But if you really don't know each other that well and you're trying to be affectionate, it would depend on his mood + people present. I feel like he's more subtle touches and forehead kisses with an arm around your shoulders or waist than he is groping you in front of the lockers or something. However, he does have a playful side and he will tickle / wrestle you in private because he loves to make you laugh and smile.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

.... He's loyal, he's honest -even if you don't want to hear what he has to say, that's too fucking bad because he'll say it anyway. He's very very protective of the people closest to him and he always has their backs no matter what. I have this running scenario in my head that the way he and Steve became friends is because one or the other stood up to a bully for one or the other in the schoolyard and it just kind of bloomed from there. An alternate scenario is that he's the boy you wind up tutoring and you're surprised to discover that he's nothing like he makes himself out to be when you're in the process of tutoring him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

.... Listen, listen.. He absolutely loves to cuddle, especially when he's having a really really rough day. Usually on bad days, if you'll allow it, he'll be the little spoon or he'll lay with his back against you and his body between your legs so you can run your fingers through his hair or massage his scalp, he would literally melt in your hands if you are okay with letting him be the one taken care of now and then.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

.... I feel like this is a mixed bag. Pre/During Steve, yes he probably thought about it now and then. He knew then that it wasn't exactly conventional for the time or anything and he knew that there would be things said or done if he were ever to admit to his feelings for his best friend, but he did dream about it. As far as you and Tommy go, I feel like he has to really warm to you. He has to see that you're not going anywhere and you're there for everything no matter how good or bad. I just feel like he's been left a lot in his life and especially after Steve, he just like... shuts down? It takes time for him to open up after that?

.... As far as cooking and cleaning. Tommy's an amazing cook BUT... he does not clean up his messes when he's had the kitchen. Cleaning, he's okayish at. But if you need something fixed around the house? He can do it, just give him like.. a screwdriver, whatever parts he needs, a cold one and maybe a few bandages.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

.... He'd do it quick and easy. Just say what's going on, why it's not working and he'd be done. He's the type who would rather rip off the bandaid than let himself or the other party suffer a second longer than y'all have to. Boy hates being miserable, he'd rather cause a little pain now than fuck around or be distant and ghost his SO and hurt them so much worse later on.

....Writer believes that Tommy's father stepped out on his mother. And that possibly, Tommy's father wasn't exactly the best dad/husband. So I think Tommy witnessed a few affairs and like.. Just decided he wasn't doing it to somebody.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

.... I feel like if he's thinking marriage, he knows it's serious and he's gotten some form of confirmation that what he wants is a sure thing, otherwise he's not about to waste the time to ask. I think that once he asks the big question, there's no actual hurry to do it -see headcanon in above answer as to why, he'll move at whatever speed feels most natural. Could be a spontaneous beach thing on spring break in California with his friends present or it could be a huge thing with friends and family and such, he's not picky.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

.... Okay, so here's the thing. Tommy's uh... He's blunt. Honest. Sarcastic too. These things don't typically lend to an emotionally gentle person BUT... I feel like he observes people too, and he knows how to make himself whatever he needs to be for any given person/situation, so I feel like if he really cares and the person he's with is really sensitive, he'll be very gentle with them. Otherwise, you're probably not gonna like his idea of subtle and gentle honesty because it's just not.

.... Listen, listen... Physically, he is the other side of the coin. He will handle the people he cares about like they've got a fragile label on them for the most part. Unless he's gotten angry and frustrated (ie, the fight with Steve about Nance) and he just can't. Even then, he'll probably walk away before he lays a hand on the person. The day he shoved Steve up against the BMW was the day he'd been pushed to the brink in his mind.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

.... He loves hugs, he'd die before admitting it, but he does. He's a subtle hugger, one of those who will hug against you from behind and it's warmth and the most comforting thing and he's not trying to, he just hugs like that because that's how he wishes someone would hug him, poor guy. He's not very big on doing it too terribly often, but it's enough that you enjoy them every time he does it.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

.... I feel like he's pretty slow with it. He has to warm up to the person. He has to know he feels this way for sure and have some sort of reassurance they feel this way in return. It could take a while.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

.... He's passive aggressive about it, tbh. And petty or sarcastic. He'll make these snide comments casually and his jaw is tightened. He's tense all over too. The flip side to this is that if he's jealous and the person he's jealous of is making you uncomfortable and he can see this with his own two eyes, he will appear, melting himself against you, his arms around you.. Maybe nuzzling against your neck when he's glaring at the person in question over your shoulder. And he'll smirk, the more he can get you to respond to him and take your mind off of this other person who's freaking you out, the more he'll smirk at the other person. If they don't take a hint or god forbid, they keep trying, he will step up to them. Make himself taller. Use this honeyed voice while staring them down as he tells them that it's in their best interest to fuck off and away.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

.... Full of teeth and tongue. He will bite your lips. He will suck your lips. Most of the time, if you're shorter he will pick you up so you don't have to stand up and he doesn't have to bend down a lot. His hands are all over you, he gets really, really handsy during a kiss. They're usually on either side of your neck or on your face. And he'll do the lil forehead boop at the end and it's just ahhhhh... He likes to kiss you on the lips, cheek and neck but he loves to kiss you on the forehead. He loves to be kissed on the mouth, the back of his shoulder and his forehead, if his SO is taller.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

.... He's an actual overgrown child himself so when kids are around, he'll definitely be playing with them. I feel like he's lowkey good with them but like in the 'fun uncle' kinda way, not the mom/dad kinda way.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

.... with both of you hitting snooze because if this man doesn't have anywhere to be, he's not getting out of bed till at least 12. Maybe later. It's usually cuddling and kissing and both of you saying a lot that you don't want to get up. Then when you are up, it's cozy and filled with laughter cos you're trying to make pancakes and every attempt brings forth a new mistake made. Then you'll go off to do whatever for the day with a v.v long kiss at the door.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

.... Showering / bathing together after you've eaten and watched whatever happens to be on tv. Tommy likes boxing and football and stuff so if there's a game or a fight on, you're probably watching it with him and it's amusing bc like... he likes to yell at the television. If no sports are on, he'll watch horror movies and he still yells. It's funny. Very cute too.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

.... It takes a little while for him to start opening up but when he does, it's kind of all at once? I feel like it's this info dump and it's usually triggered by something that's happened + the fact that he feels he can trust you and you won't hurt or judge.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

.... PATIENCE? BIIIITCH WHERE? Okay, look, seriously. He has a short fuse. He's got okay patience, but most of the time, the short fuse overrides the patience and when he's had enough, he's had enough.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

.... I feel like if he's really, really, really into a person, he remembers every little thing, even stuff you don't notice BUT... he'll forget dates to important shit pretty easy, he usually gets close to the date itself but not like.. the actual day? If this makes sense.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

.... Whatever you were doing that made him notice you in the first place. It'll be burned in his mind vividly until the end of time. Or the end of the relationship and even then, it'll haunt him?

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

.... He is suuuuper protective. He'd definitely fight for you, he'd probably break every speed law on the books if you were hurt and he needed to get you someplace to be taken care of. If it's people saying shit about you, he'll hold and comfort you but secretly go seek out those people and kick their asses or knock their teeth down their throat or something, esp. if it continues. He wants someone to do the same thing for him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

.... Surprisingly, he puts a lot of effort into dates and anniversaries. Gifts are more or less a gag gift followed by something deep that has meaning to both of you but that gag gift is funny as fuck because baby has himself a good sense of humor. Everyday tasks, it all depends? Like, if there's no deadline and it doesn't have to be done a certain way, he won't rush to do it or try to do it perfectly, especially if he's more focused on other things.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

.... the anger, the way he bottles things up til he explodes, the way he tends to mirror other people a lot of the time like he's kind of afraid to be himself or doesn't actually know how.... Oh and his loyalty. He's too loyal and sometimes, it makes him do crazy and/or stupid shit.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

.... He's really not bothered. He likes how he looks (though sometimes, he hates the freckles) so he just kind of does whatever. Very lazy with self care most of the time (think bar of soap, deodorant and shampoo and thats it, that's all, he won't be doing spa nights with his SO because he doesn't like to sit around idle too long he's got a lotta energy.)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

.... Depends on how serious his feelings are. And whether things ended with finality or he didn't get his closure. If he gets closure, he can let go pretty easy and it's kind of cold sometimes? But like... if something happened to you and you were really serious about each other, this man would be wrecked for a while, tbh. And it would manifest in anger / depression.

.... Alternately, if this is just one of those things where you're gone for a while, he'll miss you a lot, so he'll be trying to call, visit, write as much as he can. He refuses to let himself have a chance to get that empty feeling bc boy is hooked.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

.... He loves to hold both your hands. If he's driving, he's got a hand on your leg or an arm around you. He likes to play basketball and soccer on saturdays at a park and sometimes, if there's kids playing there already, he'll teach them jump shots or trick shots with the soccer ball. He doesn't kill spiders, but he will trap them under glass and release them outside.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

.... Brussel sprouts. He cannot fucking stand them, holy shit. In a partner, he'd hate dishonesty / having affairs. I mean.. this one is common sense (and again, it goes back up to the hc i gave about his father stepping out / being shady to his mom) because the second reason he had such a huge problem with Nancy and Steve is he caught on to Nancy not being really in love with Steve -and jealousy because he loved him too and she had him, then she hurts him and screws around?, look, this man's mind works in strange ways. He was angry then and he felt like he was in the right to be angry, hence the shit he did and said. He knows fundamentally that he went too far, but at the same time, he feels like his actions were justified.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

....Sleeps in boxers, just an fyi. One arm and one leg are usually off the bed or wrapped around a second pillow. He has to have total pitch black in the room too, if there's even a sliver of light he cannot fucking sleep.

#tommy hagan #tommy hagan imagine #tommy hagan headcanons #tommy hagan x reader #tommy hagan - fluff alphabet 1 #tommy hagan fanfiction #tommy hagan imagines

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tommy-hagan · 2 years

Text

Still haven’t died, fuckers.

Class of 84, Hawkins high, I guess you could say some of us survived it, don’t be too shy to send in an ask, I don’t bite.

I won’t interact with you if your age isn’t in your bio. And if I think your a minor? You’ll be getting fucking blocked.

I can’t follow you back or like your post, because this is a side blog. Please understand.

Anon list

BAKE SELL-get a kiss in return for a question

Assistant mayor💐: @wheeler-nance

Meg 🚬: @meganmontgomery-rp

Shay 💖: @yourgoddessofmischief

@the-vampire-of-hawkins

#tommy hagan rp #tommy hagan x reader #stranger things rp #hawkins rp #stranger things roleplay #Tommy Hagan roleplay

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heartbreak-sandwich · 5 months

Text

💌Red Letters to Nowhere💌

A/N: Chapter 2 is FINALLY here! Thank you for being so patient with me. I've been having a hard time writing the longer winded chapters lately. In Chapter 2, your first day at your new school wasn't as bad as you thought it would be -- that is, until the day ends, and Billy is less than thrilled with your choice of new friends (angst incoming - no other content warnings for this one).

Read on Ao3 ❤️‍🔥 Chapter One 📖 Master List 🌈

💌CHAPTER TWO: Certain Type of People💌

You spit your toothpaste into the sink, rinsing the last of it down the drain, and jumped with a gasp when you straightened back up to see Billy standing behind you in the mirror. He chuckled and patted you lightly on the back before greeting you with sleep still lingering in his voice.

“Morning, new kid.” He smiled as he opened the mirror cabinet and grabbed his own toothbrush, slathering it with a thick line of toothpaste before getting to work, brushing back and forth vigorously, still smirking around his mouthful.

“Morning,” you mumbled, putting your toothbrush back in its spot in the cabinet and closing it, realizing Billy’s sharp, blue eyes still connected with yours in the mirror. “What?” you asked, your cheeks tinting pink at the heat of his stare. Billy just shrugged, still keeping his eye contact until he pushed past you to spit his toothpaste into the sink. You rolled your eyes and left the bathroom, trudging to Max’s room to make sure she was ready to leave for school.

Max was slinging her backpack over her shoulder, her skateboard resting under her opposite arm, and she looked up as you entered her room. You could tell she was nervous even though you were sure she would never admit it out loud.

“You ready?” She gave you a quick nod, and you turned back the way you came, making your way into the kitchen with Max on your heels. You grabbed the three pieces of toast you had prepared before you finished getting ready and handed one to Max who quickly crunched a bite out of it. You both traveled to the living room where your backpack was waiting.

Billy appeared just a moment later in his denim jacket with a cigarette ready between his lips, keys jingling in his hand. You handed him one of the pieces of toast, and he looked at you like you were insane.

“What’s this?” he asked around his cigarette, glaring down at the offering.

“Breakfast,” you answered, crunching a bite out of your own toast. He finally accepted the toast from your outstretched hand, squinting with suspicion at the kind gesture.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled before striding past you and Max to open the front door. He didn’t wait for either of you as he approached his Camaro, quickly sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine with a loud roar. “You guys coming or what? We’re going to be late!” Billy was already impatient. That didn’t take long.

You and Max exchanged a puzzled look before you both exited the home, closing the door behind you, and got into Billy’s car. The ride to school was silent with the exception of crunching toast until Billy grumbled.

“God damn, I can hear everybody chewing in this fucking car,” he hissed before pushing a cassette tape into the player and turning the volume up to an earsplitting level, Judas Priest’s You Got Another Thing Coming rattling the speakers as his led foot kicked in, and he sped down the road toward town.

When you reached the Hawkins High parking lot, the three of you got out of the car, and Billy didn’t look back at you or Max as he slammed his door, flicking his cigarette onto the asphalt and strutting toward the front of the building. The ogling eyes of each girl he walked past were so painfully obvious, it almost made you sick to your stomach. The worst part was the arrogance that oozed out of him with every swaggering step he took and every high five and clap on the back he received from the boys that approached him. He loved this.

“Ugh,” Max scoffed.

“Yep,” you said dryly, knowing she had just come to the same conclusion you did. The two of you exchanged a look before meandering toward the front of the building, Max hopping on her skateboard and veering off to the right to find the Hawkins Middle entrance.

After a visit to the office where Janice, the school secretary with way-too-long purple nails, presented you with your class schedule and a scrap of paper with your locker number and combination on it, you managed to find its location without having to ask anyone - thank God. You were busy fighting with your combination lock when you felt someone run into you from the back.

You stumbled forward, dropping the stack of papers Janice had given you as they flowed all over the floor. You immediately felt embarrassment wash over you as you squatted down to collect them, trying to put them back in order, and you noticed a pair of Nike sneakers and bent denim clad knees in front of you. A boy in a green sweater with tall chestnut hair was helping to gather your papers.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized, handing you the remainder of your paperwork. “Tommy doesn’t know when to use his inside manners.” He looked at you with friendly, hazel eyes and a warm, crooked smile. You both stood up at the same time.

“Don’t worry about it,” you finally said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush growing on your cheeks. “And thanks.” He nodded, his smile unwavering.

“Anytime.” He held out his hand. “Steve Harrington. You’re new here, right?” You took his hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Yeah, I am. I’m Y/N.” Steve nodded again and looked like he was about to say something more before a boy with short brown hair and freckles appeared at his side and punched him in the shoulder.

“Don’t be rude, Harrington. Are you going to introduce us to your new friend?” Tommy nodded in your direction as a shorter girl with long brown hair and a pink sweater slid out from behind him as he draped his arm over her shoulders. She blew a bubble and popped her gum as she eyed you up and down, waiting for Steve to oblige Tommy’s request.

“Y/N, this is Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins,” Steve said through a sigh as he gestured to each of them respectively. Before Tommy and Carol could join the conversation, the morning bell rang, and the sea of students started to part in different directions.

“I’ve got to get going,” you told them with a soft wave. “It was nice to meet you guys.”

“See you around!” Steve called after you as you beelined for your first class at the end of the hall. You sucked in a deep breath before entering the classroom, praying the teacher wouldn’t make you stand at the head of the class and introduce yourself.

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By the time lunch rolled around, you were exhausted. You made your way back to your locker to exchange your textbooks for your copy of The Outsiders. You were ready for a break, so you decided to explore outside beyond the football field to find a place to read. On your way outside, you passed by Billy who was standing in a circle of people wearing expensive shoes and letterman’s jackets, all talking loudly about someone named Tina who was hosting a party that Friday. You met his eyes, but only briefly because he quickly looked away to refocus his attention on the conversation in his circle, obviously not wanting to be bothered. Go figure.

Beyond the football field, you found the edge of a seemingly thick forest. Breaking through the line of trees, you walked for a few minutes until you noticed a picnic table in a small clearing. It was a neat little spot, and you wondered what it was doing all the way out here. You didn’t see anyone else around, so you set your backpack down on the table and took a seat at one of the mossy benches, opening your paperback and immediately losing yourself in its pages.

After a few moments, the rustling of leaves startled you. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound to meet the gaze of a pair of friendly, deep brown doe eyes nestled beneath a mess of long, dark, curly hair.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, holding up a hand. “Are you…here to buy?” You stared at him, perplexed.

“Buy?” You furrowed your brows and continued to stare.

“Or not,” he deduced with a grin. “People don’t usually come all the way out here unless they’re looking for me.”

“Oh,” you responded flatly. “Sorry. I didn’t realize this was somebody’s spot. I just wanted a quiet place to read.”

“During the lunch hour?” He smirked at you and crossed his arms. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you before.”

“You haven’t. I just moved here.”

“A month into the school year?” He whistled loudly. “Rough.” He took a seat on the bench across from you, clattering a black lunch box onto the table in front of him. “I’m Eddie.” He held out his hand for you to shake, and you obliged.

“I’m Y/N.” He made surprisingly deep eye contact and smiled as he repeated your name.

“Y/N. Charmed.” You blushed slightly and hoped Eddie didn’t notice, but his grin made it obvious that he did.

You surveyed the patches and pins on his denim vest – Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest. His style was different, alternative, and he noticed you eyeing him.

“You like music?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on the table.

“Sure. I can tell you do, too,” you answered with a cheeky smile.

“Is it that obvious?” He scoffed and looked down at his hands for a moment. “Do you smoke?”

“I never really liked the smell of cigarettes.” You scrunched up your nose at the thought, and Eddie cleared his throat with a chuckle.

“Uh, not that kind of smoke.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he waited for you to answer.

“I don’t get it.” Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Grass? Weed? Do you smoke weed?” You felt embarrassment rise to your cheeks as you responded.

“Oh, right. I have before, but it’s not a regular thing,” you answered, fidgeting with your book on the table.

“Consider it a welcome gift,” Eddie declared, opening his lunch box and handing you a small baggie with a tiny green nugget inside.

“Oh…thanks, I guess.” You gave him a kind smile as you pocketed your baggie and closed your book.

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie closed up his lunchbox and stood up from his bench. “Tragic news on the horizon.”

“What’s that?” Eddie let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“It’s about time to get back to class.”

“Oh, right A travesty.” You slung your backpack over your shoulder and continued to make small talk with Eddie as you both marched your way back to the school, parting ways when you emerged into the foyer.

What you hadn’t noticed was a pair of blue eyes burning into you from across the parking lot as they watched you walk into the building with Eddie Munson by your side and a smile on your face.

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The rest of the day went relatively smooth, but you were glad to be heading home after so much excitement. Returning to your locker a final time, you collected your study necessities for the night.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greeted as you slammed your locker closed.

“Oh, hi,” you answered. Eddie’s smile widened when you returned his greeting. “I just wanted to ask you –”

“Y/N!” Billy’s voice boomed in the hallway over every other sound, causing passersby to stare in your direction.

“Billy.” Your voice was small. Why was he yelling at you?

“Time to go,” he said flatly, staring daggers into Eddie whose face fell into a frown.

“Sure,” you answered. “Just one second. Eddie wanted to ask me –”

“I’m not your fuckin’ chauffeur. I don’t wait. Let’s go. Now,” Billy demanded, his voice getting louder by the second, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“It’s okay. I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Eddie conceded with a tight lipped smile and a half wave as he hurried in the opposite direction of where Billy stood. You scoffed and glared at Billy before pushing past him and stomping out to the parking lot.

Max was already waiting beside the blue Camaro when you arrived with Billy sauntering behind you with his usual swagger, taking a moment to wave at some girls who were giggling and whispering as they crossed his path. You rolled your eyes and opened the passenger door for Max to get into the back seat before seating yourself and slamming the door closed.

Billy’s mood was icy, and you could practically feel the eggshells under your feet as soon as he sat down.

“Don’t slam my door,” he said flatly, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Don’t be a dick to me in front of my friends,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson is not your friend.”

“Right. Because you get to decide who my friends are.” You glared out your window, wishing you could be anywhere else when –

“Hey!” Billy grabbed your wrist hard enough to get your attention and held it up as he spoke through gritted teeth, his menacing eyes searing into yours. “There are a certain type of people in this world you stay away from.” Billy’s grip on you tightened, and your eyes brimmed with tears. “And that guy, Y/N,” he seethed, squeezing harder. “That guy is one of them.”

Billy shoved your wrist back into you, and you turned your body to look out your window again. You could see Max’s worried expression in the side view mirror as a tear escaped and ran down your cheek. What the fuck was his problem?

The rest of the drive home was silent, and Billy didn’t utter another word or even look in your direction again until dinner time.

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You were setting the table when he entered the dining room and took his usual seat.

“Smells great, Susan,” he gushed with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Thank you, Billy,” your mom replied, pressing a hand to her heart. “It’ll be ready in just one second.” She hadn’t stopped talking about how impressed she was with Billy’s manners since she met him. You rolled your eyes at his display. What a kiss ass. You could feel his eyes on you as you finished your task and sat down across the table from him, but you avoided making eye contact.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Billy fidgeted with his knife, tapping and scraping it on his plate before sighing dramatically, tipping his chair backward onto two legs. You finally looked at him, and he was still staring directly at you.

“Did you want something?” You weren’t amused by his method of garnering your attention, and you were even less thrilled with the way he had spoken to you earlier. Billy leaned forward in his chair and rested his hands on the table, speaking in a hushed voice.

“I wanted to say sorry. For earlier.” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his apology.

“Okay, I guess. Thanks,” you answered tentatively, your eyes narrowing.

“I just –” he shifted in his seat again and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he chose his words carefully. “I have a reputation to uphold, you know? The pressure is indescribable, but it has its perks. If people see you hanging around with The Freak and they know you’re my –” he stopped as if saying the word “sister” might induce vomiting. “If they know that you live here, and we’re…associated, then I start to take the flack. Do you get what I’m saying?” You nodded slowly and scoffed, looking down at your empty plate.

“I understand what you’re saying, but I think it’s stupid,” you retorted. Billy’s expression didn’t change.

“It might be stupid, but it’s better to be on top than to be one of them,” he said dryly, leaning back in his seat again, looking at you through hooded eyes.

“To each his own.” Billy nodded at your response when your mom piped up from the kitchen.

“Come and get it!” Both of you rose from your seats and parted ways, Billy going towards the kitchen and you heading to Max’s room to tell her dinner was ready.

You poked your head in through Max’s door and rapped on the doorframe.

“Hey,” you said, stepping over the threshold into her room.

“Hi,” she greeted, looking up at you from her bed. You could instantly tell she had something on her mind.

“Dinner’s ready. You okay?” She nodded and looked away from you for a moment before answering fully.

“I just – I didn’t like seeing Billy talk to you like that earlier in the car.” Max locked eyes with you, and you frowned.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. He does.” Max was angry. Injustice never sat well with her, especially when it came to her big sister.

“He did,” you reassured, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yep,” you affirmed, nodding slowly. Max was quiet as she processed the unexpected news, and she finally stood up, setting her comic book down on her pillow.

“Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Neither did I,” you agreed.

*Tag List: @lithium80sblog @justsimonrileythings @b1tchy3lf @jozstankovich @darleenjade @jenna-jd @peachyaliien @dananahenderson @strangerthing933 @yoyokiss97 @californiaboytoybilly - if you want to be added, let me know! 💕

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pollenallergie · 1 year

Note

Please can you write something with croquette!reader x eddie 🥺

Hey! So, initially, I wasn’t going to fulfill this request because I’ve heard that the coquette aesthetic has some problematic origins (infantilization and the lolita complex, mostly). However, I really like the idea of embracing your femininity (as someone who adores hyper-feminine aesthetics), so I figured I would try my hand at writing this but without explicitly making the reader coquette… If that makes sense?? Instead, I went for more of a general, soft, hyper-feminine aesthetic. I also tried to balance it out by giving the reader a more mature personality; she’s a bit shy and coy but not helpless or innocent. I hope this works for you!!

As always, you must be 18+ to interact with this post!!

To anyone else, you might seem like this delicate, demure flower. Between the pretty, lightly colored dresses you wear and the dainty gold jewelry you’re constantly adorned in, you appear to be this heavenly, angelic creature. Not to mention, the sort of shy politeness you bring to just about every social interaction might suggest that you’re just this radiant orb of positivity, this delightful ray of sunshine plucked from the sky and sent down to bless mere mortals with your sweet compliments and graceful gaiety. However, Eddie knows that you’re so much more than that.

Other people may think of you as this shy little dove, all coy and sweet, but Eddie knows you. He knows that behind those wide, dewy eyes rages a passionate fire. He knows that those smooth, glossy lips are for more than just sweet-talking; he’s seen them utter words so fearsome that they’d make even the most hard-headed man admit defeat, and he’s watched you, felt you commit the kind of sins with them that would make even the most devout cleric stray from his religion. Eddie also knows that, despite your meek demeanor, you can be brazen when you want to be; that’s actually how you drew him to you in the first place.

Eddie had sat behind you in U.S. History during his second senior year, and though he’d always believed you were pretty, always admired the way you smelled like lavender and vanilla even after your morning gym class, he’d never thought much of you. However, that all changed one fall morning when, during your class’s discussion of the fight for women’s suffrage, Eddie witnessed you launch a meticulous, dare he say glorious, diatribe against Tommy Hagan after the idiot had the nerve to say that women’s suffrage “sure caused men a lot of suffering.” From that moment on, Eddie swore you were the most beautiful, magnificent person he’d ever encountered.

A little over a year and a half into your relationship, he still swears that you’re some divine creature sent down from the heavens above. To everyone else, you might seem like a mild-mannered darling, the epitome of beauty, humility, and purity. However, Eddie knows you’re not some meek little lamb, content to follow everyone else’s lead, too unsure of yourself to make a fuss. Instead, you’re a woman; equipped with sharp wit, a healthy sense of self-worth, a passionate heart, and the litigation skills to get just about anything you want. You may be a bit coy from time to time, you may be introverted, and you may dress like an angel walking amongst men, but you’re nothing short of a fucking goddess; a divine seductress, a clever scholar, a fierce advocate of justice, and a kind, courageous leader all wrapped up into one. Most of all, you’re the woman of Eddie Munson’s dreams.

#ask and i shall reply #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie stranger things #stranger things vol 4 #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #tommy hagan is a sexist pig #but that’s nothing new #in fact that’s literally canon

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prettybillycore · 2 years

Text

Me: *trying to write billy being protective and grabbing tommy off of reader*

my brain: “Billy yoinked him”

me: nO

#billy hargrove #tommy hagan #strangers things #fanfiction writer #fanfic writing #why brain do this #why brain why #why god #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove is traumatized and so am i #billy hargrove angst #protective boyfriend #protective billy #welcome to my brain #fic thoughts #just writer things

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werdlewrites · 1 year

Text

Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC?)

Chapter Nine: Freak

masterlist-about-patreon-ao3

Summary: It’s when he takes a step forward that she finds the smallest amount of strength to run - her bag held in an iron grip as she shoves through a cluster of shoulders, ignoring Steve’s words that follow after and cutting him off entirely as the bathroom door slams shut, locking it for good measure. Warnings: Assault, Tommy being a dick. Panic/anxiety attack. Steve just doing his best. Word count: 3,245 - long boy Do not repost without credit or permission.

They were echoing all around her - the laughter and ignorance to a world they would never come to know. Blissfully unaware, uncaring and lost in their own lives. Moving forward while some seemed to stand still, watching with envy, confusion, and pain. How could the world continue to spin, leaving aching hearts frozen in time, only to catch up once they’ve thawed and healed from the damage done. How did her classmates walk down the halls with brilliant smiles, hand in hand so absorbed in the mundane things? They spoke about their relationships, plans from the weekend that had since passed and homework - their voices all twisting together into a hurricane, forcing her feet to move faster through the hallways until she had found peace in the bathroom.

Her grip tightened around the edges of the sink, wondering why school hadn’t been canceled - why more people hadn’t been sent away to look for Will, as if they wouldn’t expect the same if it had been their own child. Her father had even pushed her out the door, saying, “I will come get you as soon as I hear anything.” Leaving her on edge in wonder and wait, not knowing when his car would pull in to guide her home, those heavy words repeating on loop in her mind in anticipation. It left her unfocused, pieces of her scattered throughout infinity, unreachable. It wasn’t until she had gotten to the parking lot that she had realized a few of her books had been left behind, some hastily finished parts of homework still resting on her desk. There had been no point in coming to school, when she was so clearly needed elsewhere.

Autumn allows the cold water to run for a moment - biding her time, knowing class will eventually begin and teachers will ultimately question their missing student. The water is collected into her palms, splashed over tired eyes and across her neck, pressed deep into aching muscles that have yet to find comfort from the building pressure. With the voices now fading, moving on deeper into the school, she finds the smallest ounce of bravery to take a step back out into the hallway, taking care not to meet any eyes that still lingered. The questions she assumed everyone wanted to ask went on repeat in her mind, and she didn’t feel quite ready to find her voice with them, or accept words of sympathy from peers, knowing her cracked foundation may break at any moment. So, with a gaze locked down to her feet, she moves with ease, on autopilot to her locker - pace quickening with every step as if someone was just on her heel, chasing. The moment the cold lock met her hand, there was a relieving breath falling past her lips, shaken fingers putting in the combination just to rip the door open, holding an empty stare as she’s unsure if she’s ready to take on the day, or the pitied looks she would get for missing assignments.

“Autumn?”

The voice catches her off guard, her own name taking its sweet time to sink in - as if she wasn't fully trusting if she had heard anything at all. But with an aching curiosity, she begins to lean back with eyes searching for that familiar boy just beyond the metal door. He’s drained, weak. Shoulders slouched with his bag seemingly heavy, dragging him down lower into the ground. There’s an odd mixture of comfort and uneasiness as she takes in the sight of Jonathan, happy to be with a friend but unsettled as a piece of his world was missing. As if he was only a shadow of himself.

“What are you doing here?” she asks softly, now painfully aware of the attention that seemed to shift their way, curious and assuming. Their whispered words crept through the wall she built like pests through tiny cracks, irritating and uninvited to their private moment together. Jonathan would look beyond her, acknowledging the looks they got and hushed words behind stilled hands, it had his fist clenching just a little harder at the bag to his side. He doesn’t respond, not in words. The teenager meekly holds up his poster and for just a moment, Autumn’s heart flutters at the sight of a toothy smile, before plummeting into the pit of an empty stomach as she reads over the words that describe him on his last day seen. Her fingers are careful to take it from his grasp, like a delicate piece of work no one dared to bend or fold. “I’ll put one in my neighborhood,” she says before tucking it between the pages of a book, keeping it safe until the end of day. He only nods in acknowledgment. There is no ‘thank you’, there isn’t a mumbled mess lazily pouring out to update her on what’s happened so far, but he doesn’t leave her, either. Uncertain words sit on his tongue and without enough strength he’s unable to bring them forward.

“What is it, Jonathan?”

His posture shifts, eyes meeting her own as he finds some unsteady confidence to speak what he’s been holding onto for sometime now. “Can you come out to Castle Byer’s?” There’s almost a pressure forcing her back in that question, an unseen weight thinking about the abandoned fortress left to rot in the wilderness. “Of course I can. Why-?” Her question is cut short, left unheard as he shares a small, crooked smile. “Thank you. I-I’ll be there after school. I’ve just got..you know, some things to do,” he finishes with the shrug of his bag, his friend could only nod in solemn response. “See you..tonight then?” “Yeah, see you later.”

Autumn can’t hold back the heavy sigh that falls past her lips, her tired body leaning against the lockers to watch her friend disappear into the wave of bodies, all moving towards their classes or otherwise. The denim of his jacket finally vanishes, blending into them all and there’s an ever rolling ball of regret growing larger by second, wishing she had followed after him. Instead, things were gathered with fumbling hands and irritation, slamming the locker door behind her before moving onward in an attempt to survive school like any other day. She would shrink away in her seat, feeling the pressure of classmates from out of view bury her alive. The unwanted attention left her palms clammy, knee bouncing to the point it had nearly hit the desk, and this anxiety filled bubble she had created seemed to keep teachers at bay. Not once had she been tested before the other students - a direct question towards anything they had been reading in class when her eyes were only locked on the numbers ticking away overhead.

Time moved painfully slow - and there was no relief in sight from her father. No principle bursting in through the door to pull her from the class so she could find proper mourning. And was it fair of her to think in such a way? To find only sadness when she thinks of his smile, and less hope.

Hazy eyes fall down to the same hand that reached out for his bicycle, studying it as though it were a detached member of her body, only finding sensation as the nerves twitch. She thinks back to that moment, brows knitting together as she can almost feel that same pain reignite within her. A snake wrapping its form around a wounded rodent with fangs punctured through tender skin, or thorned vines growing with haste, scraping along every inch of the surface, tearing the world beneath them apart. It was blinding, breathtaking, and it seemed of certain death.

It was impossible for the two things to be related in some way - this horrific feeling that kept the girl awake at night, and William’s disappearance. And yet, the clock continued to tick on and there had been no news to wipe away her poisonous thoughts.

“Ms. Reid,”

The name falls heavy on already weighed down shoulders. A name to only be spoken and heard when there is trouble just over the horizon, alarming enough to lure the girl from the trance she had fallen into. Her eyes now wet from gathering tears, struggling to focus on the teacher that stands just behind the desk near the head of the room. It’s eerily silent, and though the world is blended together, she can make out that back in reality, the room had emptied and the unread book remained open before her, dampened. “‘M sorry,” Autumn says in a mumbled tone, wiping the sleeves across her face frantically before clumsily gathering her things into a mess bundled up against her pounding chest. The saddened eyes of her peer are felt burning into her back as she races out of the class and into the hallway, disoriented and lost, desperate for a sanctuary to rest which she finds at the nearest unoccupied water fountain. Her belongings fall to the tile without care, fingers pressing at the button until it produces an icy stream of water for her to drink from. Like a flower suddenly revived with life, she feels a sense of ease sinking back into her with every passing second. Chapped lips soothed by the moisture, a scorched throat no longer crying out in pain and a heaving chest now forced to settle.

This peace is short lasting. Fingers dig into her skin, embedding into her collarbones firmly to pull her back with blinding speed, and before she could fully register what was happening, her back was to the cement wall with a dazed look focused on someone she hadn’t expected.

“Tommy,”

He was within inches of her - so close that she could smell the mixture of gum and cigarette smoke, even remnants of last nights beer wafted past her nose. So close, that she could uncomfortably memorize every freckle on his face - and each one on his two large hands as they tightened around her clothes. The collar of her sweater was locked in both of his fists, keeping her secure in his grip and pinned between his stocky build and the wall. He had never touched her - never come close to it. Merely throwing rolled up balls of paper her way in attempts to irritate her and she had always been very good at fending him off.

"I always knew you were a freak, but man,"

Autumn was rapidly slipping into something one would describe as comatose - unfeeling, unable to process her surroundings or her own thoughts as fear overwhelmed her, reaching the edge and threatening to spill over like a waterfall from a broken dam. She was frozen and at his mercy before the entire school though she couldn’t see them gathering like a pack of hyenas - the girls only focus were his venomous eyes that sunk away as a smile lifted, joyful at the pain he caused. "Where'd you dump the kid, huh?"

The question is a sharp stab to her chest, digging and twisting deeper. It pulls down her torso and into her belly where it burns and leaves Autumn suddenly ill at what he was implying. “N-no, I-” “I wonder how many other kids are gone because of your weird, voodoo shit.”

Pleas are resting on her tongue, the ache burning at the back of her throat as the sadness builds, her pain going unheard but so visibly seen as her skin becomes flushed, fresh tears cascading over puffy cheeks and down his paled knuckles. “Poor Byer’s doesn’t even know, or maybe,” he says with a sudden gasp, a spark glimmering in the darkness of his eyes. “Just maybe the two freaks of Hawkin’s did it together. What a twist,” he says with a chuckle, clicking his tongue along the roof of his mouth, eyeing her with such intensity as he waits for the break. But it never comes.

As her lips part to speak, there is a whirlwind of force that has her knees buckling from surprise, palms pressed firmly into the wall for support as he is no longer there to hold her up. He’s far gone now - far enough that she can no longer taste his breath or feel his chest pushing against her own. He’s stumbling backward into a parted sea of people, firm hands gripping the back of his jacket to more or less toss him a few feet away, looking bewildered - a deer caught in headlights. Tommy’s eyes would glance between Autumn and the taller figure standing ground between the two, wearing a look of confusion. “That’s enough,” the student says firmly. “Come on, man. Just havin’ some fun,'' Tommy explains, not seeming to understand the situation as he continues to smile. Though it falters with another warning. “I said that’s enough, Tommy. Jesus Christ.”

The boy turns to Autumn, revealing himself to not be just any passerby, but someone from a previous life; Steve. His chocolate eyes are filled with worry, scanning over her from head to toe for anything that could be out of place from Tommy’s actions. Brows knit together, visibly distressed by what he had stumbled into and if he was honest with himself, unsure of how to make things right though every molecule that holds him there wants to ease the hurt. “Autumn,” he speaks her name softly, like he once did from a time before. Like he cared enough that she may shatter at his feet with the wrong tone. “Autumn,” he says again, trying to gain her focus as her mind spins through the hurricane of emotional torment.

His hands reach forward just enough to offer a sign of peace and surrender, though her back is sinking deeper away into the wall, waiting for it to give way and swallow her whole so the school could stop staring at the two of them. It’s when he takes a step forward that she finds the smallest amount of strength to run - her bag held in an iron grip as she shoves through a cluster of shoulders, ignoring Steve’s words that follow after and cutting him off entirely as the bathroom door slams shut, locking it for good measure. Weakened knees finally give way and she’s down on the cold floor, the opened pack now scattered across the floor as she searches for that little pack of death that calls to her. In the carton, only one cigarette and her shaken hands place it between her lips, rapidly growing dry as her chest heaves with panicked breaths. Her hands frantically dig through the mess before her, spreading it outward in search for the lighter, soon patting down her sides. “Fuck, fuck,” she mumbles, digging into spare pockets as the frustration grows along with the anxiety.

And suddenly, a flicker of light pulls her attention forward - a flame dancing gently in wait, lit by the only other person Autumn seemed to have missed in the rush; Heather Hunter.

From the few times they’ve met together, it was obvious the other teen carried a good, yet firey soul. She was kind to those kind to her, unafraid to defend those needing it with the power of her fist, and full of passion as she scribbled away in her notepad with new ideas for the very same game Will talked about with the happiest of smiles, or sketched out various costumes to go along with it. All things Autumn wanted to forget.

“Need a light?” Wordlessly and with eyes locked on the girl, Autumn leans in until the stick ignites, filling her lungs and setting her nerves at ease. Once tightly wound coils now so loose that she nearly melted into the floor with a heavy sigh, the smoke residing in her lungs now flowing freely and dancing into the air. The troubles just beyond those walls were now a distant memory, a forgotten problem for another time as the ache is soothed by the toxins and nicotine.

The two wait together in silence as the smoke continues to fill the space between them, Heather now standing at the opposite end of the room with her back to the wall and foot crossed over the other. The girl wasn’t oblivious to Autumn’s situation, having seen Jonathan at her side throughout their time at Hawkin’s High, it was easy to put it all together - though missing pieces to a larger picture she’s unsure of how to talk about, so she sits in silence to muddle over her thought until Autumn seems more settled.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, letting the cigarette hang loose from dried lips, eyes hesitantly wandering from her figure and the mess on the floor. “Do you usually wait for girls in distress? Or is this a special occasion?” she says behind a genuine smile, finding comfort in having someone near that could be called a friend when it felt like the world had been against her so suddenly. There’s a quirk just at the corner of her mouth, raising into a crooked smile, clearly amused despite the tense moment. “I usually wait from eleven to two,” she retorts with ease, the smirk remaining steady as she moves close enough to squat down to the opened books, collecting them with care. Heather looks to the girl with softened eyes, offering out a neatly stacked set of loose papers to be sorted through later. Her eyes are filled with lingering questions, lips parting to seek out the answers with nothing falling through from fear of tugging on the frail strings of her heart. Autumn notices, and is grateful when Heather opts to simply shuffle the papers back into the bag without asking for more information.

Autumn flicks the ashes out onto the tiled floor, smearing them along the surface with the heel of her boot before taking another long drag. Heather could only provide what she knew best in this moment, sit and wait. Waiting to see what the girl needed, if anything at all. And pieces of her wondered if she had any right to be here, watching her at the most vulnerable. While friends, their relationship was more based within school - seeming to have different interests that kept them busy, and apart from one another. They didn’t know each other really, not deep down.

“You want to get out of here?”

Autumn’s eyes are wide from surprise, uncertain if she heard correctly as the words are slow to sink in. “What?” “You know, play hooky. Skip class.” A chuckle falls from Autumn’s lips, pressing the butt of the cigarette into the floor to diminish the brightly burning flame. “You’re crazy. My dad would kill me.” Heather doesn’t seem bothered by this, shrugging it off before standing to straighten out her clothes and take a quick look in the dirtied mirror. “Maybe, maybe not. But if you want to stay here and deal with..whatever that was, out there, feel free.”

The bell rings off in the distance, announcing the beginning of the next class and that the two of them were already late. In the reflection, Heather’s eyes are looking back at the girl still seated on the floor, unmoving and still surrounded by the now organized clutter.

“Is manipulation an inherited or acquired trait?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #stranger things #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington angst #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x oc #jonathan byers x original character #tw!assault #tommy hagan #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic

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the-faceless-bride · 2 years

Text

New town, same problem

The prologue

➡ this story is mostly going to follow canon, but Tommy is in it, and Eddie graduates and actually interacts/ knows king Steve and his gang.

No Tommy in this just yet, but next one he will!

@the-snarky-writer

Song ⤵

You sat in the passenger seat of your mother's car, this was it. You were saying goodbye.

To Dina.

Her bother.

Your friends.

To Shadyside.

To Sunnyvale.

To Sara Feir.

To the poor souls who were forced to kill and die.

You were saying goodbye.

Even after so long of wanting to get out of that hellhole... You felt kind of guilty for leaving your fellow shadysiders, but you wanted a fresh start

You slowly walked into the small home for two, finding the room meant to be yours; looking around the dull room you place your bags down on the old dusty mattress.

You huff before picking up the smaller one of your luggage and start taking out its contents, it had the basics of what you needed before you start putting up your posters and making your room yours.

Some clothes, hair products, toiletries, and your journal.

"Meow" came a small sound from your bedroom door, turning around to spot your black and white cat staring at you, before he sashays into your space and jumped on your bed.

"Not much to look at huh Gizmo?" He just looks into your eyes unblinking before letting out a little rumble "yeah, me too." You reply

You start to think about the family you left behind but were dragged from your thoughts as your mother called out for you.

"You have a friend here for you!"

Friend? You had just gotten here. You couldn't have friends!

You raised a brow before walking out into the small hallway to the front part of the house.

"Holy shit!"

"Oh my- Eddie?!"

You rush to your old friend, you had grown up with him in Shadyside before his parents sent him off to stay with his uncle.

But you didn't know he would be here!

"What are you doing here?!" You asked him pulling away from your reunion hug to look up at him confused,

"What do you mean 'what am I doing here?!" I live right across from you dummy." He laughs and you get even more excited, this was great!

You didn't have to be alone! You could have someone to talk to and not have to go through an awkward phase with!

You were suddenly looking forward to school tomorrow much more than you were a moment ago...

Part 1 ->

#slasher imagine #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher imagines #stranger things eddie #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #tommy hagan x reader #tommy hagan #king steve #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #fear street #fear street x reader #Spotify

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ashes-writing · 2 years

Text

hysteria pt five | stranger things ; t.hagan

tag list babes || req rules / fandoms+characters || got a req? || masterlist

CHAPTERS ;

one two three four can all be accessed by clicking. stranger things masterlist can be found here. pls note.. needs to be updated real fuckin bad.

AUTHORS NOTES;

Oh god, where to start. There were so many directions I could have gone with this but after a long discussion with @aries-arcade (you are an actual angel and I love you sm) this is the direction that felt best and made most sense and they totally inspired this part and for that I love them so so so damn much. I really love writing this because I'm trying new things and one of them is to make things a little bit more of a slow burn.. ya know, add a little angst for the spice.

Huuuge thanks to everyone reading - putting up with my bullshit in it's entirety, and you guys, ahhhh.. your interactions with my bullshit always fill my heart so full and you honestly don't know how much they've kept me going at times, the likes, the comments, the reblogs/reblogs with tags - i loove the tags omg and just oh my god, I want to kiss you all, okay? Okay.

SUMMARY;

-- neighbors with crushes who used to be friends to neighbors who are practically strangers to neighbors who might be reconnecting.

PAIRING;

Tommy Hagan x Fem!Reader ( beyond female parts/organs outfits, hints of personality and occasional hairstyle descriptors, she's a blank slate, blanker than most).

WARNINGS;

uh so here's the thing.. there are real strong hints here that Tommy is dealing with some issues mentally. In this chapter though, angst. Lots of angst. Maybe comfort if you squint at the end. I swear this will get fluffier at some point but honestly, I feel like it'll be slower and more subdued.

TAGLIST;

@AURUMBELIS

@ALLELITESMUT

@ARIES-ARCADE

@COLE22ANN

@ebonybloom

@HEYAITSKLAUDIA

@HCLOANGCLS

@hoeshii

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@ICEQUEEN1371

@KRYS-ORION

@LETSBEDRAGONSTOGETHER

@LOUDERFORTHEBACK

@MUSICHEALSSCARS

@SECRETSICANTHIDEANYMORE

@SCOOBIESSNACKS

@THECHOICESLOOKGRIMM

@UNTITLEDAREA - these are all the names on my stranger things taglist. if you’d like to be added, please click the link at the top of the post.

OTHER STUFF;

Set in s2 minus the Upside Down / the monsters and the deaths but keeping the teenagers drama (the Steve/Nancy thing and Tommy's falling out with Steve) and adding more drama (Because I fucking have to). There are several very very subtle hints here of Tommy maybe having been in love with Steve (and reader, at one point in time) to stay in keeping with Tommy possibly having been bi. There are also several hints in here that Tommy has a lot of shit going on inside his own head and things he needs to deal with / struggles with.

It’s hotter than usual tonight. You can’t sleep and you’re not sure whether it has everything to do with the heat or whether it’s you, worrying again. You roll over onto your stomach in bed and burrow your head beneath your pillow and punch it in frustration when sleep doesn’t happen after an hour. You wind up slipping out of bed, making your way over to the window seat. And you pull open the bedroom window, letting a little breeze into the room. As you’re leaning back into your window, you notice Tommy Hagan is sitting in the window of his room across the street.

You give a little wave and you’re not expecting him to wave back, but he does. Exhaling smoke into the night sky as he leans his head back against the frame of the window. Once again, your gaze settles on the old pink flashlight.

But honestly, you’ve been worried enough about him lately that you’d rather walk over. So you tug on some orange shorts with white piping around the legs and you grab the flashlight as you hoist yourself out of the window and onto the roof. From the roof, it’s a little bit of a drop down but not terrible. You land on your feet and you jog across the lawn, stopping on the sidewalk in front of your house to look up and down the street.

Both for nosy neighbors and cars.

Seeing no sign of either, you make your way across the street and onto the Hagan’s lawn.

Tommy nearly chokes on the smoke from the drag he’s just taken when you hiss at him from the ground below. He’s a little tense. Today was rough, it’s been one of his worst days yet. He and Steve very nearly had a physical fight and it’s bothering him. It’s bothering him way more than he cares to admit. It’s bothering him on a really deep level. The fact that Steve won’t open his eyes and see the situation for what it is is frustrating. A little hurtful too, because Tommy thought they were best friends. He tries to tell Steve that he’s having a rough day and somehow, the damn conversation turns back around to Steve and Nance and their ongoing shit show.

It’s like he’s losing Steve. There’s a sense of panic when the thought comes and he tries again to shove it down but it’s settled in.

He’s so dazed that he doesn’t even realize you’re halfway up a ladder you dragged around from out back of the house until you’re sitting on his window sill next to him. Staring at him intently. Like you want to say something but you’re not sure how.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?” he takes another drag, blowing the smoke up into the night air.

“I’m worried about you.” you say it quietly, turning in the sill to face him so that you’re straddled over it. Fidgeting awkwardly. You haven’t really spoken to him since you ditched him back then and now, here you are.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

He feels like there’s a chance that this is just setting himself up for yet another disappointment. You already abandoned him one time, the odds are pretty fucking high you’ll probably do it again.

And maybe it’s not the nicest thing he could’ve said when his mouth opens, but he can’t help the bitter laugh that comes. “You’re worried about me?” he goes quiet. “I’m fine.” his entire body tenses as if he wants to fold into himself and you wince a little, the harsh tone he used settling in. You take a deep breath and rummage through your pockets to find your own cigarettes and lighter and for a minute or two you don’t say anything, you’re both just staring up at the sky.

“Why’d you come over?” Tommy asks quietly.

You shrug. And then you sigh. But then you decide that maybe holding onto everything is just stupid, pointless. There’s not much time left until you each go your own way in life after all and you just miss him.

“To apologize.” you answer quietly.

Tommy’s brows knit and he picks up the old flashlight, twisting it around for a few seconds. “Yeah?” but he’s shocked because it’s the last thing he expected. He pretends not to know why you’d be apologizing mostly because he needs to hear you say it yourself.

And maybe you need to say it.

You’re fidgeting with a loose string on the bottom of the thin,oversized shirt that nearly covers your shorts. You’re not looking him in the eyes. You can’t. It’s easier this way. So much easier. Because if you’re going to apologize, you’re going to tell him everything. You’re going to get it all out there so you can finally move on and hopefully, you can just forget everything.

It probably won’t change anything, after all.

“I kind of abandoned you, Tommy. But I..” you pause, rubbing the bridge of your nose as if that’ll coax the words out a little better. You stare up at the sky and think really hard about what you want to say next, how best to phrase it. “I did it for you.”

That bitter laugh again. “For me, huh?”

He's leaning in a little closer. Studying you. The way the moon highlights your facial structure. You’ve always had a cute nose and as soon as the thought forms, Tommy shoves it down. “We were friends. Why would I want you to abandon me?” he scoffs at your answer because it doesn’t make any sort of sense. If this is all you have to say for yourself, he’s curious as to how you’ll explain doing it.

“Mhm. Well..” you take a few shaky breaths, “I wanted you and you wanted her. I.. I couldn’t handle it, alright? I tried, I really did.” and suddenly, as the words are leaving your mouth, you want to climb back down the ladder and run all over again. You don’t dare look at him, you can’t.

Tommy coughs quietly. And he doesn’t really say anything. It’s turning over and over in his mind right now and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with what you’ve just said.

You’re tensed up, cigarette pressed between your lips and he’s torn at least three different ways. On the one hand, deep down he knows you mean it. On the other hand, his father meant it every single time he’d use “I did it for you” as an excuse for whatever dumb fucking thing he did that hurt his mother and finally, he’s a little angry. It feels at least partially selfish, you cut all ties just because you couldn’t handle something when you should’ve known you could have talked to him, you could have told him anything back then and he’d have moved a goddamn mountain to give it to you. And then his mind decides to chime in. Remind him that he’s never been enough and he’ll never be enough and therefore, your reasoning for abandoning him when he really needed you back then has to be a lie. Maybe you saw what he really was, -do you even know?, that thought creeps in, intrusive.

He lets out a ragged breath. And he still can’t say anything.

“I just wanted to say that.” you’re swinging your feet and he happens to notice that yeah, you walked across barefoot. Nevermind that he saw busted glass on the asphalt earlier. He doesn’t say anything. It’s not his business. You feel like you can look him in the eye now, this can’t possibly get any more awkward than you’ve already managed to make it, so you turn so that you’re facing him on the sill, one leg in his room and the other on the outside to mirror the way he’s sitting. ‘Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am sorry.” you repeat your apology, shoulders slumped just a little. “Are you okay?” you ask the question because you really are worried about him and after overhearing the argument that happened between him and Steve in the hallway, you’ve spent all afternoon doubting your decision to just cut ties. You thought they’d give a shit. You thought they cared enough to notice when he might be struggling a little. You thought he’d be okay, someone would take care of him.

If what you witnessed earlier this afternoon was anything to go by, they haven’t. At least Steve hasn’t.

“I said I’m fine.” Tommy answers quietly. Shrugging. What’s it matter anyway? He’s tried to talk to Steve, he’s tried to talk to Carol, he just wants someone to fucking listen and hear him. He needs someone to listen but nobody seems to be willing. Even after he apologized to Steve for saying too much in the heat of the moment, it still wasn’t enough to encourage Steve to try hearing him out and this is killing him.

“You’re not.” you mumble quietly. “I know you’re not. I know you.” you want to choke yourself because the jealousy makes you pop off and it makes you say something that’s not entirely true anymore because you really don’t know him like you used to. Maybe he really has changed.

Maybe you both have.

But you care and you hate seeing him like this and it just hurts so much. You have to do something, you have to try.

“You knew me.” Tommy answers with a calm little shrug. He wants to laugh when he says it, because if he’s being honest, nobody really knows him. They know whatever version he feels like he has to adopt just so maybe just once, somebody might stick around.

“Yeah, you’re right. I knew you.” you retort, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Because you’re definitely not the boy I remember.”

“People change, doll.” Tommy says it with a little shrug and if you hadn’t seen just the slightest hint of a tear in his eyes, you probably would have written him off and gone home. You probably should have. But you saw the hint of a tear and you couldn’t walk away a second time. “Damn it.” you say it under your breath, dragging a hand through your hair. “I..I didn’t mean that.”

Tommy laughs and gazes at you. “You did. It’s fine though. No big deal.” he looks down again and you can just feel it, you know he looked down because he knows he’s about to cry and he has always hated people seeing him cry.

His father, the asshole. He’s the one to thank for that one.

You take a shaky breath. “Damn it.”

“You can go home.” as the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back, he wants to take back the entirety of this conversation. Rewind it and do things differently.

“Yeah, well I’m not.” you lean back against the frame of the window and take a deep breath or two. And you think you’ll both sit there, fuming in silence until you eventually do leave but then he speaks up. Wavering voice like the time one of the boys in second grade said something to a much more sensitive and younger Tommy and it hurt and he cried. “Just go, damn it. It’s not worth wasting your time..”

This is what breaks you. You’re still irritated because he’d been a jerk earlier, but you care about him and you always have and he was the boy who protected you for so long back then. You owe him something even if you know he wouldn’t take what you’d really rather offer him.

You move so that you’re sitting closer, your legs over his thighs and you reach out, grabbing his jaw gently to make him look up at you. “It is, okay? You are. Christ, Tommy.” you shake your head at him and go quiet. Swallowing hard. “I really fucked up.” you muse quietly. “Maybe you didn’t, though.” Tommy hates the fact that you’re holding onto his jaw but he also loves it. You're being so gentle. You were always so fucking gentle. Even on his worst days. Your hands are soft and warm, your finger dragging over his face. You sigh and it’s almost sad when you make the sound. “I did. I never wanted to do it. I just…” you go quiet. Focus because this isn’t about you, you’re more concerned about him. “It’s not important. What’s important here is you. Why the hell would you say something like that?” you question, moving closer to him so you’re not stretching your arm quite so much. Tommy gulps. Stammers for a second and then shrugs, “Because I’m not wrong, alright?”

“You are, though.” you mumble quietly. “Do you wanna know why I really came over tonight? Hm?” you roll the pads of your fingers over his freckled skin as you stare into his eyes. You’re both nose to nose right now and to anyone passing by on the street below, this might look like your typical teenage couple, sneaking into each other’s rooms late at night. But that’s not what this is.

He grimaces because he’s not entirely sure he wants to hear what will come out next. Parts of him dread it because parts of him are more than half sure that it’ll have nothing to do with missing him but something he can do for you and as this thought hits, he’s tensed up again and you notice it. You lower your hand and play with the faded blue plastic flashlight as you stare down at it. “Because I miss you and I made a fuckin mistake, alright? I… I guess I just wanted to try and fix it?”

He doesn’t have the first clue what to even say because he wasn’t expecting you to say it. He chuckles quietly and you look up. A weak smile when you lock eyes with him and stick out your tongue. “I missed you.” you repeat it, firmer. You maintain eye contact when you say it even though it’s hard and you’re flustered because you’re not good at stuff like this at all, but you just need him to know that you really do miss him and you mean it when you say it.

And he wants to believe it but he’s not entirely sure he can. Because of this, the coming back part. It’s not something he’s used to at all. He’s used to people leaving. Being replaceable. Because he truly feels that he is.

You yawn. Drained and lightweight because you finally got it out of your system. And when you see the red numbers on the alarm clock next to his bed, you gape. “Holy hell. We really need to sleep.” you’re yawning again as you pull yourself off of the sill and hold out your hand to him. He gazes at it warily for a second or two and he starts to protest that it won’t do any good, he hasn’t slept in days at this point, not decently anyway, but he reaches out and takes hold of your hand, pulling himself off of the seat too. “C’mon Tommy Tiger. Into bed with you.” you coax, pulling back the navy colored comforter as you nod to the bed.

“Fuckin hate when you call me that, Strawberry Shortcake.” he retorts, grumbling. But he goes along with what you’ve asked, just this once. You pull the comforter up over him and sit down on the edge of the bed. “We’re gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay, Tommy.” you mumble, staring at your bare legs as you pick at your chipping nails to distract yourself. “If you need me, you know where to find me. Just… Please do?” you gaze over at him and he nods. Managing a smile. “Yeah.”

You make your way out of his bedroom window and he lays there awake for another hour or two. Sometime around 2 am, he finally dozes off and when he wakes up again at 5:30 for his usual jog, he tells himself that a little sleep is better than none at all, which is what he’d been getting lately.

#tommy hagan #tommy hagan imagine #tommy h #tommy hagan x reader #tommy hagan x fem!reader #tommy hagan fanfiction

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whosdinkleyhenderson · 2 years

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wandering eyes - pt 1 (Steve Harrington x Hagan! Fem Reader)

Warnings: King Steve is back! Season 1.

Song: The Look - Roxette.

A/n: I'm planning on making this a mini-series.

Word count: 624

Y/n Hagan, Hawkins’ High beloved cheerleader. She was what every girl wanted to be, and who every guy wanted attached to their hip. I guess that’s the pleasure of being related to the second most popular guy in school, Tommy Hagan.

The day Y/n had officially moved to Hawkins she became the talk of the town, especially amongst Tommy’s little group. Catching the complete attention of Hawkins High’s King, Steve Harrington.

Carol had been gossiping about some couple making out in the stalls of the girls lavatory.

Steve had been zoning in and out of the conversation, only to make snarky comments and laugh when needed. However, the sound of chatter died down the minute he looked up. His eyes were glued to the green and white skirt that was Hawkin’s cheerleader outfit. Following up the skirt, to the knit sweater, sat against the back was h/c hair sleeked back into a perfect clean ponytail. A beautiful smile sat on the rose coloured lips as a melodious laugh escaped. As she stared at the jock in front of her. Too starstruck, Steve failed to notice the young girl turning in his direction.

“TOMMY! CAROL! Oh my God.”

By the time he snapped out of his trance, she had already pulled away from Tommy and smiled at Carol.

“Hey, hey, Y/n. Long time no see. How is Uncle Timmy going with the whole set-up? Dad and I are coming over tonight to help out.”

Feeling Steve’s intense gaze on her Y/n, shifted herself to face him. Smiling softly she gave a little giggle as Steve watched the curls in her ponytail bonce gently.

“I’m so sorry, how rude of me not to introduce myself… Hi, I’m Y/n, Tommy’s cousin.” She stuck her hand out. Snapping himself out of this siren-like trance, Steve carefully took a hold of her hand. His eyes took notice of her perfectly manicured nails. French tip to be exact. And silk-like skin.

“I think loverboy here, is in love.” Carol nudged Tommy.

“He better not be.” Tommy muttered, his eyes glaring holes into his best friend's head.

Steve couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips. Never had he ever witnessed anyone, except for his mother, to be this perfect and smell of nothing but vanilla and coconut.

“I swear, I’ve met you before… Haven’t I met him before Tommy?”

Turning to her cousin, Y/n met Tommy's intense gaze and Carol’s smirking form.

“Oh, right you are, Y/n. Right you are… Tommy’s tenth birthday party.”

It hit Steve. Yes, he had met Y/n before. So long ago though. He thought he would never see her again, yet here she stood as real as a rose.

“Steve don’t you have your little study date, with Lil miss perfect. Nancy?”

Frowning Steve gently let go of Y/n's hand and check his watch. Shooting his gaze up, panic-struck in his eyes. He couldn’t be late for his lesson, if he failed another class then his whole year of basketball would be thrown out the door. That and his captain status. Bye-bye popularity. Plus he didn’t want that title going to Tommy.

“Oh shit, yeah… well I’ll see you around.”

And with that Steve took off down the hall, missing Y/n’s wondering eyes following his figure down the hall. Focusing back at the couple behind her, she met Tommy’s gaze once again.

“No.” Shocked by her cousin’s cold demeanour, she attempted to defend herself, only to have Tommy walk off with Carol following behind. Looking back to where Steve had disappeared, Y/n sighed to herself and made her way to cheer practice.

This indeed was going to be an interesting year.

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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say.

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?"

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone.

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”

You nod and lay back on the floaty.

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.

Whoops. Right. You're still at work.

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?”

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort.

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you.

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.

“You’re awesome, Y/N!"

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.

"Who do I ask for?"

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.

She nods in realization.

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince.

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say.

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree.

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod.

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.

"How come?" she asks.

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically.

"They're jerks," she says.

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.

"No," you manage.

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"

He doesn't remember you.

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say.

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.

Her brows rise.

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.

Only there do you stop to catch your breath.

And then you cry.

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?"

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah."

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute."

"I guess so," you say.

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.

"Shit, here. Take mine."

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?"

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple.

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched.

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack.

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says.

You nearly swallow your tongue.

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.

"Just us?" you check.

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"

You check your watch and close your book.

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though.

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look.

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile.

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.

You lean your elbows on the countertop.

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument.

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"

Lucas nods.

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck.

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.”

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!”

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again.

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile.

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.

"This town is so shit," you say.

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.

You look at the tape in your hand.

"Does Steve like John Hughes?"

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.

"I did want to watch this one," you say.

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open.

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.

“Always.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #friends to strangers to lovers

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crappymixtape · 3 months

Text

because of you • part two

PART I • PART III • PART VI • PART V // REQUEST -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.3k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T W O 🎶 theatre, etta marcus

❝ IS IT EASIER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO START AGAIN? WHEN YOU DON’T WANNA MAKE AMENDS? ❞

‘Stealing a Winnebago’ had been easier than you’d assumed, but the getaway execution went exactly like you thought it would. Absolute disorganized chaos and the way Steve peeled out of the trailer park dumped you into Robin’s lap for the first mile. Made you even more skeptical of whatever half-assed plan these people had frankensteined together and now? You found yourself browsing the clothing section of The War Zone.

What in the hell were they thinking coming here anyway? From Eddie’s retelling of what happened under Lover’s Lake it sounded like not one of them knew anything about hand-to-hand combat, let alone guns. Couldn’t even land a punch, but thought they could handle this? Walls of rifles on display, rounders full of bulletproof gear and cases upon cases of bullets and god, you wanted to leave.

“Hey,” Nancy’s voice pulled your attention away from the tactical vests you were staring at, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked over at you. “If I go over to the counter, you gonna be okay?”

“Oh, totally,” you lied. “Yeah, was gonna go look over here anyway,” and you thumbed over your shoulder at more vests.

“Okay, good.”

She gave you a small Nancy-Wheeler-smile and left you there alone in a sea of camouflage. In the middle of a store you’d never have set foot in before all this and making you second guess yourself. Second guess what was seemingly more and more a stupid decision to go along with all of this and you huffed a sigh in frustration.

“Should’ve stayed in the trailer,” you grumbled under your breath, fighting the urge to just walk out, but apparently you weren’t the only one wandering around all the puke green clothing.

“Huh, didn’t know you had good ideas.”

The sound of Steve’s voice made your hands ball into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms.

“Do you ever have anything nice to say?” you sneered and he had the audacity to be so causal. Didn’t even look up from the tactical vests he was flipping through and tossed one into his cart.

“Not to you I don’t.”

Anger rose in your chest like a pot boiling over, so hot it made your cheeks burn as you glowered over at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” and still he didn’t look at you. Picked a bomber jacket off the rack and piled it on top of his vest and it was the last straw.

Stalking over to his side of the rounder you got right up in his face, dug a finger into his chest and said, “Liar.”

His eyes flickered at your accusation, sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at you and warned, “Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.” And he leaned into your finger. Waited for you to fold. Tsked at your attitude and the sound of it triggered a memory so strong you felt like you’d been sucker punched.

Your second ever interaction with Steve Harrington happened the week before summer break.

You heard it while you were walking back to school from grabbing lunch at the diner. A high, sharp whistle followed by car horn and then—

“Owwww, damn baby!”

And you recognized the voice right away.

Tommy Hagan. Leaning out the passenger window of Steve’s BMW. Wolf-whistling at you and being a dick and you tried to ignore them, but then they were pulling up next to you and slowing way down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy purred at your back, your mouth twisting into a scowl at the sound of Eddie’s nickname on his tongue. “You need a rid–” he started to ask, but his question cut short when you turned around.

Mouth dropped open in shock for a split second as he realized who you were, Tommy quickly recovered and started to laugh. That obnoxious, hyena-like laugh that made you want to punch him and he smiled and whistled again.

“Shit, Stevie! Who knew the freak had an ass on her!”

“You kiss Carol with that mouth, Tommy?” you shot back, Steve stifling a snicker from the driver’s seat.

“Bet you could do for a kiss, baby,” Tommy tsked, pouted his lips at you and grinned, “Always so damn sour.”

“Yeah? Wanna find out why?” you threatened and it made Tommy grin even wider. Shark-like. Predatory.

“Park it, Stevie,” Tommy didn’t bother looking at his friend, eyes locked on you as he opened the passenger door and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. Walked right up and crowded over you, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, “And what if I do?”

Your stomach lurched, heart leaping into your throat as you stood your ground. You didn’t think he’d take the bait, but you also didn’t shy away. God, you wished Eddie was there. Tilting your chin up in defiance you glared him down.

“Tommy, c’mon man. Just leave it,” you heard Steve’s voice from over Tommy’s shoulder, tinged at the edges with desperation as he ran up on the two of you, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about it, toots?” Tommy pushed again, toes of his shoes knocking against yours as he stepped even closer, towering over you and it hit you like a ton of bricks how in over your head you were.

“Tommy, just leave–”

“I didn’t ask you, Harrington!” Tommy snapped and you took the opportunity.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands, you yanked Tommy down into you and drove your knee into his crotch as hard as you could.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he choked out, folded in half and hands covering his junk as he dry heaved and you took a big step back.

“Coward,” you turned and hurled the word at Steve and watched it land heavy as his face shifted. Brows pinching together and mouth dropped open, but nothing came out as he struggled to say those two little words. I’m sorry. To tell you he wasn’t like his friend, but his silence betrayed him.

“You bitch,” Tommy grunted at you as he tried to straighten up, one hand still over his crotch.

“Don’t move! I’ll–I’ll get you expelled!” you threatened and it made him laugh. A mean, mirthless thing.

“No fuckin’ way. My mom’s on the school board, who’s gonna take your side?”

And you looked back at Steve for a split second, silently asking him to step in and do something, but he stood frozen in place. Still unable to go against his ‘best friend’ and what little belief you had left in him was shattered.

You were done with Steve Harrington.

Shaking your head, you fought back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes and ran up the path to the cafeteria doors. Disappeared behind them with a loud, metallic slam! and left Steve alone to drown in the deafening silence.

Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.

It was like no time had passed, like you were still there in that parking lot with Tommy towering over you and tsking at you just like Steve was doing now, but this time you didn't run away.

“Don’t call me that!” you shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

“Don’t call me a liar!”

“All you do is lie, Harrington! Your entire life was built on lies,” you could see his pulse fluttering against his neck. Watched his jaw tick as he clenched down on the words he wanted so badly to throw at you, but you didn’t give him a chance. “Why are you even here? You don’t give a shit about Eddie. You don’t give a shit about anyone, you’re–”

“Enough!” you flinched as his shout drew the attention of a couple older guys looking at the hunting gear. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? Not a god damn thing,” and the second part was quieter, but they way he held your gaze after punctuated it heavy.

He turned away from you, hastily pushing his cart back toward the cashier counter and walked out the double doors, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Hey, I’m not done!” you shouted after him across the parking lot. Sharp and biting and it made him spin back around, arms flung out at his sides in exasperation.

“Oh, yeah? Fine. What else you got?”

“Well, for one, I’m not going to sit here while you lord around like King Steve. This isn’t high school. No one here gives a shit about any of that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at his old nickname. Sucked in a breath and let it out slow to try and steady himself.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? You’ve been a dick to me since I set foot in Max’s trailer! And honestly? I’m not surprised! You think I don’t remember all the shit you put me through, put us through in school?” you shot back and he opened his eyes to glare over at you.

“Like I said, Princess–”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“–you don’t have any idea what this is. What we’re up against. None. You’re in over your head.”

“Okay? And what, I’m supposed to sit here on my hands and say, ‘It’s fine! Steve Harrington and all his little friends will fix this’?? You’re out of your mind!”

“And you think you can?” he shot back and your heart rate thrummed heavy in your ears.

“You know, Eddie says he trusts you now, but hell if I will. No fucking way,” and as you turned and cut past him back to the Winnebago he had to jog to keep up.

“Hey! Eddie almost killed me! With a fucking beer bottle!”

You huffed a laugh and kept walking, shaking your head at the accusation and incredulous at the lengths he was going to prove his point.

“Why should I believe you?” you called over your shoulder, “You’re probably just gunning for a headline: Steve Harrington, Hero of Hawkins!”

“Headline?? I–are you kidding me? You think I’d do all this for a headline??”

And finally you stopped at the bottom step of the Winnebago and Steve seized his chance.

“You really think I’m that superficial?” he shot at your back, but you didn’t turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge him and he spent what little patience he had left. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

But you were already gone. Frozen in place with the world growing dark. Tree line ahead of you blurring. Unfocused and liquid like water and the ground swam under you as a voice echoed in your mind.

I see you.

The sound of Steve still talking behind you turned to fuzz, crackled like radio static and faded away into ear-splitting silence. Deafening and swallowing you whole and then you felt it. The ground falling out from underneath you and you were drowning in the dark and the voice that echoed in your mind pulled you even deeper.

Resisting will only make it worse.

❝ AND I NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR LIARS OR THE UNIQUELY UNINSPIRED ‘CAUSE I DON’T NEED TO BE DESIRED ❞

Steve glared daggers at your back. Anger hot and fuming and fueled by the fact that you had the nerve to ignore him and god, he wanted to prove you wrong.

“Are you trying to piss me off? Cos its work–” but the words died in his throat as he came around to face you. “Oh. Oh, shit,” with a quick glance over your shoulder he saw everyone else finally coming out of the store and he didn’t wait to call for help.

“Munson!! Eddie!” Steve yelled over your shoulder at your best friend before grabbing your shoulders in his hands and squeezed at them. Leaned down to try and meet your unfocused, far away gaze and when none of it worked he felt his chest grow tight.

Not again.

“Hey, hey! Look at me!" panic clawed its way up his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Stay with me! Munson–hurry up!”

Your eyes were glazed over, tears gathering at the corners as your whole body started to tremble. Breathing stuttered and caught in your throat. Lips parted and trying to pull air in, but it wasn’t enough and Steve felt his hand twitch. Wanted to press it to your cheek to try and ground you, reach you and bring you back, but then Eddie was finally at your side and shoving Steve out of the way.

“Sweetheart! Can you hear me? Shit, shit, shit. What happened?? Honey? Look at me!” Eddie cradled your face in his hands. Did what Steve couldn’t. Voice ratcheted up, his usual low timbre a high pitched thing driven by fear and hearing it doused any remaining anger that had settled into Steve’s chest and replaced it with something else.

With helplessness. Regret. Remorse.

With the slow realization that everything he’d just said to you wasn’t worth it. Remembered how Nancy had yelled at him, just like you, outside of the gym. You’re bullshit! And his throat squeezed with guilt for messing it all up again because he was bullshit. He was a liar and you were right. Had he learned nothing?

He looked at you, your face contorted with fear, and he felt something new flicker within him. A feeling blooming at the pit of his stomach. One he was so certain couldn’t possibly exist when it came to you, but as he stood there watching Eddie try to shake you back from the dark he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Steve, help me!” tears cut down Eddie’s cheeks as he called to him and pulled him hurtling back to Earth. Desperate. Pleading. Begging him to do something and it shook Steve back into action.

Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursed through Steve's body and fought off the fear that had threatened to trap him in choke hold.

“Max, gimme your Walkman!” he shouted over your shoulder.

The rest of the group had started running back to the Winnebago as soon as they’d heard yelling and when Steve asked for the cassette player, Max knew time was running out.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath and broke into a sprint, scrambling to untangle the headphones from around her neck as she hurried to get to you. “Here! It’s still Kate Bush, is that–”

“Doesn’t matter–Munson get these on, hurry!” Steve, snatched the Walkman from Max and crammed it into Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Please, please, please,” fell from Eddie’s lips, desperate, praying that this would work as he fitted the headphones on and pressed them against your ears, “Please.”

Blinking heavy, you strained your eyes against the black. Against the suffocating dark you suddenly found yourself in. The stand of vivid, green ash trees lining the parking lot replaced by gnarled branches, dark and leafless. Bright yellow buttercups snuffed out by thick, wet vines that snaked their way across the ground under your feet.

You weren’t in the parking lot of the War Zone anymore, not really, and as you breathed in the sickly, ashen air your heart stopped in your chest.

The Upside Down.

“Eddie? Eddie!” you shouted into the dark, red lightening cracking the sky in two, and when no one answered you knew you were utterly alone.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you thought of Chrissy. Of Fred and Patrick and dread filled your stomach. Utter hopelessness and grief and when you whipped around to run you felt something tangle around your leg. Wrapping up, up, up and pulling you down, down, down.

You braced for it, ready to break your fall with your hands, but you never hit and instead found yourself lifting into the air. Unhinged laughter filling your ears as more vines snaked around your arms and legs and you swore you were going to be sick.

It was

Him.

“Why isn’t it working?? God dammit, work!” Eddie was yelling at the Walkman, his composure unravelling as Chrissy’s last moments flooded his mind. “Is she gonna die? She can’t die!” he pleaded and his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat, “Please don’t let her die!”

“Hey hey, hey! Get a hold of yourself. That’s not gonna happen, okay? It’s gonna work,” Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulders, looked him in the eye and tried to reassure him, but when he glanced over at you he knew he couldn’t make that promise. “Please work,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? You can’t leave. Not yet.

Vecna’s voice was everywhere. Flooding every part of you and you feared you would never feel joy again. Would never escape this. Would be stuck here forever screaming into the void, hanging on Vecna’s every whim.

I would like very much to show you where I’m going. Please, take a seat.

And the vines yanked you down, squeezed tight around your wrists and legs and held you fast against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back.

“Please, let me go!” you pleaded into the dark. “Please, I–” but your mouth went dry as a shadowy figure appeared through the ash. Coming closer and closer in the dark with each heavy step and when it finally stopped, feet at your head, your blood ran cold.

Wet, sinewy skin. Muscles exposed and stretched taut. Eyes that pierced your mind and knew every single one your thoughts. Knew all the dark things spiraling there and made them worse. Clawed at you with spindly, protruding hands and long, dagger-like claws and suffocated you with the smell of something rotten.

Of decay.

Of death.

Reaching a hand down, Vecna held it over your face, inches away from touching you as you struggled against your restraints, but they constricted tighter with your every move.

“Please,” you were crying openly now, tears cutting paths through the ash that had settled on your cheeks, but he ignored you.

I want you to tell your friends, I want you to tell them everything you see. Everything I show you.

“No, please!”

Tell them!

“No, I can’t–”

Tell them everything!

And then your head felt like was being cleaved in two. White hot light fracturing the black sky into thick shards and your screams were the only thing you could hear as Vecna pried open your mind and poured into you his vision for the future...

Hawkins in ruin.

Four gashes in the earth. Cavernous. Hot and angry and full of fire.

Your family. Lying scattered across your lawn. Motionless and still and limbs bent wrong.

Tell them!

Your friends hanging in the air just like Chrissy, Fred, Patrick.

Eyes empty, slack-jawed and lifeless, bones snapped like twigs.

Tell them!

Eddie and Robin and Nancy and Steve and–

“NO!” you screamed, the sound pulled painfully from your lungs as you felt your legs give way and collapsed into yourself.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Steve scrambled to grab hold of your shoulder and barely caught you before your bare knees hit the pavement.

You heard birds chirping. Sunlight filtering through the backs of your eyelids as you kept them squeezed shut, but the air was clean. Smelled fresh and as you slowly opened your eyes you realized you weren’t choking on ash anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve was still holding onto you, your hands pressed into his thighs as you braced yourself, the feeling of nausea overwhelming.

“I saw him,” you whispered, only Steve could hear you and you started to cry.

“Him?” Steve asked unnecessarily, glancing up at Eddie. Hoping, no praying, if he asked maybe you’d give a different answer. One that wouldn’t involve death and the end of the world and everything hinging on this stupid fucking plan, but he knew.

Everyone knew.

Eyes glued on their feet. Arms folded over their chests and uneasy with the weight that had settled over the group.

“Vecna.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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prettybillycore · 2 years

Note

PLS give us steve x plus size WE NEEED IT

👀👀👀

https://angstkingsfanfic.tumblr.com/post/689978078778310656/every-part-of-you-steve-harrington-x-plus

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powderblueblood · 5 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you.

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor.

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent.

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t.

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t.

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora.

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips.

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be.

Especially now.

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal.

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?”

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little.

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.”

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand.

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height.

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.”

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene.

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.”

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight.

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup.

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom.

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains?

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds.

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen.

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school.

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card.

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?”

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.”

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.”

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else.

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror.

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family.

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets.

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you.

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends.

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina.

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not.

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore.

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause.

Eddie had to take a beat.

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on.

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure.

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head.

Ink stains mixing with precum.

Moaning into your mouth.

Giving you something to write to dear diary about.

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket.

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria.

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you.

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you.

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says.

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally).

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually.

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t.

Fuck.

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you.

—

“Anybody got bleach?”

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag.

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately.

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track.

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition.

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.”

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight.

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning.

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen.

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing.

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing.

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #e. munson by powder

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